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Chapter Text

Story and more art in chapter two!

Chapter Text

Long ago and far away, in the lonely space between the mountains and the sea, a princess lived alone in tower. The tower stood beneath a watercolour sky, taller than the trees of the forest and colder than the river. Outside the tower a dark, serpentine beast stood guard, ready to bare her teeth to every passing bird and will-o'-the-wisp. Inside, the fair princess lived alone, in a room full of books, with a head full of dreams.

Princess Aziraphale was beautiful, accomplished, and kind. She was also opinionated, fussy, and temperamental, which might go some way to explaining why her family had locked her up in the tower in the first place.

‘Of course they didn’t just want to get rid of me!’ insisted Aziraphale. ‘If you must know, it was my idea.’

This more or less true; her stepfather, the Prince Consort Metatron had dropped some heavy hints, but Aziraphale had been very keen on getting some peace and quiet to enjoy her books. And an excuse to get out of all those tedious royal functions. What she hadn’t counted on was quite how alone she’d be in the tower. She got bored and, well, lonely. So really it wasn’t such a surprise that she spent too much time chatting with the dragon who guarded her tower. Crowley - the dragon - was more grumpy than ferocious, a nuisance rather than a terror. She was extraordinarily lazy, liking nothing better than wrapping herself around the tower to take a snooze, the whuffling reverberations of her snores shaking the whole building and making Aziraphale’s tea cups rattle.

‘Sssure,’ said Crowley, low and insolent as she regarded Aziraphale through vast, unblinking golden eyes. ‘Getting yourself locked up in a tower until some handsome knight comes to rescue you is a perfectly sensible way to find a husband. You are looking for a husband, right? It’s traditional.’

‘Of course!’ Aziraphale sniffed. ‘I would like a husband. Or a wife. Or spouse of non-binary or changeable gender. I’m not fussy.’

Crowley snorted so hard plumes of smoke shot out of her nose, making Aziraphale cough. ‘Really, there’s no call for that!’

‘Sorry, princess,’ said Crowley. ‘Of course you’d happily wed a commoner and set up home in a shack.’

‘For love, I would,’ insisted Aziraphale, with rather more conviction than she actually felt. Was that so bad? Who wouldn’t rather live in a castle than a shack? Aziraphale enjoyed her creature comforts, but she didn’t value them more than love. ‘Not that I’d expect a wicked serpent like you to understand that.’

She wondered if that was a bit rude, but Crowley just laughed and circled around the tower, claws scratching on the stonework. ‘Then why all this fuss with the tower and making prospective partners fight me? Pretty girl like you could walk into any tavern and let it be known you’re open to offers. You’d have no shortage of takers.’

‘Flaunting myself in a tavern, really,’ said Aziraphale, fighting the urge to ask if Crowley really thought she was pretty. ‘I have standards.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Crowley. ‘Shame they don’t extend to wanting to be more than a trophy for the nearest dragon-slayer.’

‘Oh, you beast!’ Aziraphale jumped up from her window seat, her cheeks flushed. ‘I’ve had quite enough of you for one evening. Goodnight!’

She slammed the window shut, and then drew the curtains with a yank for good measure. Stupid dragon, what did she know? Stupid Aziraphale for listening to her. Somewhere out there was someone who would fight for her, who thought she was worth fighting a dragon for. Someone who’d love her enough to take a risk.

And if there wasn’t? Well, that was fine too. Aziraphale was perfectly capable of looking after herself. She had her books, and her room in the tower was more than comfortable. Aziraphale could be happy, unlike that miserable old dragon.

Sir Sandalphon arrived at dawn, announcing his attack with a blast of trumpet. ‘Look out, fair princess!’ he called. ‘See how I slay the foul beast to win your hand.’

‘Rude,’ muttered Crowley as she slithered her way around the tower. ‘Some of us are trying to sleep.’

‘You can sleep when you’re dead,’ said Sandalphon. ‘So not long for you, aha!’

He seemed very pleased with himself. Crowley didn’t look worried as she climbed down the side of the tower and ambled across the meadow towards Sandalphon. She grew larger with each step until she towered over him, vastly bigger than the little man on his horse.

‘Avert your eyes, princess,’ said Sandalphon. ‘The amount of bloodshed I’m about to unleash is no sight for a lady.’

Aziraphale tutted but didn’t look away. She was no wilting flower, and could stand a bit of violence. She was rather annoyed by the early hour, though. How was she supposed to greet a potential suitor like this? She was still in her nightie. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed her hair was magnificent at least.

As it happened, there was no bloodshed. Sandalphon produced a series of swords of increasingly ridiculous size, only for Crowley to pluck each of them from his hands and toss them away like she was pulling weeds from a lawn.

Finally disarmed, Sandalphon put up his fists. ‘You’re no match for me, horrible slimy monster. I’ll beat you with my bare hands!’

‘Slimy?’ asked Crowley, sounding offended. ‘Dragons are reptiles, you idiot, we’re not slimy.’

If Sandalphon had a come back for that he didn’t get the chance to make it. Crowley leant down, placing her vast snout in front of him and blew. The huge gust of air sent him tumbling backwards, clean off his horse, and into the vast darkness of the dense pine forest. Another couple of puffs and Crowley seemed satisfied that he’d been sent packing.

She lumbered back towards the tower, shrinking back down to her still-really-quite-large usual size, then stretched and yawned as she wrapped her long body around the tower. ‘Peace at last,’ she muttered and fell back to sleep almost at once, her snores shaking the tower.

‘Looks like you’ll remain unwed another day, princess,’ said Crowley, when she popped up for her afternoon chat and wind-up session. ‘I hope you’re not too disappointed.’

Aziraphale smiled brightly. ‘Not a bit of it!’ she said. ‘That Sandalphon was a dreadful oaf. I couldn’t possibly marry a boor like that.’

‘Sounds like I did you a favour.’

‘Naturally,’ said Aziraphale. ‘That is your job, after all. To weed out the riff-raff, as it were.’

‘In that case, you really ought to be more grateful,’ said Crowley. ‘And stop advertising for knights to come around here and brutally murder me.’

She held up a poster, clearly ripped from one the noticeboards about town, seeking brave heroes to rescue Princess Aziraphale from the tower and, yes, slay the dragon. Aziraphale shifted guiltily; she very much wanted to be rescued, but the thought of Crowley being hurt, nevermind killed, made it seem a lot less fun. Crowley was a dragon and therefore terribly wicked, of course, but the prospect of her dying made Aziraphale unaccountably sad. Well, she was a princess – she was supposed to be tender-hearted.

‘I’m sure it won’t be necessary for them to kill you,’ she said. ‘They could just… chase you off.’

‘It says dragon-slayer, princess, not dragon-chaser. That’s something very different, and kind of a niche kink.’

