Muriel watched the struggle between the knight and the dragon from her window in the tower. As usual, the dragon toyed with him at first, letting him bounce arrows off impenetrable scales. Eventually, one of them hit the soft skin behind an elbow and the dragon stopped playing. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but it ended with the dragon lying on the ground, and the singed knight limping up to her tower.

Part of her was still in shock, while the rest of her had prepared for this moment for so long that habit took over. Put on best dress. Fix hair. Powder face. Rouge lips. Pray for someone handsome and kind.

The wedding would be soon, of course. She wondered if her family would still remember her after all this time. But there was no more time to speculate: here was the knock at the door.

She opened it and curtseyed. “You have saved me and won my hand, m’lord. I thank you. What shall I call my betrothed?”

The knight’s visor opened with a clang. “Er, Beatrice, I suppose.” She smiled shyly. “Now what?”