Ionanthe's Date (Part 1)

After the tour ended, Ionanthe took the opportunity to get ready and prepare herself. Emilie, meanwhile, sat down on the bed. When she asked Emilie if she could use the shared bathroom to get ready for their date, the princess only nodded. Ionanthe washed herself thoroughly in the shower, and stepped out of the bathroom clad only in a towel.

When she emerged, she saw that Emilie barely reacted to her presence, instead staring off into space, even when Ionanthe warned her that she was going to change. She left her roommate alone, and opened the wardrobe designated as hers to find several dresses, along with the expected barely-there swimsuit and underthings that were more hopes and dreams than fabric.

For her date, she selected a slinky, low-cut black silk dress that hugged her curves and showed off her cleavage, that went down to her ankles and had a high slit that gave her freedom of movement while revealing her legs. Underneath, she wore only a high black thong. The talons on her feet precluded shoes, and she didn’t mind. She considered wearing jewelry, but decided that it did not compare to the magnificence of her scales--which were shown off in the dress. She brushed out her short sky-blue hair. She looked in the mirror, evaluating herself from all angles, growing more confident in her appearance the more she studied it.

Finally, she turned to Emilie to ask her opinion, and then saw that she was in the same position as before. It was clear that she had not moved for the past hour and a half.

Ionanthe could have ignored her and focused on herself, but she did not. “What’s wrong?”

Emilie turned her head toward Ionanthe, then looked down at the floor, and muttered something that was unintelligible to most. To the dragoness’s sharp ears, Emilie’s voice was clear. “...I’m scared. I don’t want to be part of this! I don’t want to lose my mind! I’ve been trying to keep it together, but I can’t anymore! I can’t!”

Emilie burst out crying, with deep, heavy, un-princesslike sobs. She hunched over, hugging herself, her tears trickling down her cheeks and dripping onto her dress.

Seeing this, Ionanthe was torn. She wanted to comfort the princess, hug her, and tell her it would all be okay. But she paused. If Emilie had not been summoned, she would have soon been crowned Queen of Ocowyth, and been charged with rebuilding after the end of the demon war. She could not break down and cry then--or now, for that matter. She needed to be a queen.

“Emilie. Enough,” she said firmly, a draconic growl seeping into her voice.

Emilie stopped crying for a moment, and jerked herself back upright at Ionanthe’s words. She stared at the dragoness in shock that gave way to more tears.

“B-but we’re--”

“Trapped? Transformed? Yes and yes. But if we cry over it, we’ll just end up even worse off. We all need to work together if we want to survive this, and we all need to keep our wits about us.”

“But you’re so brave! And I’m--”

“You’re not a princess anymore, Emilie. You’re the queen of Ocowyth, even though you have not yet been crowned. If we were back in Askania, your people would be counting on you to guide them.”

Emilie shook her head. “But I’m too--”

SMACK!

Emilie was interrupted when she felt the sharp spank on her rear, even through her dress and seated posture. It was hard enough that she and Ionanthe could hear it. She let out a shocked scream, and her tears gave way to shock. “I--what was that for?”

“It was your transformation, Emilie. I think it activated because you were afraid.”

“But I was honest!”

You’re better than this. Your claim that you aren’t was a lie, thought Ionanthe, but she did not say that out loud. “You also were not acting like a queen.”

Ionanthe took a deep breath, needing to get her words together so that Emilie would not misinterpret them. “I’m not saying that you need to lie about your feelings or suppress them. But there is a time for tears, and a time for calm. Right now, you need to be calm, so that we can all work together and save ourselves. Can you do that?”

Emilie hiccuped. “I…I think I can. But Caelan…”

“We need to be calm, so that we can save him too. That's why I’m glad I got the first date.”

“You’re…you’re so prepared for this, Ionanthe. You should be--”

“No, no,” said Ionanthe sharply. “The only difference between us is age and experience. You’ll grow into a wise queen, Emilie.”