‘Oh, very well,’ said Aziraphale. She crossed her room to the area opposite the window, where two heavy red velvet curtains hung, covering almost the whole height of the wall. She pulled the curtains open to reveal a large mirror in an ornate gilt frame. Aziraphale cleared her throat. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, I would like to place a call.’

The surface of the mirror shimmered with light, then a smiling face appeared in the glass.

‘Celestial Information Exchange, how may I be of assistance?’ said the smiling face in a sing-song voice. It was Muriel, the scrivener and mistress of records. ‘Oh, cooee, Princess Aziraphale! I haven’t seen you in ages. How’s the tower suiting you? I hear poor Sir Sandalphon’s rescue bid was a bit of a wash out. I expect you’re feeling a bit glum about it all.’

‘Not at all,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Which brings me to the reason for my call. I’d like to revise my rescue poster, please. I fear it may be attracting the wrong sort.’

Muriel shuffled through some scrolls and brought up the poster. ‘The poster was requested by your step-father, the Prince Consort Metatron, using a standard template. Fair princess… hand in marriage… slay the dragon. All the usual stuff.’

‘Is slaying the dragon really necessary?’ asked Aziraphale. ‘Surely it would be sufficient to… overcome the dragon. Best her in battle of wits. Get past the dragon.’

‘Lightly maim the dragon?’ suggested Muriel.

‘I was hoping to avoid violence if at all possible,’ said Aziraphale.

‘I am open to bribes,’ said Crowley helpfully, as she poked her head through the window to join the conversation.

Aziraphale sighed, but Muriel clapped her hands in delight. ‘Hello, Crowley,’ they said. ‘Fancy seeing you here! It’s no wonder you don’t want any rough stuff, Princess Aziraphale, Crowley here is an absolute – ’

‘ – monster,’ interrupted Crowley, with a rather vicious snort. At least this time she refrained for billowing smoke. ‘Very ferocious.’

Muriel nodded. They didn’t contradict Crowley, but their smile said something like of course you are, pet.

‘And avaricious,’ continued Crowley. ‘Look at that princess; she’s gorgeous. It’ll take a decent pile of gold to persuade me to part with her, so no trying to palm me off with silver.’

Aziraphale wondered if she shouldn’t be more offended at Crowley putting a price on her head like that, but she was rather distracted by Crowley describing her as gorgeous. And if she was to be bartered for, at least someone thought she’d command a high price. Her mother, the Queen, had never regarded Aziraphale as valuable.

‘OK, so we’re crossing out “slay the dragon” and putting in “overcome, defeat, evade, or bribe the dragon, p.s. No cheapskates.” How does that sound?’

‘A trifle wordy but I’m sure it’ll do,’ said Aziraphale. She was starting to get a headache. Dealings with Crowley often had that effect on her. ‘Thank you, my dear, you’ve been most helpful.’

A few cheery words and a wave later, Muriel departed, leaving Aziraphale alone with Crowley once more. She pulled the curtains over the mirror with a sigh before turning back to the window.

‘I think that went rather well,’ said Crowley.

‘If you say so,’ said Aziraphale. ‘I must say, I’m rather disappointed. Accepting bribes? That’s not very professional.’

‘I’m not a very professional dragon,’ said Crowley. She grinned toothily. ‘Holdiing onto my amateur status so I can dragon at the Olympics.’

Aziraphale laughed in spite of herself. ‘Silly me, I suppose being a dragon isn’t really a job, is it? You’ve always been like this.’

Crowley gave her a rather strange look. ‘What makes you think I’ve always been a dragon? Maybe I was cursed by a witch.’

‘Were you cursed by a witch?’ asked Aziraphale, suddenly fascinated. ‘How did that happen?’

‘Well,’ Crowley began slowly, ‘first of all the witch has to find a mummy dragon and a daddy dragon who love each other very much…’

‘Oh, you,’ snapped Aziraphale. ‘Absolute fiend. Why am I even talking to you?’

‘You like me.’

‘I most certainly do not!’

‘You dooo!’

Utter nonsense. Aziraphale slammed the window shut and pulled the curtains so she wouldn’t have to listen to anymore crowing. Roaring. Any of that dragon’s nonsense.

The following days were quiet, as Aziraphale concentrated on her reading and ignored Crowley’s attempts at distracting her. She did sort of miss the dragon’s conversation, and once or twice was tempted to lean out the window and read aloud a particularly amusing, interesting, or foolish passage from her book to hear Crowley’s opinion on it, but she always thought better of it. No, far more sensible for Aziraphale to keep her distance, so to speak. Crowley might be amusing at times, but she was still a dragon. They weren’t – couldn’t be friends.

‘Princess!’ Crowley’s voice rang out, interfering with Aziraphale’s plans to ignore her. ‘Oi, princess. Princess, look!’

Aziraphale sighed and turned a page in her book, doing her best to ignore the fuss.

‘Aw, c’mon, princess, come out,’ said Crowley. She was climbing around the tower again, her claws scraping and scratching over rock. ‘You’ll want to see this, promise. Looks like you’ve got another suitor.’

That certainly caught Aziraphale’s attention. She set down her book at once and hurried over to the window. Crowley was gazing up at the sky. Following her line of vision, Aziraphale looked up, squinting at the dark shape which was emerging from between the clouds. A rectangle. It couldn’t a bird or a flying beast, and it didn’t look like any sort of airship Aziraphale had ever seen. Was it… could it really be…?

‘Flying carpet,’ Crowley confirmed it. ‘You don’t see them very often.’

No, you most certainly did not. Aziraphale had never seen a flying carpet in action before, and the sight of it rather thrilled her. Had some brave prince from the distant lands of Arabia or Persia travelled many miles to whisk her away for a life of excitement far, far away? Aziraphale could quite fancy spending her days in sunlit courtyards, enjoying pistachios and pomegranates washed down with finest Shiraz.

‘Mornin’ all.’

Aziraphale’s fantasies of adventure with foreign nobility were cut short by the emergence of a pasty looking chap with an unfortunate moustache. She tried not to seem too disappointed as she remembered her manners and leant out the window. ‘Er, hello! I’m Aziraphale.’

‘Princess Aziraphale, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ said the newcomer. He bowed – rather unsteadily, but then a flying carpet hardly made for a solid surface – then turned towards Crowley. ‘Dragon Crowley.’

‘The same. And who might you be?’

‘Mr Brown of Brown’s World of Carpets, at your service,’ said Mr Brown. ‘Master of the Whickber Traders and Merchants Guild, come to bargain for the freedom of fair Princess Aziraphale and her hand in marriage.’

Crowley swooped down close to Mr Brown. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Show us the loot.’

Mr Brown handed over several money bags, each of which appeared to be bulging with gold. Crowley grabbed them all, holding them tight in her claws.

