One evening, as Cinnia adjusted to finding herself at her dinner table and not at the scholar’s table, she apologized to her husband. “I am so intrigued by this mystery, I must solve it,” she told him. They were alone, Kaliq and Cirillo having returned to Hetar until they would be needed again.

“We will solve it, my queen,” Dillon promised her.

“What do you do while I am with Prentice all day?” she asked him, curious.

“I have the affairs of our world to administer, for unlike Hetar and Terah you have no counsel to advise your king. Perhaps in the future we will change that,” he said. “And I must build my stores of medicines, tinctures, potions and spells. When my father transported my possessions from Shunnar much of what I had was left behind in my little apothecary, for he forgot that room was mine,” Dillon told her. “Britto found me a fine apartment in one of the castle towers. It has two rooms-one with a small hearth and a window, and the other an interior space where I can dry the plants Ferrex and I have been gathering these fine summer days while you have been reading in Prentice’s dusty rooms.” He smiled at her. “I have been able to duplicate some rather lovely lotions that are used to inspire lovers. They must age until winter, however.”

“You have occupied your time well,” Cinnia said with a smile.

“I have read and read and read about the reign of Napier IX, but so far it is just different versions of the same tale. And there is no mention at all of the Yafir. I am fast becoming discouraged. Have you seen Nidhug at all?”

“It seems she enjoyed my uncle’s company more than she realized she had, and now she misses it,” Dillon responded. “It is usual for the women who become his lover to fall in love with him, but I think our dragon has, too.”

“Poor Nidhug,” Cinnia said softly.

“Don’t feel sorry for her,” Dillon told his young wife. “I think she is enjoying the pain of their separation. And he’ll be back. He admitted to me before he returned home that he grew quite fond of Nidhug. I do not think I have ever heard Cirillo admit to loving any creature, even his mother. He is quite typical of his race. Highly sexed and selfish. But charming. Now eat your supper, my queen. You look tired.”

“I am,” Cinnia admitted. “And I am discouraged, but I know I am right. If we can learn what caused the breach between Belmair and the Yafir I am certain we can heal it. But then I wonder if the Yafir are the ones responsible for the disappearance of our women, and I wonder why they are taking them,” she said.

Almost ten days later Cinnia found part of her answer, a first reference to the dispute between the Yafir and the Belmairans. It was referred to in the history she was reading as the Great Controversy. But there was no explanation of the quarrel other than by name, and that the wicked ones had been requested to leave Belmair. Knowing now what she was seeking, she found several more references to the Great Controversy, but before she could declare some small piece of the puzzle solved she needed to be able to ascertain that the Yafir were the wicked ones. Finally in a yellowed scroll she discovered what was probably one of the first references written about this imbroglio.

By royal decree of His Majesty, King Napier the IX, on this first day of summer, the wicked ones, formally known as the Yafir people, have been banished from Belmair, said banishment to be carried out by summer’s end.

“Prentice!” Cinnia called to the scholar, and when he came to stand by her side she showed him the words in the old scroll.

“My lady,” he said to her, “you deserve the rank of scholar, as well as queen. When we have solved all of this conundrum I shall recommend you to Byrd myself.”

“No woman has even attained the rank of scholar in Belmair,” Cinnia reminded him. “Such an idea would truly shock the members of the Academy.”

“Then it is time they changed their thinking!” Prentice said.

“Be careful,” she teased him. “If they hear such heresy they will send you to Hetar for certain.” The scholar chuckled.

“Perhaps I would enjoy traveling,” he teased back.

“King of Belmair, heed my call. Come to me from out yon wall,” Cinnia spoke the simple spell her husband had taught her.

The young king stepped into the chamber. “What is it, my queen?” he asked her.

“I shall never get used to this,” Prentice murmured.

“Look!” And Cinnia showed him the reference she had found.

He read it carefully. “This is wonderful, my darling!” he exclaimed. “We can now be certain that the Yafir and the wicked ones are one in the same. I suspect they were not called wicked when they first arrived on Belmair. Is there any reference to what caused them to be exiled?”

“None so far, and I suspect there will be none. Whatever caused Belmair to order the Yafir from our world would not have been important enough to the Belmairans to describe because we are a sensible folk. If we had been banished from some land we would have accepted the directive and gone. It wouldn’t matter to us why. The fact that we were not wanted would have been more than enough for us. That is the reason there is no mention of what caused the Yafir to be banished. The decision was made by the king to do it, and that was all there was to it. It would never have occurred to our people that the Yafir would not obey the king’s command. And can we be certain they did not? Could this disappearance of our women be due to some other magical beings?” Cinnia asked. “Why would the Yafir remain in Belmair if they were unwelcome? Certainly no one has seen them since that time. And if they are still here, where are they?”

“All excellent questions, my queen,” Dillon told her. “Thanks to you we have found the first thread. Now we must follow it until we are able to unravel the entire mystery that has taken hold in Belmair. I believe it is now time to ask my uncle and my father to return from Hetar.” He took Cinnia by the hand, and bidding the scholar farewell, returned them to the castle.

Cinnia was laughing as they reappeared. “Our magical means of transport unnerves poor Prentice,” she said, “but it is so convenient. I want Nidhug to know what I have found. You contact the Shadow Prince and your uncle. I will call the dragon.”

“A fair division of labor,” Dillon agreed.

Nidhug was delighted by what Cinnia had found, and praised her. “You are such a clever girl,” she said. And then, “Cirillo is returning?”

