The halls where larger than any cathedral Arlo had ever dared imagine, yet somehow it still managed to feel smaller than the vault he'd just been dragged from.
Gold and silver tiles stretched along the floor, catching the dim glow from chandeliers carved from dragon bones and frozen flame.
Frost clung to the edges of the walls as if winter itself refused to leave the dragon queen's domain.
The ceiling arched impossibly high, encrusted with scales embedded into the stone, each reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors from the treasure scattered below.
It was intimidating, regal, terrifying—and Arlo was supposed to just walk through it like a normal human being.
He shuffled along behind her, tailing the queen like some sort of demented pet, knees knocking together in both fear and disbelief.
Every step was a new sensory assault.
The air smelled of cold stone, faint ozone, and something tangibly regal—like power itself had a scent, sharp and unyielding.
Servants bowed low as they passed, some in partial human form, others still half-dragon, scales glinting, eyes observing him with predatory curiosity.
And Arlo, dear lord, Arlo could barely breathe.
'Okay. Deep breaths. You can survive this. Just don't make any sudden moves. And whatever you do, DO NOT touch any tails accidentally.'
The Queen walked like she owned not only the hall but every heartbeat in it.
Each step was deliberate, the soft swish of her robes cutting through the silence, yet it was the casual flick of her icy gaze toward Arlo that made him collapse inwardly.
He tried to shrink into himself, but the absurdity of the hall's scale and her human-but-still-fatal form meant he could only look like a confused mouse being paraded in front of a lioness.
"Move faster, human," she said, her voice a whisper in his mind but sharp enough to make him stumble.
'Faster? Faster?! I can't even walk normally in this hall without slipping on gold, you ice demon!'
Arlo scrambled forward, tripping a little as the knight beside the queen raised an eyebrow.
She didn't say anything, didn't even smirk, but Arlo could feel her judging.
As they approached what he assumed to be the throne area, Arlo's pulse tripled.
Massive stone pillars carved with dragon runes flanked the hall, each depicting dragons in mid-flight or battle.
In front of the throne, dragon who looked like nobles in human forms were seated—or hovering slightly, some even curling tails around chairs like serpentine rulers. Their eyes were icy, sharp, and unwelcoming.
Arlo's presence elicited a ripple of murmurs:
"Is that a human?"
"Here? How did it travel that far"
"And why is it in court?"
'Oh no. This is bad. This is very, very bad. I am toast. I am tempura. I am the appetizer.'
The Queen stopped before the throne dais, her human form pale and regal, eyes like twin glaciers scanning the room.
Arlo froze mid-step unsure of what to do.
"Present him properly," she murmured to the knight.
Arlo's eyes went wide. 'Present me properly? I am a human! I am a fragile, over-caffeinated sack of meat! I am not… '
A noble cleared his throat, voice dripping with disdain. "Your Majesty… why summon a human into your court? Surely there are more… suitable candidates for your amusement?"
The Queen's attention did not waver.
She tilted her head slightly, a dangerous glint in her eyes, and Arlo felt like every nerve in his body froze.
He wanted to shout, Not me! I'm not suitable! I'm a disaster wrapped in bad decisions! But the words lodged in his throat.
Instead, she pointed ever so slightly at him. "He will serve as my… entertainment."
The chamber froze.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
Some nobles' jaws slackened; others fumed quietly, hands tightening on armrests, tails flicking in agitation, some didn't seem to mind or didn't care.
Arlo, for his part, could only think, 'Entertainment? Oh. I see. I am now court furniture.'
She circled him, every motion predatory, every glance a silent evaluation. "Fetch my goblet," she said, voice both casual and cutting.
Arlo blinked. "Uh… you mean like… bring it from the—"
"Now."
He scrambled forward, nearly tripping over another pile of coins, and returned with the goblet shaking in his hands like a newborn fawn. She took it, examined it, then waved a dismissive hand. "Good. But lower. You are too tall when you hold it like that. Kneel."
Arlo's knees buckled.
The nobles stifled snickers; the Queen's smile curved ever so slightly. Satisfaction.
"Lower."
Arlo's inner monologue was screaming, 'I did not sign up for this. This is slavery. This is cruel and unusual punishment.'
The Queen leaned closer, her icy hair brushing his temple. "Do not soil my hall with your incompetence, human. You amuse me only when you attempt properly."
Arlo swallowed.
His throat dry.
He attempted another bow. Failed spectacularly. Dropped the goblet. Wine spilled. Gold glittered.
His dignity evaporated.
"Faster." She waved a hand, and the goblet floated into her hand as if she had seized it with magic.
Arlo collapsed onto the floor, he felt like he had aged an additional 100 years.
Another noble finally dared to speak. "Your Majesty, why allow this human to humiliate himself before the council? It is unbecoming…"
Her smile sharpened, predatory.
The chamber went quiet. She pressed a finger lightly to Arlo's chin, forcing him to look at her.
His vision swam.
"Because he amuses me," she said clearly. Her words echoed in his head like ice cracking. "And that should be reason enough."
Arlo's knees buckled anew.
The knight beside her gave a subtle nod, clearly indicating this was acceptable behavior. Arlo took a trembling breath, trying to regain composure. Maybe if I pretend to faint next, she'll leave me alone…
"No." The Queen's voice cut him off before he could even consider it seriously. "Do not entertain such thoughts. Stand. Fetch. Kneel. Repeat."
And repeat he did, each action more humiliating than the last. Every movement was a spectacle to the nobles, every flinch noted, every misstep a source of quiet, horrifying amusement to the woman who had already decided he would be her pet.
Arlo's inner monologue became a frantic, almost incoherent stream of curses, prayers, and pleading, 'Dear gods, universe, whoever dropped me here… may your bloodline be cursed. May your ancestors' ancestors rue this day. I swear, if I survive this, I will—'
A heavy, calm, commanding voice filled the hall, causing even Arlo to freeze mid-kneel: "Human. Stop wriggling. You are mine. Do you understand?"
"Yes! Y-yes, your majesty!" Arlo squeaked, sweat trickling down his back.
He had never been this terrified and embarrassed in my life. And he had been on stage for a school play.
'THIS IS WORSE.'