‘That does look like rather a lot of money,’ said Aziraphale, trying to sound like she wasn’t attempting to count it up and assess her self-worth accordingly. ‘I had no idea that the world of carpets was so lucrative.’

‘It’s not just from me,’ said Mr Brown. ‘The Whickber Traders and Merchants Guild had a whip-round, and we agree to chuck in the Festive Lights fund as well. Royal weddings are very lucrative, you know. All of us stand to make a pretty penny from the merchandise and I’ll be able to put my prices up by a least a third when my new wife grants a royal warrant for my finest shag piles.’

‘And they say romance is dead,’ said Crowley. With a sinking heart, Aziraphale was forced to agree. It was all terribly disappointing. ‘Right, well, thanks for the gold. You can bugger off now.’

‘Um, what about the princess?’

‘She’s staying here,’ said Crowley. Aziraphale nodded in agreement, arms folded resolutely across her chest. Not that anyone was paying much attention to her, what with the dragon and the travelling carpet salesman being so busy with their staring contest.

Mr Brown puffed out his chest – not terribly impressive as he wasn’t a large man, but presumably he was doing his best – and addressed Crowley in a tone of great indignation. ‘Now I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but I paid your bribe fair and square. You’ve got no right to try and cheat me this way.’

Crowley snorted. ‘I’m a dragon.’

‘Oh, and I suppose you think that makes you immune to the accepted rules of commerce, does it? Well, let me tell you –’

‘ – it means,’ Crowley interrupted him, ‘that if you don’t get out of here RIGHT NOW I’ll set your carpet on fire and you with it.’

‘How dare you!’ Mr Brown looked furious fit to burst, or at least write some very stern letters to the relevant authorities. ‘This was a gift from the Istakhr Trade Society during our biennial exchange visit.’

‘I suppose that makes it less culturally inappropriate,’ mused Crowley. ‘But you’re still annoying me so…’

She trailed off, and coughed softly, breathing out just enough fire to singe the tufts on the edges of Mr Brown’s carpet. Aziraphale had her doubts that Crowley would ever really let rip with the flames, but Mr Brown appeared unwilling to take the risk. He beat a hasty retreat, flying back towards Whickber and complaining bitterly about misappropriation of civic funds as he went.

‘You did suggest bribery,’ Aziraphale pointed out. She couldn’t find it in herself to properly scold Crowley, not when the dragon had turned up at her window with wine and a selection of rather scrummy chocolates from that nice little place in town. After a certain number of Marc de Champagne truffles it was difficult to sound cross about anything.

‘I said I’d accept bribes,’ agreed Crowley with a wide and wicked smile. ‘I never said they’d do any good.’

Aziraphale smiled. ‘I suppose that’s true. Rather harsh on poor Mr Brown though. I’m sure he meant well really.’

‘Poor Mr Brown, my arse,’ said Crowley. ‘Imagine being married to that pompous idiot! A lifetime of committee meetings and self-important windbagging, and you can bet your life there’d be precious little sex on the agenda.’

‘I think he’s more interesting in underlay than getting laid,’ said Aziraphale with a grin. ‘The only thing he really wanted from me was a royal warrant to put on his advertisements.’

Crowley flapped her wings indignantly. ‘Exactly!’ she cried. ‘Cheek of that man, thinking he can marry you just to sell more carpets. You can do better than that, princess.’

Aziraphale took a quick drink of wine, hoping to hide her blush. Silly, but she rather liked it when the dragon paid her compliments. ‘Do you really think so? That’s awfully kind of you.’

‘Not kind!’ Crowley poked her snout through the window through the window, clearly doing her best to look intimidating. It might’ve worked if Aziraphale wasn’t so certain that Crowley would never hurt her. ‘I defrauded an upstanding member of the business community and threatened to destroy his property!’

‘Yes but it was all in a good cause,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Saving me from a lifetime of tedium like that. Why, anyone would think you were the hero of this story!’

‘Rubbish. You read too many books,’ said Crowley. ‘I only wanted the gold. Dragons love gold, everyone knows that.’

The expensive wine and chocolate in front of Aziraphale said very clearly that Crowley did not actually love gold all that much, or at least she wasn’t hoarding it.

‘So kind of you to spend it on buying little treats for me,’ said Aziraphale. ‘You really are the sweetest dragon I ever heard of.’

Crowley’s eyes narrowed to piercing yellow slits, and she looked fit to breathe fire again until she noticed Aziraphale’s smirk. ‘Oh, very funny,’ she said. ‘You’re ridiculous. I don’t know why I bother talking to you.’

‘I’m quite sure I don’t know either,’ said Aziraphale.

With another snort, Crowley pulled back from the window and flew up to the top of the tower, where she curled up on the roof for a good nap/sulk. Aziraphale just laughed, and helped herself to another chocolate.

The rain had been falling, low and misty, for hours, but it really started to pick up around evening. It was coming down in sheets, blown sharp by a bitter wind. Aziraphale was glad to be tucked up warm and cosy by the fireside with a good book, but she found it hard to settle. Crowley was outside in the storm, with nowhere to shelter.

‘Terrible shame you can’t shrink yourself small enough to fit through the window,’ said Aziraphale. She aimed for an idle tone, but the effect was spoilt by the fact that she had to yell out of the window for Crowley to hear her. ‘You could’ve come in here out of the rain.’

‘I can make myself any size I like,’ said Crowley. ‘Why would I want to go in there?’

A very silly question, considering how miserable Crowley looked. She was absolutely drenched, of course, and so cold she was practically shivering. Naturally the stubborn creature would never admit to it, so Aziraphale had no choice but to employ some cunning subterfuge.

‘It might make it easier to keep an eye on me to make sure I don’t sneak out under cover of the storm,’ she suggested. ‘Or in case any wandering merfolk try to break in.’

‘Hm.’ Crowley let out a sceptical snort, like she knew exactly what Aziraphale was playing at. Still, the rain was very cold and Crowley was heartily sick of it. She blinked and shimmied down small enough to fit through the window. Once inside, she immediately set about exploring Aziraphale’s living space, sniffing at books and sticking her nose into Aziraphale’s embroidery bag.

Aziraphale grabbed the nearest blanket and dashed after her. ‘Careful there! You’re dripping water all over the floor. Oh, look at the state of your paws, covered in mud.’

‘They’re talons, not paws,’ objected Crowley as Aziraphale picked her up and carried her, wriggling, towards the fireplace. ‘Could rip you to shreds, they’re wicked sharp.’

‘Yes, I can see you could do with a pedicure,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Let’s get you warm and dry first.’

She sat back down in her chair by the fireplace, pulling the still-squirming Crowley into her lap. The dragon’s struggles seemed mostly for show, though, and Aziraphale had her dry and settled after a brief tussle.