Cinnia shook her head. “You are a shameless dragon,” she scolded. “Here I have been doing all this work, and all you can think about is that handsome faerie.”

“So you admit that he is handsome,” Nidhug said. “But, my little queen, while you have spent your days lazily reading I have watched over Belmair, making certain that the summer days were perfect and sunny, that the rains came only at night, that the fields were free of pests who would destroy the crops, that the crops were bountiful so each of the dutchies will have a good harvest, and finally I have seen that the seas were rich with fish, and the beasts of the field flourished. I do not spend my time in idleness even when I nap for a few years or more. Everything is always as it should be in Belmair thanks to me, for it is my duty to protect this little world of ours.”

“It is your nights I was thinking of,” Cinnia teased the dragon.

“Does he make love to you as a dragon? How can that be?”

“He transforms himself into a male dragon sometimes,” Nidhug said. “And other times he transforms me into a mortal woman.”

“Oh, my!” Cinnia said.

Nidhug chuckled. “Ah, I see the questions in your eyes, little queen. I will say only that while dragon pleasures and mortal pleasures are delicious, mortal bodies seem to be able to gain more delights. I think your fragile and sensitive skins may have something to do with it, as well as your breasts. Cirillo has given my mortal form fine, big breasts. The Shadow Prince said they were as big as melons and just as sweet.”

Cinnia gasped, and then she begged, “No more, dear Nidhug!”

“You don’t have very big breasts, do you?” the dragon suddenly noted, peering closely at the young woman.

“I will send for you when our guests arrive,” Cinnia said, and then she fled the dragon’s castle, not by means of magic, but by her own feet. She needed to walk through the summer gardens that separated the two castles so that her flushed cheeks would cool and pale. She tried to imagine Nidhug with a mortal body, but she could not. All she could see was a dragon with huge melonlike breasts. It was not an attractive picture, but the more she considered it the funnier it became. By the time she was halfway across her own part of the gardens she was laughing so hard she had to sit down.

It was there Dillon found her wiping away the tears of her hilarity. “Are you all right?” he wanted to know, for he was not certain she wasn’t weeping at first.

“I am fine,” Cinnia told him. And then she related her visit with Nidhug.

“I can only hope our lustful magical natures will not corrupt you,” Dillon said to her with a chuckle. “I realize that your Belmairan nature is more conservative than those found in the world of Hetar. My uncle seems to have found a perfect match in Nidhug. As for my father, he has always appreciated beautiful creatures although I have never before known him to sample the charms of a dragon.”

“Does he not love your mother?” Cinnia asked.

“Aye, although he conceals his love behind the masque of friendship,” Dillon explained. “My mother was born of Ilona, queen of the Forest Faeries, and the Hetarian, John Swiftsword, because such a child of those two people was needed to fulfill a specific destiny. Kaliq has been part of her life from the beginning although she never met him until she left Hetar and fled the Forest Lords. He has struggled with his own love for her to keep her on the path she must travel. He has seen her go to other men, and known it was part of her fate. But even he has admitted to me that he does not know her end. It is, he says, behind a veil that even he cannot pierce.”

“When will I meet her?” Cinnia asked him. “We have been wed now several months. I would have thought she would have come before now.”

“I think she wanted you to get used to having me for a husband before she made her appearance. Although she has worked hard not to play favorites, my siblings tell me, and I know it for truth, that I have always been her favorite,” Dillon said. “We seemed to have this link right from the moment of my birth. I think it was Kaliq’s way of keeping her close while not intruding upon her life as she must live it. When I first went to live at Shunnar it was months before she visited me. She told me when she finally came that she wanted me to get used to living there, to living away from her, to come to love the wonders of the desert kingdom as she once had. And of course she was right, and I did.”

“There is so much about you that I do not know,” Cinnia said. “I wonder if I ever will, Dillon.” She reached out to take his hand, and turning her face to him, she kissed him sweetly. “But I have come to love you.”

He drew her into his embrace, his mouth kissing her slowly, his hunger for her blazing up and catching her in a scorching hold. His hand reached up to fondle her breasts, and he whispered against her lips, “So perfect, Cinnia. Your breasts are so perfect!” He could feel himself growing hard quickly. His manhood beneath his robe began to throb. Dillon stood, drawing Cinnia up with him. His hands about her buttocks, he drew her against him so she might know that his desire was hot. Then he whispered against her ripe mouth, “Remember, Cinnia, anytime, anywhere.”

She almost swooned with the heated words, and then she followed his directions, straddling the marble bench upon which they had been sitting; leaning low and forward as she braced herself with her hands, her buttocks elevated. Her heart beat wildly with her excitement as she felt him behind her. Slowly, oh so slowly, he raised her skirts up, up, up until they rested in the curve of the small of her back. The palms of his hands smoothed over the plump cheeks of her bottom. He squeezed the soft flesh. She felt his fingers slipping beneath her, finding her pleasure jewel and teasing at it. She could feel her own wetness, and whimpered with her need.

And then the fingers were withdrawn. She felt his belly starting to press against her as his manhood began to enter her in a single smooth motion that had her gasping. Once sheathed he remained still, and she felt every inch of him, thick and throbbing within her fevered body. About them the birds sang, and the air was heavy with the fragrance of summer flowers. When she could bear it no longer she cried out softly, “Please, Dillon! Please! I can bear no more!”