A Princess and her Dragon

THE MUSE HAS SPOKEN TO ME. IT HATH DECREED: write me a story about a willowy trans princess getting a dummythicc body and then getting piped by her well-hung dragonkin bodyguard

HEADS UP: there are some Gendered Feelings included in this story, up to and including mentions of dysphoria and someone being a jerk (briefly) to a trans gal. But it's only like a couple lines near the middle and skippable, and the overall vibe is positive and, hopefully, enjoyable. There are themes of transformation, mild implied corruption and mind control, changing identities (but distinctly no identity death), trans gals getting hot fertile bods, and of course, impregnation. Also, for maybe the first time ever, a touch of painful insertion/cock too big! Not really my thing but I thought the story called for it. Warning if you're not into that kinda sex, though!

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Grand-Knight Embra of the Court of the Crimson Scale thrust her fist through the armoured helm of the closest assailant. Her clawed hand emerged out the other side, piercing through the bascinet as if it wasn't there. The animated armoured suit fell to the ground in a heap of clattering steel. Whatever magic had brought it life had been removed; the strings of this puppet cut. She hurled the helmet down and off of her hand, not for one second thinking the twisted metal could bite deep enough into her hide to wound her.

"Now then, which one of you is getting themselves stuffed in that armour first?" she stated calmly, her hand falling upon her greatblade's massive hilt once more. Her audience, a cadre of low level cutpurses and lowlives, all took a step or two back. In other circumstances, she might have felt sorry for them. None of them looked well fed, their weapons all a mix of whatever they had on hand. Daggers, axes, hammers, these were enough to settle an argument with the man fucking your wife. But they were but the preface if you wanted to share your thoughts with a Grand-Knight.

The only well-fed looking one among them was the leader. Instead of peasant garb, he wore clothes that placed him as a merchant. These were likely his brutes-on-retainer, people he'd ensnared with debt and promises into acting as his muscle. Embra was sure he was quite the power player in his right, which made his position on the floor all the more satisfying. It was his spell that had animated the armour, cast from his own wand, which he clutched in white-knuckled desperation. He had collapsed to his knees as the spell had snapped, a brief feedback of pain making him appear weak in the eyes of his fellows. Well, his acquaintances, at least. They didn't look too nonplussed about his magical trump card being folded like a bad hand.

"We don't want you, dragon," one of the nameless cadre said, his voice doing its best to sound resolute, "We just want her."

The eyes of the mass looked over Embra's shoulder to the slender figure at her back. Standing a stalwart height, Princess Andrea of the House of Rubies was the second tallest person on the road that afternoon. She looked like she weighed less than a sack of potatoes, however, barely making the fabric of her torn dress curve at all. Her fingers, long and soft from a lifetime of easy living, remained locked around the flickering haft of a magic wand.

On the one hand, the Princess' striking appearance let her exercise her authority. In friendly company, it was plainly obvious that this really was "Princess Redwood", the somewhat derisive name the common folk had given her after her family's famous scarlet eye colour and the extremely tall tree she was said to resemble. But in unfriendly territory, her height and slender figure made her a walking target. And the only thing keeping her from being kidnapped for ransom was the two, maybe three casts of Cold Spray left within her wand's magically-enchanted wooden core.

And, of course, there was Embra. Grand-Knight. Guardian of Castle Carmine. Slayer of the Doombeast. And, potentially, the last of her Court still alive.

"Well, that's a problem. See, I'm standing in the way of you getting to her. So to get to her, you'll have to come through me." She took up a tighter stance, bringing her blade up in a two fisted grip close to her snout. A mouth of jagged teeth opened up into a grin. No more bargaining or begging. Time to let her actions speak for her.

The battle, such as it was, took less than a minute. The man who had announced this motley crew's demands made the first move, lunging with a sword that must have belonged to a grandfather, bellowing a war cry from some bad pantomime he must have saw once. Embra batted it away, then smashed the pommel of her blade into his shoulder. He collapsed into a screaming pile. Another two came at her with hammers, and they joined the first lying in the dirt, hands clutching wounds. She would not kill them, she was not without heart. But they endangered her charge. Those not met with concussive blows were savaged by swipes of her claws or her blade, both leaving indelible marks.