‘You should know I’m plotting unspeakable wickedness, princess,’ said Crowley and she lay, curled warm and cosy with her head resting on Aziraphale’s breast.

‘I’m sure you are,’ agreed Aziraphale. She ran her fingers idly down Crowley’s back. The glimmering scales were pleasant to touch, so much smoother than Aziraphale had imagined. Crowley wriggled closer, in a gesture only a sentimental fool would mistake for snuggling. ‘Are you quite comfortable, my dear?’

‘Mmm.’ Crowley hummed happily. ‘Oh yes. You’ve got a very comfortable bosom, thanks princess. You know we dragons like boobies almost as much as we like gold.’

Aziraphale wondered what else it was that dragons liked, but knew better than to expect a sensible answer to that question from Crowley. She kept her thoughts to herself, and continued stroking the iridescent black scales on Crowley’s back until the dragon drifted off to sleep followed, soon after, by Aziraphale.

The storm broke overnight, and Crowley slithered back out the window while the sun was still climbing a languorous path into the sky. Aziraphale woke up alone, with a crick in her neck and a vague sense that she was missing something important.

Crowley didn’t come inside the tower again, but she slithered up to Aziraphale’s window for a chat most evenings. Sometimes Aziraphale would read to her, and Crowley was very generous in sharing her opinions about everything that was wrong with Aziraphale’s taste in novels.

She never minded enough to ask Aziraphale to stop reading them though.

In between naps and bouts of literary criticism, Crowley still found time for seeing off Aziraphale’s potential suitors.

The Dukes Hastur and Ligur snuck up before daybreak, taking advantage of the early morning mists to lurk, unseen, at the foot of the tower while Crowley slept on the roof. They weren’t exactly quiet though, and Aziraphale grew increasingly alarmed by how enthusiastically violent their plans for attacking Crowley were.

‘CRAWLEE!’ yelled Duke Hastur, waving a vicious-looking flail around his head. The spiked head glinted unpleasantly in the early light.

‘She’s scared to come down,’ said Duke Ligur. ‘Slimly little creep. We could sneak up the back way, grab the princess, and slay the dragon later.’

The noise must’ve been enough to wake Crowley at last, as she yawned and began to make her way down the tower. Her long body coiled slowly downwards, muttering and grumbling as she went.

Her head was nearly at ground level, dangerously close to Duke Hastur’s weapon, when she struck. Crowley’s tail, stretched out long enough to wrap right around the tower, flicked, knocking Duke Ligur over. In another swift movement she wound the tip of her tail around his waist and lifted him up into the air.

‘Put him down!’ Duke Hastur yelled louder than ever as Crowley took to the sky with her new captive. ‘You bastard, put him down at once.’

Crowley stopped midflight and looked back at him. ‘Oh. Alright them.’

She loosed her tail and released Duke Ligur’s wriggling body, letting him drop into the river. The tremendous amount of splashing after he fell indicated that Duke Ligur had survived the drop, at least for the time being.

‘You should probably hurry after your friend,’ said Crowley as she swept back down by the tower. ‘That water’s awfully cold, he might not last long.’

Duke Hastur yelled a bit more, threatened and cursed, but drove his horse away to the distant riverbank towards Duke Ligur.

‘I don’t think they’ll be troubling us again for a while,’ said Crowley, once the hubbub had died down.

‘Do you think Duke Hastur will really dive in to save Duke Ligur?’ asked Aziraphale. ‘I do hope so.’

‘Wishing them well, princess?’

Aziraphale sniffed. She probably should. ‘Well, he could do with a dip. He didn’t smell too fresh.’

‘You are such a bitch,’ said Crowley. It should’ve been an insult, but she said it was so much affection and admiration that Aziraphale smiled and blushed.

A week later Crowley went head-to-head with Prince Michael, in a fight which looked very nasty indeed. She triumphed eventually, chasing Michael away and throwing her own spear after her.

The Marchioness Shax arrived with the sorriest rabble of troops Aziraphale had ever seen outside of bar room brawls. (Not that Aziraphale had been involved in any bar room brawls herself, mind. But she had read of such matters.) Crowley somehow talked them out of attacking, and eventually persuaded Shax that chasing after princesses wasn’t worth the trouble.

‘I don’t think her heart was really in it,’ Crowley confided when they discussed it over wine and snacks later than evening.

‘Perhaps,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Although there really was no need to tell her that I’m high maintenance.’

‘All part of my dragonish deceit,’ said Crowley. ‘How are the new goose-down pillows, by the way? I heard you telling Muriel that the old ones were too lumpy.’

‘Quite comfortable.’

‘And the birch I gathered for your fireplace when the oak was too smoky?’

‘Much better, thank you, dear.’

‘Have your pearl earrings come back from the jewellers yet?’ asked Crowley. ‘Remind me, what was the problem, the wrong type of gold?’

Aziraphale flushed. ‘Hush, you. There’s nothing wrong with liking nice things.’

Crowley’s returning smile was surprisingly soft. ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Sometimes they’re hard to resist.’

The most surprising visitors to the tower were a group of schoolchildren, a ragtag foursome who arrived riding bicycles and carrying a homemade banner announcing themselves as “the Them”.

‘Aren’t you all a little young to be getting married?’ asked Crowley. She seemed annoyed by the interruption to Aziraphale’s reading, for all she’d sniggered at her pronouncing that “the soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd…”

‘We’re not here to get married!’ called the gang leader, whose name was Adam. ‘We’ve come to slay the dragon and free the princess.’

‘From this cruel and oppressive patriarchal prison,’ added Pepper. She waved her improvised weapon (a sword crudely fashioned out of sticks and rubber bands) in a rather menacing fashion.

‘Patriarchal, what?’ sputtered Crowley. ‘You do know I’m a female dragon?’

Pepper was not impressed. ‘And yet you’re still keeping that innocent princess a prisoner,’ she said. ‘Very unsisterly behaviour that is.’

‘Yeah.’ The remaining three members of the Them were boys, and only eleven years old, so they perhaps weren’t entirely up to speed on the nuances of feminist theory and understanding the role of women in positions of power upholding patriarchal oppression. Still, they loyally shouted their agreement with Pepper, and waved a few weapons of their own for good measure.

‘Oh dear, this is a bit of a pickle.’ Aziraphale fretted, just loud enough for Crowley to hear. ‘Do you think I should tell them that you’re not really holding me prisoner? I’d hate for any of those dear children to be injured on account of a misunderstanding.’

On the ground below, the dear children amused themselves miming increasingly gruesome stabbing motions, clearly eager for violence.

‘Best not, princess. I’m not up to explaining your consensual non-consent kink to a bunch of kids,’ said Crowley. ‘Nah, I’ll just playfight for a bit and then take a dive into the bushes. Let them think they’ve beaten me, then you can throw a few sweeties out the window as a thank you and they’ll go home happy.’

