Damsel's Traditional Duty by GJ Woodrum

Book Two in the Traditional Stories series

Heat Rating: Zero Fire

Content Warning: Twisted fairy tale theme

Not all Damsels are as they seem to be, as the Dragon soon learns.

Peering from the trees I scanned the flower starred meadow, taking in the sweet scents that danced on the breeze. Honeysuckle, meadow grass and another odor ever sweeter to me.

There she was. Low cut blue gown hugging her slender waist, flowing over her hips to pool at her feet. A torrent of golden hair spilled out of the circlet of blue and yellow flowers on her head, sweeping like sunlight all the way to the small of her back.

The only things that marred her perfection were the heavy iron manacles that bound her wrists, and the inelegant chains that connected them, and her, to a thick wooden post wreathed in the honeysuckle vines I had smelled.

I crept around the clearing, studying the latest offering, looking for a trap.

She was much more tempting than the last one had been. Her little body more rounded in all the correct places, her hair a tad more golden.

Yes, definitely lovely. For a human.

Certain that no Knights were lurking about-as sometimes happened-I snaked my way through the trees into the clearing.

On seeing me the Damsel let out a scream of terror. Not bad. But I'd heard better.

Now that I was closer I could see that her big eyes-big being relative to her size, you understand, my eyes are larger than a serving platter-were wide in horror and were a blue as vivid as the summer sky. Yes, she was a very nice specimen indeed.

I smiled at her, and she gasped, swaying on her feet, then crumpling to the ground. Perfect. This was shaping up into a fine day.

Gently, so as not to bruise the tender flesh, I used a simple Spell of Unbinding to release the locks. I nudged the chains with a talon the size of her forearm and watched as her arms dropped to her sides with the abandon of the unconscious. Better and better. A true Damsel, then. So few were these days.