A flurry of powerful swipes from the biggest of their number caught Embra off guard. He wielded a lumberjack's axe with uncanny certainty. This one had seen service, pressed into service for a liege lord, or perhaps as a sellsword. His hacks, though aimed true, were met with a savage riposte of quick, calculated strikes. Though they were non-lethal, the wounds would make clear how wide the gap in martial prowess there was between him and her. He may have been a soldier at one point in his life, but she was a Grand-Knight. They were like a pack of canid scavengers. She was, well...

She was a dragon.

"Fall back?" one had said, likely as a suggestion. It quickly turned into a commandment, however, and the loose rabble dispersed, leaving behind the wounded who couldn't shuffle away under their own power. As well as their leader, of course, who still worked to give his energy to the collapsed pile of ancient armour.

"Why won't this...why won't this rise..." he said in bitter frustration, sweat pouring down his face as he looked about five seconds from having what the chirurgeons had once described as a hemorrhage of the cerebrum.

Embra stepped forward. "Don't worry, gent. It happens to every guy, once in a while." Without further commentary, she grabbed the wand out of his hands and snapped it like a twig. He watched, eyes crossing, at the puff of arcane smoke emerging from the broken focus. Then, without further encouragement, he took off at a dead sprint, screaming obscenities and invocations of protection from the divine in equal measure. With the last visible threat gone, she sheathed her sword.

"Well, that could have gone worse."

She turned to face the Princess, who was already hostlering her wand in the perfectly sized leather pouch at her hip. Everything about her outfit, from her shoes to her jewelry to her pack, perfectly sized to fit her unique proportions. And was in decent condition too, save for what remained of her long dress. On their first night as fugitives, Embra had used her sharpened foreclaw to slice through the silkweave of her long skirt so that she could run in it. And that had been a good thing too: they'd had to dash for safety a mere ten minutes after that.

"I'm getting tired of dealing with these..." she waved a hand to indicate the handful of writhing bodies on the ground, "Trifles. I would much prefer if we found a way to stay out of sight for a while."

Though in no way other than birth did Andrea's authority exceed Embra's, that was all that mattered. The Princess frowned deeply upon her guardian, brow furrowed deeply as she looked up at the only woman she knew who was taller than her. The dragon Knight returned the gaze for a moment, then found her vertically slitted pupils wandering, searching for just about anything else.

"Out of the question, Embra! Time is of the essence, you know that. If we're to rendezvous with my family's loyalists, we must make it to the City of Vestlebeck before the harvest! If we don't, it'll be until next spring that we can move on the foe that has usurped my family's lands."

Embra didn't need to be told that. She'd been there, given the same speech that Andrea had received, from the former King's dying adjutant. He'd vested in them the authority of the state, represented by the ring that hung from a chain around Andrea's slender neck. The Seal of the House of Ruby was as much a prize as Andrea was, in the right hands. A bastard scion from the King's era of sowing wild oats could make a play for legitimacy just as readily as a rival could melt the ring down and break their claim to power for all time.

A lot was riding on the pair of them. But if they kept being stopped by people looking to cash in on the bounty placed upon their heads by their foes, they would never reach their destination.

"Alright," the Knight began, "I concede that we must take the main roads, even if the danger is great. But perhaps there is another way for us to proceed. Or rather, there is another way for us to appear to proceed."

***

The Witch's hovel was only a few hours walk away, but as the stroll had turned into a hike as the road melted and the forest closed in, the pair realized they had burned through a majority of their energy before the sun had even fallen. The few townsfolk they'd run into, most on foot, had all given them contradictory directions to the Hag's home but only under the strict assurance that the Princess and her guardian would stay far away from it, as her heart was black as coal and twice as likely to explode into flame.

The only sensible conversation had been with the town's weary, bearded chirugeon, who took a break on the side of the road to feed his less than spritely nag and wait for moonlight to guide him to a nighttime emergency appointment. In the meantime, he told Embra and Andrea what he knew.

