Faylin  watched in horror as they guards came, dragging a large man in enchanted chains. The guards looked him with pride, as if he was nothing but more than a prize they had won from a hunting match. Harshly, they threw him down on the ground, using their swords as stakes to set him into place so he could not move. The man screamed in agonizing pain, his chains burning his tanned skin into charcoal.

How could they be so cruel?

"Ah, yes. What a powerful animal he is," the king commented, smirking at the scene that laid out in front of him. "And he will be all yours, my dear. You will be his rider."

As if instinct possessed Faylin to do so, he ran towards the man without a second thought, crouching down forwards, attempting to remove the chains himself. The chains were strong, they had even scorched the young elf. Whoever had enchanted them, knew very powerful, dark magic. The kind of magic that was used to cause havoc. 

It was forbidden.

"What are you doing!" The king demanded, and Faylin turner his head sharply, his eyes desperately looking into the old man's stale green ones.

"Can you not see he is pain? Let him be free!" Faylin pleaded, and the king laughed loudly, holding his protruding belly, trying to contain himself. When he saw the sincerity in the young elf's eyes, he softened his voice a bit, but nevertheless the haughty quality of it remained.

"But my dear, he is a dragon, and a fine one he is. Do you not see that if I let him go, he will burn down our kingdom? That is how powerful he is!"

"But—" Faylin wanted to say something to argue, but he remembered his position and stopped himself, and instead sweetly asked, "My lord, can we at least do something about the pain?"

The king hummed rolling his head side to side in thought, his lips pursed. "If he does not struggle, then he will not be in pain. He is just stubborn." The old man said, gesturing at the locked man.

Faylin turned his head, and the man finally ceased his writhing. The boy did not know if the poor man had passed out or simply die from his pain. Tentatively, he reached out his hand to touch the man's shoulder.

Ever so slightly, the man lifted his head, his glowing amber eyes meeting the elf's. He looked at him with distrust, hatred and another emotion that the boy could not distinguish. As quickly as he placed his hand on the man shoulder, he brought it back to the comfort of his side, squeezing it gently.

"Were you afraid I'd nip it?" The dragon's voice was low, a very deep baritone that rumbled out of his mouth like a purr. He then smiled, exposing his several serrated blades for teeth to taunt him. "I would have. Consider yourself lucky."

Faylin's heart was palpitating out of control, his face becoming more pale than usual. The king was right, this man, the man in front of him was a beast. A deadly beast that could have ripped his hand off with his teeth---but didn't. Faylin still had hope that the man was not a monster, despite the accusations of the others around him. He, Faylin theorized, must of been the kind of person that hide grief in the form of callous behavior.

"Take the thing back to its cage!" The king ordered, pointing at the dragon. On cue, the guards lifted their swords from the ground, and grabbed a hold of the black chains, forcing the dragon out of the room. As they were leaving, the dragon hissed viciously at the prince, who was nothing but silent the whole time, and as usual the king guffaw as if it were nothing more than a mere jest played between friends.

He took a moment to compose himself.

"Now, do you not see, my little guardian? You are very lucky to have such a creature. We were very lucky to capture him, you know. He had just happen to be near one of our farms, feasting away on an old mare."

"Yes," Faylin forced himself to speak. "He will be a great asset to our kingdom." The man irritated him to no end, but he still managed to be as decorous. It had not even been a full day, and already, his heart was filled with a deep hatred.

"Yes! In fact, my son was the one captured him," he added joyfully, and the prince smiled proudly, giving Faylin a smoldering look.

It was beginning to make sense now. The repugnant snarl that left the dragon's lips was due to what the prince had done to him.

"Oh goddess, that is incredible. Your son will become a very accomplished king." He was being sarcastic—not that they knew—and the crowned prince graciously accepted the compliment.

"Thank you, vanya." Faylin gave a small node in response and the king winked at his blushing son, nudging his shoulder.

Turning to the boy again, he cleared his throat. "You must be tired. Go rest, my little guardian."

"Thank you your majesties," the young elf replied, bowing for the last time before he left the room.

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Glossary of terms:

vanya–beautiful