“It was an accident!” the dragon muttered and started crying — but dragons can’t cry, so instead he just wheezed through his razor-sharp teeth.

  “How on earth was that an accident?” Flynn sneered, gesturing at the burning city behind them.

  The dragon dug his head under one of his massive wings.

  “You know how it goes,” he said sheepishly, voice gravelly.

  Flynn buried his face in his calloused hands.

  “No, I don’t,” he growled into his palms. “Please enlighten me.”

  “I got nervous.”

  The dragon shifted his weight and took down a nearby building with his enormous tail. There was a stifled scream in between the rumbling debris.

  “You got—” Flynn began, then broke off and bit his lip.

  He gazed at the dragon, who seemed to shrink with every second that passed. His large nostrils flared under strained breaths, his scales covered in soot and dirt.

  The awkward silence was only disturbed by the surrounding chaos.

  “I’m sorry,” the dragon whimpered under the weight of Flynn’s judgment. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Oh, you didn’t?” Flynn scoffed. “Alright then. Shit happens. We’ll just talk to the king and tell him. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  The dragon cocked his head.

  “You think so?” he asked with a hopeful baritone.

  “NO!”

  “Oh …”

  “We have to get going now, or we’ll be late,” Flynn said impatiently.

  The dragon grumbled quietly. “I don’t think I want to go.”

  Flynn’s expression turned to stone. “What gave you the impression that was an option?”

  “It’s just,” the dragon tried to explain himself, “I’m sure there will be a lot of people there.”

  Trying to stay calm, Flynn began to massage his temples.

  “Well, yes. It’s a trial for mass murder. Of course there will be a lot of spectators. And there would be even more if you hadn’t burned half the city to a crisp.”

  The dragon’s distressed eyes scurried through the courtyard.

  “Do you think many of them died?”

  Flynn could feel his left eyelid twitch.

  “What do you think?” he sneered. “Not all of us are fireproof.”

  The dragon lowered his head.

  “I see,” he said, and a tiny flame escaped his nostrils.

  “Look,” Flynn began anew. “It’s already unusually kind of the king to hear us out. That’s our one chance — your one chance. If you don’t show up, they’ll impale you on a stake.”

  “How many people would be at the impalement?”

  “That is—” Flynn shook his head. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. Now move!”

  The dragon’s name was Oraculus Dominus Scar. He didn’t like the name, so he went by Oscar, even though that hardly did his magnificence justice — azure-blue scales that shimmered like sapphires in the sun, spread across a muscular body the size of a small palace. His horns and fangs were curved and shone in pristine white, the slender neck and head like a basilisk of ancient tales. His massive frame was supported by legs that could’ve passed as tree trunks, and his sharp talons carved deep trenches into the stone tiling.

  He was a creature mighty enough to conquer the world — but as it stood, he could barely conquer his own nerves.

  “I don’t like this,” Oscar said as they approached the oaken portal doors.

  Royal guards were flanking them on either side at a respectful distance.

  “I feel like they are staring at me.”

  Flynn scoffed. “You bet they are.”

  The awkward scratching of dragon talons on marble made one of the soldiers trip. He recovered in time to keep his dignity, then quickly glanced over at Oscar, as if he were expecting his sign of weakness to make him prey.

  Irritated and slightly offended, the dragon looked away.

  It was not the first time Flynn concluded that Oscar’s mind had been placed in the wrong body. He possessed all the means to level a city — as recently displayed — but was more timid than a mouse in a cheese trap.

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  “You have some nerve showing your faces … and … snouts here,” the king exclaimed, gesturing with his hand in search of the right words.

  Rows of spectators to either side murmured uneasily.

  Flynn frowned. “You invited us.”

  The king sluggishly lifted a meaty finger in the air. “Mind your tongue, citizen!”

  A low sigh escaped Flynn’s curled lips.

  “I don’t think he likes you,” the dragon whispered — except, dragons can’t whisper, and so his gravelly words resonated off the tall walls to either side, and out the open door past the rest of his massive body.

  The king gave a brief laugh of entitled amusement.

  “No need to get emotional,” he said mockingly.

  Oscar furrowed his horns in embarrassment.

  Since he didn’t fit inside the grand hall, they were standing right past the entryway. The dragon had carefully funneled his head and neck through the open doors, mindful of the artisanal wooden craftsmanship that adorned the portal wings. The king, however, sat at the very end of the massive hall, where he only appeared as a small gilded blob on a chair — even to human eyes.

  “You see,” the king shouted across the void and past the spectators to either side of the throne room, “I only invited you here because of what you are.”