"She's no Hag from a fairy story, aye, but she's not entirely harmless either. A few Sentinels came to remove her and her hovel from the area several years ago. Nobody saw them ever again, though many report seeing a trio of unusually large deer rutting along this road far out of mating season. They say they have strange antlers that gleam like steel armour when the light is right." He gave a heart chortle at that particular flourish, making his position on the matter clear.

Andrea clutched her ring against her chest like it was a talisman. And it was, of a sort. It would protect against all kinds of evil spellwork both subtle and obvious, though only if worn. And try as she might...she couldn't quite get around to putting it on.

"So she's powerful?" Embra asked, "The reports I read...excuse me, the reports I heard from my peers in the Watch, they all said she was powerful. A Mistress of many talents."

"I reckon she's as powerful as any Hedge Witch. I'd advise against crossing her, of course. And not just because she'll turn you into a horny animal. We may be rivals for the medical expenses of the village, but I respect her as a colleague. We use different tools, but we both have the same job: keeping this village healthy. I'd like for her to continue." He capped his comment with a gesture at Embra's blade, currently sheathed on her back.

"We don't want her dead, we need her help!" Andrea said. Embra shot her a glare, which this time the Princess shrank from. "I mean, we'd just like to talk with her."

Though he didn't look entirely convinced, the chirugeon gave them a slight nod.

"Very well. A final warning, I suppose. Though she is an adept healer, and a powerful caster in her own right, her help always comes at a cost. Sometimes her charges are reasonable, even token. Other times..." Words failed him, and he instead gave them a set of updated directions and headed off. His horse whinnied defiance, reluctant to keep going in the dim light. But ultimately, the beast trusted the medicine man, and they headed down the road toward their next patient with a minimum of further fuss.

Andrea and Embra set out as well, picking their way through the forest. Along their way, in the faint glint of the stars, the Princess thought she might have seen light reflecting off of something in the distance. When she turned to peer into the trees, it was gone. She chewed over what the glint had been reflecting off in that fraction of a second.

To her, it had looked like antlers.

***

Whatever Andrea was expecting from a Witch of the Wilds, it wasn't this.

The hovel fit the bill alright. A run down, tired old building that looked to be hanging on a slight lean. Around it, several smaller structures like chicken coops, sheds, and the like formed a loose ring. Sprouts of all kinds of herbs, from kingsfoil to drakesbane, all seemed to be in bloom at once. Impossible, of course. But nevertheless, there they sat in neat clumps, waiting to be plucked.

The Witch herself was the primary source of incongruity. Rather than a hunched crone, she looked like she was barely out of middle age. Her features were soft and pleasant, eyes twinkling with a mischievous gleam. She wore a simple blouse and skirt, the latter bunched and rumpled as if repeatedly hiked up. A gardening trowel and several loose potted herbs told the tale of what she'd been doing before the Princess and her guardian had arrived. Gardening, as opposed to eating children. If this was all a part of some magical glamour, it was a pleasant enough one.

The matronly woman made wild and enthusiastic beckoning gestures with her whole arms. "Come in, come in! I've been waiting for you, ever since I scryed that you'd entered my forest." She didn't wait for them, entering the slanting shanty herself while leaving the door wide open. Embra and Andrea shared a look that expressed seven flavours of confusion and indecision, before settling on just getting this over with and following the Witch inside. Both had to duck under the door frame.

As they stepped through the threshold, the hovel changed. No longer a rickety old hut, it had become a luxuriously appointed cottage! It reminded Andrea, albeit faintly, of her Uncle's hunting lodge. A place she'd been dragged to several times for family affairs, though she supposed, was probably burned to the ground by looters by now. Both buildings were built around a central hearth and surrounded by walls lined with all manner of nonsense. This one was spilling over with herbalist bric-a-brac, rather than the many trophies of unsportsmanlike hunts. The Witch was also adept at alchemy, judging by tables covered in glassware and racks of stoppered flasks stacked row on row near the back. Beakers, glass columns, and other distillation equipment sat either in use or in a state of readiness, a dozen different ingredients in tiny phials just a hand's reach away from getting ground up into some kind of distillate or essence.

"We need your help," Embra said, a little more forcefully than she'd likely intended. It didn't go well for those who didn't show a little backbone when talking to a witch. Too much disrespect, however, and you might find yourself in worse trouble than you'd ever been in your life.