Aziraphale beamed and made a brave effort to refrain from telling Crowley how good and kind her plan was. ‘Very well. Just take care no-one gets hurt.’

Crowley huffed and rolled her eyes before taking flight. She swooped around the tower and over the children’s heads, while Aziraphale enjoyed herself enormously screaming and shouting that they should run and save themselves. (If it weren’t so improper for a princess, she might’ve quite fancied a career on the stage.)

‘Brian, Wensleydale, remember what we practised,’ shouted Adam. ‘Pepper, you go first.’

Pepper jumped back on her bicycle and started pedalling furiously towards the tower. Brian and Wensleydale took off in opposite directions while Adam stayed put. It seemed they were trying to form some sort of a trap, although given that Crowley could clearly see their every move it was anyone’s guess how they expected it to work.

Crowley circled the skies above them, flapping her wings rather more dramatically than was strictly necessary and speculating loudly about which of the Them would taste best on toast for her dinner. Pepper stopped suddenly and shouted for Crowley to come and get her. Crowley obligingly flew down towards her, ignoring the wholly ineffective arrows being shot by Brian and Wensleydale.

When Crowley was just a few metres from Pepper the girl dropped her sword and let out a terrified scream, pointing to a spot just below Crowley’s left wing. Crowley halted in mid-air and spun on the spot, looking to see what it was that had the girl so upset.

It really ought to have been something absolutely awful to scare one of that brave, bold little band of children, but… Aziraphale had a clear view and could see that Pepper was shouting and screaming at nothing.

‘Watch out, it’s a trick!’ she called, but Crowley either couldn’t hear or was having too much fun to pay any attention.

Crowley turned sharply, twisting to see what terrible thing there was behind her. There was nothing in the air, of course, but on the ground Adam was waiting. He stood firm, slingshot aimed and ready to fire.

‘Surprise,’ he said as Crowley looked right at him. He released the band and shot directly at her. The rock flew out and soared through the air, until it pelted right into Crowley’s eye.

‘OW!’ yelped Crowley, with what Aziraphale hoped was more indignation than pain. She banked left, making Brian dodge to avoid her. She reared up, wobbled, and fell to the right, sending Wensleydale running. Her tail thrashed from side to side, and Pepper cycled away at great speed to avoid her. Finally she crashed, loudly and inelegantly, onto the ground.

Adam walked over and poked Crowley with a stick. She didn’t move. Apparently satisfied with his dragon-slaying skills, he smiled and waved up at Aziraphale. ‘She won’t be bothering you anymore,’ he said. ‘You’re free!’

Aziraphale just stared out of the window, too shocked to say anything. Crowley still wasn’t moving. Vaguely, she remembered that this was the part where she was supposed to reward the children for vanquishing the dragon, all part of the game. But what if Crowley was really hurt? She had taken quite a tumble.

‘Do you need some help to get down, Miss? I mean, your highness,’ said Brian. ‘We could get my dad’s loft ladder.’

‘I don’t think your dad’s loft ladder is going to be tall enough,’ said Adam. ‘Look at the height of that tower.’

The Them all turned and examined the tower thoughtfully, until Wensleydale piped up with a bright idea. ‘What if we got the loft ladders from all our houses and tied them together. We could use the rope we brought to make a lasso.’

He pointed at the “rope”, which was wrapped untidily to the back of Brian’s bicycle. It looked like a length of stolen clothes line.

‘No need, there’s a door at the back of tower. I can take the stairs.’ Aziraphale felt duty-bound to discourage the children from anymore makeshift rescue attempts before one of them fell and broke their necks. She also wanted them all to leave as soon as possible, so she could check on Crowley, who still hadn’t moved a muscle.

‘Do you want us to get rid of that dead dragon?’ Adam seemed to think he was doing Aziraphale a favour. ‘We could use the rope to tie her – ’

‘ – You most certainly could not!’ Aziraphale shouted. ‘Leave her alone, you – you rapscallions! Get out of here, the lot of you. If I see any of you round here again I’ll have the royal guard throw you all in the dungeons!’

‘So ungrateful,’ muttered Pepper.

Adam just shrugged and got back on his bike. He cycled away at the leisurely speed, the other three following close behind as they all congratulated themselves on a job well done. Soon they were gone, off to their next adventure (celebratory ice-creams followed by skimming stones across the village pond).

Aziraphale saw none of this. She was hurrying down the many steps to the foot of the tower, cursing her beautiful yet impractical silk slippers as she slipped on the way. When she finally reached the ground floor she struggled with the door, barely able to fit the key in the lock through the haze of her panicked tears.

Outside – for the first time in months – she pushed through bracken and heather, then raced to where Crowley lay, still motionless, amidst a meadow of wildflowers.

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale’s breath caught as she cried out. At last she was at the dragon’s side, unsure what to do or even what she was looking for. ‘My dear, are you quite alright?’

Slowly, Crowley opened one eye, golden-bright and more beautiful than the rising sun. Her voice was woozy and fond as she muttered, ‘Princess.’

‘Oh, Crowley!’ Forgetting all propriety, Aziraphale threw her arms around Crowley’s neck, all but sobbing with relief as she pressed a quick, grateful kiss to the dragon’s snout.

Aziraphale wasn’t given to displays of physical affection, and she surprised herself with how quick she’d been to kiss Crowley. She was even more surprised to find herself falling forwards, until she landed, face-first, in the meadow.

‘Princess?’ Crowley spoke softly, but when Aziraphale turned to look at her, gracious, that was the biggest shock of all. The simmering mass of black scales and vast, leathery wings had disappeared. In the dragon’s place a red-haired woman lay sprawled in the grass. She was slight, with milk-pale skin dusted with freckles and a blaze of copper curls framing her angular, curious face. The midnight blue of her dress was so dark it was almost black, laced with silver chains that glinted like a band of stars. She was beautiful, startling even, pink mouth round with surprise and large, serpentine eyes, the colour of corn marigolds, blinking slowly.

However extraordinary, however unlikely it might be, Aziraphale knew at once that this beautiful woman hadn’t taken Crowley’s place; she was Crowley.

‘Oh good lord. Oh my.’ Aziraphale scrabbled to her feet, startled but unable to keep her eyes off Crowley. Goodness, she was awfully pretty. ‘What happened to you?’

‘You kissed me,’ said Crowley. She looked rather pleased about it.

Well, yes, that much was obvious. Aziraphale knew about the kiss. It was only a moment ago and Aziraphale had been there. ‘But that doesn’t explain how you… why you’re – ’

‘ – so hot?’

‘I see losing your tail hasn’t made you any less arrogant,’ said Aziraphale.

