Alternatively

To Be Human (v.)

The dragon's head hung in the dining room, mounted on the wall behind the king's seat.

She eyed it warily, the blood stained teeth and glassy eyes, and just barely heard the king explain that he "can tell when a beast will not bow, and that just won't do." It was said so nonchalantly, yet she felt the layers in his tone.

To her relief, however, the king would find himself busy with such bothersome tasks of addressing the famine in his lands and bringing the wrath of himself upon the bands of thieves popping up in villages. He had no advisors, no delegates, so matters of state were discussed with the captain of the guard and the mage.

Percy often attended these meetings, something that sat uneasily in her stomach. She tried not to worry (it didn't work) and took to walking with Grover. She didn't want to push it, not sure what Grover was allowed to show her, but wandering wasn't exactly a waste of time; it was important to know the in's and out's of an enemy's home base, find the weak spots and the hiding spots.

Though, her favorite spot soon was discovered in the courtyard. It was disorderly and neglected, the walls falling to the water below, but it was the best preserved part of the castle. There were carvings in the columns that depicted dragons and mermaids and elegant curls, and the gargoyles glaring from their perches had to mean someone had an eye for flare and artistry.

It wasn't a lot, but she also realized the king rarely left the dank halls, reluctant to leave his captive creatures. The courtyard was just too far outside, no beast there for him to deem worthy of exploration.

It grew colder in the east, far colder than she realized it could ever be. She was huddled in Percy's coat more often than not, enough to notice when it stopped smelling like him. The king made mention of it's tattered state and she retorted with an observation about his own attire, assuming it would put the subject to rest. Yet still, he insisted on gifting her with a coat lined with the finest werewolf pelt, one she wore to remain in the game they were playing. She felt colder with it on, and Grover whispered his apology upon delivery.

She wore Percy's coat every night, though, rubbing her thumbs over the worn patches in the sleeves where he had worried the fabric. It kept the nightmares at bay, nightmares that made her wonder why she ever wished to dream. She expected to be haunted by the beast that forced her into humanity, prepared to be assaulted by the memory of being battered and torn and dragged, the energy threatening to absorb her. She did not expect disjointed images of a time she had a mother, the tears or the yawning hole in her chest, right over her heart.

And it wasn't like the terrors remained in the night, with the king trailing along her peripheral as he waited, waited for something she had yet to determine. His eyes still peered through her and the lush coat did nothing to cover her.

"I know of human men," she had mused quietly. "Know of the savagery and disturbing acts they commit."

Grover just raised his eyebrow, muttering, "Might wanna stop dropping the human word, but..."

"I never thought I'd be subject to their...bullshit," she finished.

He then nodded sagely. "It's not enviable, I'll say that."

To say it was purely lustful was kidding herself, but she remembered many mortal women believing themselves broken, left to die physically or emotionally by wretched, wretched men. She hadn't viewed it separately from other atrocities at the time, but now disgust welled within her with each look.

Percy frowned when she mentioned her annoyances and she immediately wished she hadn't said anything, hating when he worried about anything that wasn't staying under the radar. The thing was, he knew she didn't want him to worry, so they were stuck in the limbo of pointed looks and nearly offering to save each other from their personal horrors.