"And what can Auntie Sybil do for you, hmm?" the Witch prodded, hefting a huge kettle over to the fire in the centre of the room. As she set it on its rack, several frogs leapt out of the top. She cursed, clamped the top with a stopper, then leaned down to whisper words into the coals. A green flame leapt up out of the hearth, nearly singeing the ends of her hair.

Andrea didn't notice. She'd laughed at the sight of the frogs, and bent over to examine one of their number. "Aww," she said, cooing as she spotted a little ring of brass around the amphibian's head, "It has a little crown!"

Embra ignored the magical distractions. "My charge is both blessed and cursed with an immediately distinctive appearance. This will likely be a boon should she need to take a partner, but for now, we need a distinctly more average visage for her to embody...temporarily." She hastily added the last bit. You couldn't mess around with wording when it came to Sorcerers, and especially not with Witches.

Sybil tapped her chin, making a show of thinking over the problem. "So you have a valuable person and you need to make her look less conspicuous...hmm. I will say that you, my dear, are also rather stand-out in the appearance department. Not many dragonfolk around period, let alone walking the dusty roads."

"I can defend myself. And I have the appearance of a formidable foe. But as much as I respect her, Her Hi- my charge, does not convey that same kind of deterrence." The dragon woman winced, doubly so when the look of recognition appeared on the Witch's face. It had been a foolish slip-up, one Embra thought she was above and beyond. Had the stories she'd heard gotten to her, jostled her out of her steely determination? Or had this been some kind of spell effect, a truth-loosener, to make lies more difficult to manage?

The Witch grinned with unnerving ferocity. "Oh ho? A spell to make a Princess seem plain? Yes, I think I have something for that."

She leapt over to the array of finished potions, examining all the purple ones in a particular row until she found the (apparent) right bottle. For a moment, Embra thought she saw the Witch remove the label. But as she stepped forward to object to this subterfuge, the label reappeared. It had likely been under her thumb. The Knight shook off the confusion. There was something strange about this hut...something arcane. They should leave this place as soon as possible, she thought to herself, unconsciously splaying out each clawed finger in a rolling sequence as her propensity for violence, the great truth-finder, played at the back of her mind.

"I've held onto this potion for a decade," the Witch began, holding out the bulb of amaranthine liquid. "The original commissioner, a rather vain adventurer, wanted a healing potion but wanted to be very sure that she would return to her current state, not her natural one. She'd had some work done, apparently. At any rate, I crafted a regeneration potion tailored to fit her physiology. She stiffed me on the bill, of course she did, so I've been holding onto it, looking for a good use for it. This is as good as any, I believe."

"How does that help me?" the Princess asked, taking the potion from the Witch's offering hand and examining it. When she shook it, a brief glow appeared amidst the floating particles within.

The Witch made a face, then looked as if she was picking her next words as carefully as possible. "In addition to its aforementioned healing properties and quite an expensive pain response mitigation hex, this potion will turn you, physically, into that woman. At least, until its effects wear off."

"And how long will that take?" Embra asked, suddenly feeling like a shoe was about to drop.

"Oh, it depends...a few weeks. A month at most. In the meantime, you'll be doubly protected by anonymity as well as the potion's potent healing effects. Wounds will close in moments! Definitely a boon if one were to want to, say, engage in an intimate act with a species known for its rather...boisterous coupling." She leered at Embra, who took a bit too long to catch her drift.

Andrea's face had turned beet red, though it was unclear if that was because of outrage or embarrassment. "I wanted a glamour spell. This sounds more like...transmogrification!"

"It's drastic, I'll admit. And of course, it won't be cheap," the Witch explained, reaching out and plucking the potion from Andrea's grip. She whispered more words into the vial, causing it to glow with persistent light as she swirled it. "But if you want a potion that'll keep you concealed from prying eyes, this is the best option. No dispelling effect or sigiling will remove it. To the outside world, for all intents and purposes, you will be this woman. However, your mind will be retained...for the most part. There may be some mood-altering effects as your body's natural hormone balance is altered. Something you're not entirely unfamiliar with, I imagine?"