Crowley just grinned, still looking impossibly smug. It was extraordinary how much she resembled the dragon when she did it. ‘Pish, princess, we both know you find that attractive. Since you’re so desperately in love with me.’

‘I most certainly am not!’

Undeterred, Crowley simply gestured at her own – admittedly very attractive – human form with a “ta-da” gesture. ‘True love’s kiss.’

Aziraphale felt her cheeks flush red. She blinked. ‘That isn’t… that isn’t a real thing.’

‘The proof of the pudding…’ Crowley offered a salacious wink. ‘It’s as real as your love for me.’

Panicked, Aziraphale turned and started walking back towards the tower, muttering as she went. ‘Absolute nonsense. Ridiculous creature.’

‘You can run, but you can’t hide our love!’ called Crowley, before hurrying after her. She was pretty light on her feet for someone who’d only just got feet, and easily caught up with Aziraphale, grabbing hold of her wrist. ‘Aw c’mon, princess, don’t be embarrassed. It’s meant to be… y’know. Romantic.’

‘I’m not embarrassed,’ Aziraphale lied instinctively. It was mortifying, of course. She’d concocted this whole ridiculous scheme to find someone who’d love her, not to fall herself for someone so obviously unattainable. That Crowley herself found the whole thing so amusing only added to her humiliation.

Crowley just pouted at her, still amused. ‘Is it really so bad, to love a dragon?’

‘Maybe I was in love with the dragon,’ retorted Aziraphale. ‘It’s you I don’t care for.’

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Crowley’s expression, but it disappeared before Aziraphale was even sure it’d been there. She shrugged. ‘Change me back then.’

‘And how might I do that?’

‘Dunno. You could try another kiss.’

It was absurd. A ridiculous notion. Aziraphale didn’t believe for a moment that it would work. Wasn’t sure she even wanted it to.

Crowley’s fingers were curled tight around her wrist. Aziraphale yanked her arm back, pulling Crowley towards her abruptly. She pressed a single kiss, quick and firm, to Crowley’s lips.

Aziraphale drew back, noting with some satisfaction the surprise on Crowley’s face, the flush on her cheeks. ‘Well, that didn’t work,’ she noted. ‘Got any better ideas? A single better idea?’

Recovering quickly, Crowley leant forwards, her breath warm on Aziraphale’s face. ‘Call that a kiss, princess?’ she asked, with more than a hint of a challenge. ‘Kiss me properly.’

This time Aziraphale didn’t waste time thinking of justifications. She moved her hands to Crowley’s shoulders and pulled her in for another kiss. Slow, determined, she pressed their mouths together, taking her time as she teased Crowley’s lips apart. Crowley’s mouth was soft and welcoming, and Aziraphale found herself curiously unwilling to let go.

‘Still not a dragon?’ she murmured when she pulled back at last.

‘Apparently.’ Crowley grinned. ‘You must be doing something wrong.’

That surely deserved a sharp retort, but Crowley looked so very inviting, her lips red and glossy, eyes bright, that Aziraphale decided to go easy on her for once.

‘Perhaps you should show me how it’s done,’ she suggested. ‘If it’s not too much of an ordeal for you.’

‘You obviously need quite a lot of help,’ said Crowley. ‘Let’s take this inside; don’t want to be putting on a show for any would-be dragon slayers that might pop by.’

Aziraphale huffed but didn’t argue, just grabbed Crowley’s hand and dragged her into the tower. Crowley laughed as she followed, tripping over the stone steps in her haste. By the time they reached the chamber, both breathless and giddy, Aziraphale’s anxieties were starting to creep back in. Whatever was she doing, inviting a dragon into her private space, allowing herself to be… seduced. Crowley loved to tease, this could all be a cruel trick, and Aziraphale didn’t even know what she was supposed to do next.

‘Princess, I can hear you thinking from here,’ said Crowley. Still teasing, but her voice was surprisingly gentle, tempting like warm honey. ‘Stop that.’

‘We can’t both be complete airheads, you ridiculous serpent,’ she said. It was meant to sound prim, perhaps a touch bitchy, but she couldn’t stop herself smiling at Crowley. She suspected she looked daft, and besotted.

‘Less thinking,’ said Crowley firmly. ‘More kissing.’

She took a step forwards, cradled Aziraphale’s face in her hands, and kissed her. Despite how confident she’d seemed up to this point, practically ordering Aziraphale around, the kiss was tentative, a featherlight brush of lips. Aziraphale sighed and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Soon Crowley’s hands were tangled in Aziraphale’s hair as she pressed endless kisses to her mouth, across her face, into the crook of her neck.

‘So lovely, my princess,’ said Crowley, her voice muffled against Aziraphale’s skin. She kept on kissing and touching Aziraphale, eager and uncertain and reverential all at once. Her long fingers danced up and down Aziraphale’s back, making her shiver.

‘My dragon,’ breathed Aziraphale fondly. She drew back, eager to look at Crowley properly, to enjoy the sight of her flushed cheeks, damp kiss-bitten lips, and the burning amber of her eyes. ‘Not a dragon now though, are you, darling?’

Slow as she could, she brushed her hand down the side of Crowley’s face, over the curve of her neck, and down to cup the modest swell of Crowley’s breast. It fitted easily into the palm of her hand, nipple puckering and hardening beneath the fabric of her dress as Aziraphale teased it with her thumb.

‘Not so much, princess,’ admitted Crowley with a shaky laugh. She certainly looked far too hot and bothered for any reptile. ‘Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about wanting to change me back?’

‘There are certain advantages to this shape,’ said Aziraphale. She couldn’t stop touching Crowley, teasing and caressing her, and wanted more. To see more of her pale, perfect skin, feel every part of her, every gentle curve and sharp angle, to taste her.

Crowley smiled, sultry with a hint of triumph. ‘Since you like it so much, perhaps I should stay like this. At least until morning.’

All Aziraphale’s quips about the improvement in her breath and nails or looking for stray scales beneath Crowley’s dress were swallowed when Crowley kissed her again, deep and slow and impossibly perfect. Just as well she couldn’t speak she realised as the two of them tumbled onto Aziraphale’s bed; she’d only say something incriminating. Yes, stay like this, you’re perfect. Stay with me. Stay forever.

Morning broke, with the joyful chatter of birdsong coming through Aziraphale’s window, and the tantalising warmth of Crowley’s presence in her bed. Crowley took up a surprising amount of space for such a skinny thing, limbs splayed in all directions and long red hair cascading across both pillows. Her snores weren’t as loud as when she’d been a dragon, but she still made strange, whuffling noises, in between twitching and snorting at intervals. She hogged the blankets and pawed at Aziraphale in her sleep, grumbling dozily when Aziraphale attempted to wriggle free. She really was a terrible bedfellow.

Aziraphale could get used to it.

‘Wake up, my dear,’ she said, shaking Crowley’s shoulder. It was approaching noon and she really shouldn’t delay much longer.

