<span style="font-size: 12px">The dragon slave master bowed lowly.  Every word and movement was dripping with a falsified adoration, a chained and heavy humility that was forced upon him, but he wore it like an accessory, grinning with a saccharine sweetness that gnawed the insides of cheeks.<br/>
<br/>
Only Queen Fane, a dragon who adored both her chair and her mirror, would appreciate such a blatant show of disgusting and deceitful obedience.<br/>
<br/>
Up on the throne, the heir, Tyrius, snorted his repulsion.  “Mother, can’t we just <i>eat</i> this fool already?  I grow tired of his nauseating sham.”<br/>
<br/>
“Quiet, my love, he brings us gifts,” Queen Fane said.  “A future king should always be gracious.”<br/>
<br/>
Tyrius snorted again, but he did not say anything further.  On the floor, Raffe glanced over to child number seven, the only non-competitive and traitorous sibling he had; Calla shared his silent look, both sending each other sighs and eye-rolls without so much as a twitch of the face.<br/>
<br/>
When Raffe looked back to the gathered gifts, the slave master bowed and stepped out of the way, allowing him to step forward.<br/>
<br/>
“Take your pick,” the queen said.  The change in tone was subtle to those unaccustomed, but as obvious as a whip to the back to those of the family.<br/>
<br/>
It only took a second for his eyes to be immediately caught by the one in front.  Now that the slave master had moved from his sight, the one gem in a bag of pebbles and dirt showed its glint and glow.<br/>
<br/>
Behind him, he heard his family gasp.<br/>
<br/>
“Is that?”<br/>
<br/>
“A half-breed?”<br/>
<br/>
Off to the side, the slave master was grinning with pride.<br/>
<br/>
“How long has the Khitai tribe been hiding a halfling from the royal family?” Queen Fane seethed suddenly.<br/>
<br/>
Tyrius leaned toward the Queen, interrupting her ire.  “Mother,” he whispered, though with the family’s dragonic hearing, it was a simple announcement in the room, “I want her.”<br/>
<br/>
Raffe tilted his head.  Her scales were healthy, gleaming in the light; short hair was almost white, bristling with shines of colors; her blue eyes were reminiscent not of the sky, but of the sea; and it seemed that the stories had been true: half-breeds could not hide the tell-tale signs of the dragon’s blood.<br/>
<br/>
There was a certain atmosphere to her, Raffe thought.  A fire that surrounded her, one that she couldn’t breathe and yet was easily able to emit, a certain heat of… <i>Ah, yes,</i> he mused.<br/>
<br/>
She was <i>defiant</i>.<br/>
<br/>
She was the flames grasping at ashes to continue its long burn into the night, into the years, sparking even as it hailed and rained, even as wind and dust tried to smother it.<br/>
<br/>
He wouldn’t mind smothering it.<br/>
<br/>
“Raffe – ”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, my queen?” he asked without turning around.<br/>
<br/>
“...Perhaps –”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, I was thinking the same,” Raffe interrupted smoothly, turning around to face them.  “I think I would, indeed, like <i>this one</i>.  You are quite kind and gracious, and I am humbly grateful that you have allowed me, ah, first pickings, I believe the phrasing was.”<br/>
<br/>
Tyrius shared the Queen’s scowl.  King Islo turned his head, scratching at his beard to hide a smile.<br/>
<br/>
Raffe looked back to the halfling, reaching out to curl his fingers into her hair.  “Step forward,” he said.  “What do you call yourself?”</span>