Then, they were interrupted by a sound of crashing metal, which they realized was the dressing gong.

“It’s time for me to go, Emilie,” said Ionanthe briskly. “Remember what I told you.”

The princess only nodded in response. But the primal fear in her eyes was gone, replaced by a subtle resolve that Ionanthe saw, piercing through her tears like beams of sunlight after a storm.

Ionanthe stepped out of their shared room, and saw Sassafras outside, only holding a small scroll of paper tied shut with an electric blue ribbon, her face carefully neutral. “You’re right on time, Ionanthe. The Master is waiting for you in his chamber, and I will escort you there.”

“What about the picnic basket?” asked Ionanthe, surprised. “You said you would bring it to me before my--our date.”

“I had thought to put it outside, where the picnic itself has already been set up. Worry not, it is under guard. I trust that you will not find the change of plans objectionable.”

“Don’t worry. It’s all right.”

Ionanthe gave the maid a smile that she hoped was relaxed and friendly. She followed Sassafras down the hall. But she had one last question before the date began. “Is flying allowed?”

All of their lives were on the line. She would not break some unspoken rule.

“It is ultimately up to the master. But flight in the vicinity of the manor and the meadow is permitted. If you fly above the forest, be prepared for trouble. Yet, I have faith that you and the master could handle yourselves should it come to that,” replied the maid crisply, but warmly.

At that moment, Ionanthe and Sassafras passed through the barrier separating the master’s quarters from the rest of the manor. Ionanthe noticed how forthcoming Sassafras was, and thought about asking the maid more questions. But she thought better of it--she needed to concentrate fully on her coming date. If she made a mistake here, they--even and especially Caelan--would all be damned.

---

Caelan waited nervously in his bedroom, as he had been told by Ginelia. For the evening, he had worn a forest green tunic over a white silk shirt, all over black trousers. His clothes were completely new, provided by Ginelia and Sassafras in the wardrobe they’d given him. While his boots were clearly weathered by comparison, he did not trust any other footwear on such an important mission. And that was what it was to him, a mission. He hoped that Ionanthe would not be disappointed seeing him, and that he would not manage to ruin the date through his actions.

A crashing sound--the dressing gong, he realized-- startled him out of his thoughts. He quickly walked to the door, ready to open it as soon as he heard the knock that indicated Sassafras’s arrival. He did not have to wait long.

When he opened the door, he saw Sassafras and Ionanthe. Sassafras looked the same as ever, but Ionanthe was breathtaking, and Caelan fought to keep a straight face as he looked upon her. If it were not for their circumstances, he would want her to dress like this all the time. Ionanthe seemed to see how his eyes lit up when he saw her, and gave him a warm smile. As he invited them in, both women stepped inside.

“You look…good, Ionanthe,” said Caelan. He hoped he did not appear foolish in front of the beautiful dragoness.

“So do you, Caelan,” she replied.

After the exchange of compliments, Sassafras handed Caelan a rolled-up scroll of paper. “This scroll functions like the map you were provided, Caelan. All you need to do is point to the destination listed, and both you and Ionanthe will be teleported there. Now, I shall leave you both be.”

With a final curtsy that was more for Caelan than Ionanthe, Sassafras departed. Once the door shut behind her, Caelan looked at Ionanthe nervously. “So, what now? Do we…?”

“I think we should go on the picnic, as Sassafras suggested. I asked Sassafras to set it up. It would be nice and relaxing for both of us to sit under the stars, eat a good meal, and talk.”

Caelan admitted that it did sound nice, despite the circumstances. “Then,” he took a deep breath, “let’s go now.”

He unfurled the scroll, which, as Sassafras stated earlier, had only the name of their destination on it: Manor Garden--Picnic Table. He traced the words with his finger. Then, he heard a soft whooshing noise, and he and Ionanthe vanished from his bedroom and teleported into the garden.