In due course, tired and dusty but still bravely beautiful, the Princess reached the escarpment. The Dragon Prince had not yet arrived, for she had allowed sufficient travel time and was a few minutes ahead of schedule. So she paused to repowder her face and wipe the dust from her slippers, so as to be as presentable as was feasible. She wanted her beloved's last sight of her to be a pleasant one.

Something caught her eye in the mirror as she touched up her nose. There was something off to the side, behind the escarpment—something that had made a glint in the morning sunlight. She peered more closely at the reflection in the mirror, for it would be unbecoming to turn her head and stare directly. She saw that it was the shiny helmet of a mercenary soldier.

Curious, for there seemed to be no purpose in a mercenary deployment at this site, she used her mirror to check farther. Soon she was assured: there was an entire troop of mercenaries armed with swords and shields. This deepened the mystery: what could they want here?

Then the dragon appeared in the distant sky, winging his way toward the escarpment. Suddenly it occurred to the Princess that this could be an ambush sent by her father to slay the dragon. It was, she now recalled, the way his cunning mind worked. It was quite possible that the Queen had importuned him to Do Something, and though of course the Princess had no idea what sort of encouragement a woman could offer a man to do her will, she had on occasion seen her father change his mind after a night with the Queen. She had hoped some day to ascertain how such persuasion was accomplished, but that hope seemed academic now. At any rate, it did seem that the Dragon Prince was likely to be in trouble if he landed here.

She ran to the very brink of the escarpment, frantically waving her arms. "O Prince Dragon!" she screamed, though it was not considered truly princessly to scream. "Do not land! There is an ambush!"

The Dragon Prince heard her and shied off. He made a loop above the landing field, evidently in doubt how to proceed. He would not be able to complete his rite of passage if he did not land, yet it seemed distinctly awkward to do so.

"Curses!" the leader of the mercenaries cursed. "The tart (if you will excuse the term) has given us away! There'll be Lucifer to pay if the dragon gets away."

"Well, at least we can have our sport with the woman," a mercenary remarked with a certain enthusiasm.

The mercenaries marched toward the Princess. Alarmed, she retreated, but they cut her off. They looked hungry, though they surely had eaten well before the ambush.

The nearest one reached for her. The Princess screamed and fell helplessly to the ground.