‘Wah..?’ Crowley blinked, tousled and beautiful. ‘Princess?’

‘Put some clothes on,’ Aziraphale said primly. She took a step back, before Crowley could grab her and pull her back into bed. ‘I need to call the palace. It’s going to be awkward enough trying to explain everything as it is, without you lounging around in the background in a state of dishabille.’

Several minutes, a few kisses, and a lot of complaining from Crowley later, they were both vaguely presentable. Aziraphale drew back the curtain which covered the mirror and took a deep breath, steeling her nerve.

‘Mirror bright as I have seen, please connect me to the Queen.’

‘You don’t actually have to make up a little rhyme everything time you use this thing?’ asked Crowley.

Aziraphale bristled. ‘It’s whimsical.’

Whatever sarcastic retort Crowley might’ve had for that was cut off by Muriel’s appearance in the mirror. ‘Hello, Princess Aziraphale,’ they said. ‘I hope you don’t mind waiting a bit, the lines to the palace are awfully busy today. Is it urgent?’

‘Very urgent,’ said Crowley, before Aziraphale could reply. ‘The princess would like to introduce her fiancée.’

Muriel covered their mouth to stifle a squeal. ‘Of course! I’ll put you right through! Won’t be a tick!’

The mirror clouded over, and Aziraphale turned to Crowley. ‘Fiancée?’

‘That was the deal, wasn’t it?’ said Crowley. ‘Whoever defeats the dragon wins the hand of the fair Princess Aziraphale in marriage.’

‘Technically I defeated the dragon.’

‘You did not,’ said Crowley. ‘Besides, you can hardly marry yourself. Even you’re not that vain.’

Well. There would be time to answer that later, but Aziraphale’s desire to tell Crowley just how unreasonable she was being was thwarted by her mother’s appearance in the mirror. Aziraphale realised guiltily that she would’ve preferred that one of the courtiers had just taken a message so she wouldn’t have to speak to the queen directly. Worse, Prince Metatron was with her.

‘Your majesty,’ said Crowley, dipping in an elaborate and wholly insincere curtsy. ‘What an honour.’

‘Aziraphale, what is the meaning of this?’ asked Prince Metatron, ignoring Crowley completely.

Aziraphale flushed, glancing between Crowley and the royals in the mirror awkwardly. ‘I was rather hoping to speak with you privately, mother.’

‘Wedding planning,’ said Crowley, with a knowing wink. ‘Girl talk, you know.’

‘Muriel did mention an engagement,’ said the Queen. It was hard to tell whether she considered this happy news or not. ‘I take it you’re here to introduce us to your intended?’

‘Um, yes, well… We haven’t got so far as any arrangements as such.’ Aziraphale twisted her hands together and avoided meeting anyone’s eye. ‘That is to say. Well. This is Crowley.’

Crowley waggled her fingers in a cheeky little wave.

The Queen gave her the same insincere smile she used when presenting rosettes to the winners at sporting events. ‘Princess Crowley?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Lady?’

‘Just Crowley.’

‘This won’t do, this won’t do at all,’ said the Queen. She turned to Prince Metatron, polite smiles forgotten. ‘I knew we should’ve paid for the Premium Dragon Service. That freelance dragon was obviously defective.’

‘She is not defective!’ said Aziraphale, outraged, but neither the Queen nor Prince Metatron paid any attention to her. Possibly for the best, under the circumstances, but Aziraphale couldn’t ignore the familiar sting of disappointment.

Silly of her to still let it hurt. She should know better by now, should’ve learnt not to expect warmth or affection from her mother. Her stepfather had reminded her often enough that she was just too silly, too fussy, too demanding; couldn’t she at least try to be a proper princess? Her mother didn’t speak so harshly, but the disappointed way she sighed and said she was sure Aziraphale would do better next time was somehow worse.

Aziraphale blinked and made a concerted effort to pull herself together. Turning her attention back to the moment, she saw that an increasingly fractious argument was building up between her parents and Crowley.

‘I couldn’t possibly approve an unsuitable match for my daughter,’ said the Queen. ‘Aziraphale understands that I have her best interests at heart.’

‘Her best interests?’ Crowley’s voice grew louder as she spoke. ‘How is it in her best interests to stick her in a tower by herself, and then put posters up all about town offering her up to whichever brute with a big knife can kill a dragon first, like she’s… like first prize in the cockfighting at a village fête! Aziraphale deserves better than that.’

‘Really?’ The Queen’s tone, in contrast to Crowley’s heat, was icy. ‘And what, pray tell, does Aziraphale deserve?’

‘Maybe someone who actually cares about her,’ said Crowley. ‘Someone who enjoys spending time with her and wants her to be happy. Who pays attention to the things she likes. Someone who’ll fight for her instead of showing off by picking a fight with a dragon.’

Someone like you, Aziraphale realised with a start. Crowley had sought Aziraphale’s company out night after night, listened to her talk about her books, and brought Aziraphale her favourite chocolates. For all their teasing and bickering, Crowley always treated Aziraphale like she mattered.

Now here she was, ready to fight for Aziraphale. Perhaps she’d been doing that all along.

‘It appears you think you’re quite the expert,’ the Queen retorted. She looked furious – no-one had ever dared to talk back to her like that. ‘In which case, you can deal with her.’

‘Wha–’ Aziraphale started to ask what she meant by that, but before she could even begin the question her mother had already disappeared. It was just the mirror, cold and flat in front of her, reflecting Aziraphale’s own shocked expression back at her.

After a few moments, she sensed Crowley move beside her.

‘Look, princess, I didn’t think…’ she trailed off, uncharacteristically uncertain. ‘Maybe she just needs time to cool down?’

Aziraphale scoffed. Cool down? Her mother was practically made of stone; she’d always been cold.

‘They didn’t realise,’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘They don’t know that you’re the dragon. Were the dragon.’

‘Does it matter?’ asked Crowley, but Aziraphale was already moving. She pulled the curtains over the mirror with a decisive sweep, then turned back to the rest of the room.

There was a trunk at the foot of her bed which Aziraphale opened, tossing the spare pillows out to make room.

‘I need to get packing,’ she said, already doing it. She grabbed as many books as she could carry from the shelf and tipped them into the trunk. Luckily she’d only brought about a hundred of her absolute favourites, but it was still going to be a squeeze to fit them all in. Oh, bother, and she’d need to pack clothes too, wouldn’t see? Jewellery she could wear and everything else could be replaced. Crowley could probably carry a few bottles of wine.

Crowley followed her around the room, looking increasingly alarmed as Aziraphale started pulling dresses out of the wardrobe, struggling to choose between them. ‘Princess, what are you doing?’

