Not the story we all know and love
“What are we going to do, Tatsu?” Miriona asked her dragon as they sat amidst the ruin of the castle in which both had grown up.
Tatsu held his counsel. The choice had to be Miriona’s. He would follow her in whatever she decided, but it was not for a dragon to instruct his princess. There were three choices, none of them palatable. Miriona would have to choose for both of them.
A tear fell onto Miriona’s once-fine dress, the salted drop darkening the fabric where it landed. Once, she would have been scolded for that. Today, she might have welcomed that scolding.
A crash came from deep within the castle, undoubtedly Imran’s soldiers smashing more of her mother’s precious statues. Miriona had broken one accidentally while playing once. Mother had cried for days. Miriona had been more careful after that, not wanting to see her cry.
Now, too many of the statues—too much of everything in the castle—lay in ruins, destroyed for sport by the invaders who had murdered the queen and king and even now continued to sack the city.
Three choices. Miriona and Tatsu had discussed each at length. Marry the tyrant who had murdered her family and laid waste to her kingdom, flee on Tatsu to seek sanctuary in a neighboring kingdom, or die at her own hand.
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