  “A monster?” Oscar growled dramatically and squirmed in anguish.

  “What?” the king asked in confusion, then remembered his station. “No, a dragon.”

  “Oh,” Oscar rumbled softly.

  An advisor stepped over to the king and whispered something in his ear.

  The king nodded in bored agreement, then hushed the purple-robed man away.

  “Well,” he addressed Flynn and Oscar again, “in all official statements regarding this unfortunate event, you will be referred to as a monster. We can change it to creature if you prefer that.”

  “Monster is fine,” the dragon said without hesitation.

  Flynn opened his mouth, then closed it again. This trial was not what he’d expected.

  “Excellent,” the king proclaimed. “As I was saying, the only reason why I invited you here today is because you are a dragon. And the last thing I have time for right now is another war with your kind, when they learn that we publicly executed you.”

  “I don’t think they would care much,” Oscar offered.

  The king ignored his remark.

  “Of course, punishment must be served. After all, you did burn half the city, killing thousands in the process.”

  “Thousands?” the dragon gasped with a puff of smoke.

  His azure body seemed to deflate, and Flynn put a calming hand on one of Oscar’s massive thighs.

  The king considered the question. “Possibly. We haven’t actually counted the dead. Most of them are just piles of ash now anyway.”

  He shrugged and moved on.

  “Since we can’t have a — excuse the word — monster roaming our lands, we will have to banish you from our kingdom.”

  “What?” Oscar and Flynn exclaimed at the same time.

  “No hard feelings, of course,” the king added, spreading his arms. “Make sure to tell your dragon folk that.”

  The kingdom of Verantis was their home — the place they’d spent their entire miserable lives in. The prospect of leaving it behind for good seemed unfathomable.

  “You can’t do that,” Flynn growled angrily.

  “Who are you again?” the king asked in bewilderment.

  “I’m his … companion.”

  “Are you, now? How cute.”

  A couple of the bystanders chuckled.

  “Well, companion,” the king said with a bored voice and pointed at Flynn. “You can stay. As far as I was told, only the dragon committed the massacre in question.”

  Flynn started grinding his jaw.

  “He was nervous.”

  His words hung in the air for a long moment.

  “Excuse me?” the king asked, and Flynn could see the confusion in his eyes even at this distance.

  “He didn’t mean to kill anyone, or lay waste to your city.”

  The king scoffed like this was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in months. “And you expect me to believe that?”

  Here and there, people started whispering.

  Oscar seemed deeply uncomfortable, and the red tint his scales had taken on bore witness to that.

  “Before you ask,” Flynn whispered, so only the dragon could hear him, “I’m not going to abandon you.”

  “I’d understand if you did,” the dragon murmured loudly.

  “Great. But I’m not.”

  “You will probably regret it.”

  “Could you just shut up for once?”

  “Okay,” Oscar muttered and lowered his head until it was almost lying on the ground.

  Flynn sighed. “I didn’t mean—”

  “If I may interrupt your heartwarming chatter,” the king shouted across the room. “There is one condition under which the monster — I mean — dragon may stay in Verantis.”

  Visions of a royal quest flashed before Flynn’s inner eye, of treasures and actual monsters. They could handle it, he knew. Slay some demons, retrieve some mythical item, and eventually restore their reputation. Maybe he would even ride on Oscar’s back as a mighty dragon rider — if the gentle giant could eventually overcome his fear of heights, that was.

  “If it means both of us can stay, we’ll do it,” Flynn declared.

  “You are to venture north,” the king continued, “past the Shivering Peaks, until you reach the Valley of Nessar.”

  Flynn couldn’t help but smile. This is what he’d been waiting for all his life.

  “What vile beast may we hunt down for you, what treasure return to you?”

  The king scratched his chin. “Yeah … none of that. You are to seek out a facility called the Mythical Ward and have them take you in. The specialists there will fix whatever ails this —” he gestured, then sighed, “dragon.”

  Before Flynn could process, Oscar’s rumbling voice filled the air.

  “Oh, fantastic,” the dragon bellowed cheerfully. “I’ve read great things about this institution. Thank you, Your Majesty!”

  He inclined his massive head, and a few of the spectators panicked as his sharp teeth hovered over them.

  The king nodded approvingly.

  Flynn was slow to catch on.

  “Mythical Ward,” he muttered to himself. “Wait … are you sending us to a —”

  “It’s a therapy center for mythical creatures,” Oscar chimed in.

  Flynn’s face lost all its color. “What the f—”

  “Splendid,” the king exclaimed and clapped his hands. “You shall leave at first daylight tomorrow.”