While laying in his bunk at the Dunn Inn, Vogir mulls over his recent discoveries.
The girl Sibylle had turned out to be a young blue dragon.
It could only be a hatchling of the blue tyrant herself.
The duplicitous Lord Rican had obviously found it as a wyrmling and used it as a bargaining chip against the Empress herself.
But how could that work?
Lord Rician must have given the Empress reason to belive that he’d kill the infant dragon if she sent any of her agents to retrieve it.
By its size and what little he’d discovered, the smallish dragon could be no older than thirty. Still, old enough to defend herself or just leave, should it wish to.
So perhaps Lord Rician was at least being partially truthful.
Perhaps, somehow, he truly believed he loved the creature?
Perhaps, somehow, the dragon truly loved him in return?
Then again, perhaps not.
The young dragon had been given a pampered life, full of luxury and privilege. Idiotically adored by the people of Fewham.
Exactly the kind of lifestyle that would appeal to a blue dragon.Wondering how those self-same people would feel if they knew their ‘Lady’ was in fact a dragon, Vogir feels an idea forming…