‘We can’t stay here. We need to get as far away from the palace as possible. I have a house in Arundel – it was my father’s, he died when I was a little girl. We can go there.’ Aziraphale stopped for a moment and looked at Crowley. ‘I’m going to pack my things and then we’ll call for a coach. Leave the tower. And… and then we’ll get married.’

Crowley blinked back at her, her beautiful golden eyes wide in shock. ’Okay.’

The journey to Arundel was a long one, so they stopped off in Whickber to rest and pick up some supplies. (Wine for Crowley, and wine, snacks, and books for Aziraphale.) Aziraphale was delighted to find a friendly face in Maggie, one of her old ladies-in-waiting, who now ran a tavern alongside her wife, Nina.

‘It all sounds terribly romantic,’ sighed Maggie once she’d heard the whole story. Aziraphale supposed it was, rather, especially when Crowley managed to hold off boasting about her princess-seducing ability. ‘How did you get turned into a dragon in the first place, though? Was it a witch?’

‘That’s right.’ Crowley nodded. ‘A witch called Anathema. Terribly wicked, terrifying woman. American, y’know. She… cursed me.’

Nina leant across the table to refill Crowley’s wine. ‘I thought witches only cursed people as punishment for their misdeeds. What have you been up to?’

‘All sorts of bad behaviour. Make your hair curl.’ Crowley grinned around her wineglass. ‘Ever so naughty, me.’

‘Absolute nonsense, don’t listen to her,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Crowley’s an absolute sweetheart, and terribly kind.’

‘Am not.’

‘You are too,’ Aziraphale insisted. ‘And I think you must like hearing me say so, otherwise you wouldn’t keep pretending to be wicked so I’d be forced to contradict you.’

‘Ngk.’ Crowley flushed scarlet and took a large gulp of her wine. Goodness, she really was ever so pretty.

Nina and Maggie seemed charmed by the whole thing, and more than a little amused. ‘That’s the price of love, I’m afraid,’ said Nina. ‘Bound to look a fool sometimes.’

‘You’re a fool,’ Crowley muttered, but no-one was the least taken in.

They drew up outside the house in Arundel late the following afternoon. Aziraphale hopped down from the carriage excitedly; she’d enjoyed summer visits to the little house in the past, and was keen to show Crowley around.

‘It’s very modest,’ she said, stepping aside so that Crowley could enter first. ‘Little more than a cottage. See, I told you I could live in a shack for love.’

‘Some shack. You have servants,’ said Crowley. ‘And don’t think I didn’t notice the stables on the way in.’

‘Perhaps. I am shacking up with a commoner though. You can’t expect me to live in a complete hovel.’

Crowley snorted. ‘Thought there’d be a library, though.’

‘Oh but there is!’ Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand to drag her along. ‘Come along, it’s in the East Wing.’

‘Library’s in East Wing, right,’ said Crowley. ‘You are so spoilt.’

‘Do you really think so?’ Aziraphale pouted. ‘Does that mean you’re going to stop spoiling me?’

Crowley laughed and pulled Aziraphale closer to press a soft kiss to her lips. ‘Never.’

Planning a royal – or royal-ish, since Aziraphale was still on the outs with the palace – wedding was daunting task. The guest lists, the entertainment, clothes, the cake.

OK, so the last one wasn’t so bad. Every baker for miles around had sent samples in a bid to secure the order for their wedding cake, and Aziraphale was doing a meticulous job of sampling them all carefully. It wouldn’t do to rush these things, after all.

An unexpected nuisance was the volume of complaints from Aziraphale’s former suitors. Word had got out that Crowley was – or had been – the dragon, and several would-be dragon slayers felt they’d been duped and wanted compensation. Some were relatively easy to deal with: Mr Brown (of Brown’s World of Carpets) was satisfied with a letter of recommendation from Aziraphale, and a promise to come and turn on the Christmas lights for the Whickber Traders and Merchants Guild. A suggestion to the headteacher that children be given a day off school to celebrate the royal wedding was enough to keep the Them happy. Sir Sandalphon and Marchioness Shax were both appeased by some made-up military honours. Aziraphale gave Prince Michael her cousin Dagon’s details, and told the Dukes Hastur and Ligur to send their dry cleaning bills to the palace.

‘Earl Furfur sends word that he’ll be here by midmorning,’ announced a courtier as Crowley and Aziraphale bickered about flower arrangements over breakfast.

‘Furfur?’ asked Aziraphale, frowning. ‘I don’t recognise the name. Did you do something dreadful to him before he could get within sight of the tower?’

‘You could say that.’ Crowley looked annoyed, but not overly concerned. ‘We’re having a day off your jealous exes, princess, this is one of mine. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’

Aziraphale accepted Crowley’s kiss on the cheek and poured herself another cup of tea, happy to turn her attention back to more pleasant matters. Since she couldn’t make any wedding-related decisions without Crowley’s input, that left her some free time to enjoy another couple of chapters of her book. Now if she could just remember where she put it down…

Aziraphale’s quiet morning was disturbed by a lot of shouting and clattering outside. She supposed it was something to do with that Earl Furfur, who sounded very much like he’d brought a legion from Hell with him. Of course Crowley was more than capable of taking care of things, but it wouldn’t hurt for Aziraphale to offer some more support at least.

When Aziraphale reached the front hall, however, there was no sign of Crowley at all. She persuaded a reluctant guard to open the front door, where she saw a dreadful little man shaking his fist at the sky and shouting.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ she demanded as she descended the front steps. ‘I could hear the shouting from upstairs, I’m sure there’s no call for such an uncouth display. It’s just not on.’

‘I’ll tell you what’s not on,’ said Furfur, staring at Aziraphale angrily. ‘It’s not on that people like her swan around doing what they please, and somehow still get to marry a princess. Whereas hardworking students of maleficium like me work hard day after day without so much as a scale or a feather to show for it.’

‘I…’ Aziraphale could feel a headache coming on. What was this dreadful fellow wittering on about? Before she could ask any further questions, though, her train of thought was disturbed by the sound of an enormous roar coming from behind her.

She spun around, and saw the enormous black dragon perched on the roof of the house. If it wasn’t careful there was a danger of the orangery roof being smashed. Another roar and the dragon pushed off the roof, hovering in the air over Earl Furfur’s head.

If there’s been any doubt in Aziraphale’s mind about the dragon’s identity, it was dispelled at once. It was Crowley. Of course it was Crowley.

‘I told you to shove off,’ said Crowley. ‘Get out of here and stop upsetting my princess.’

It was the sight of her fiancée reverted to dragon-shape that was most upsetting to Aziraphale, but it seemed like a bad moment to point it out.

‘You – why you…’ Furfur spluttered. ‘I’ve half a mind to tell –’

‘ – you’ve got half a mind, full stop,’ said Crowley.

‘It’s alright for you, nice little set-up you’ve got for yourself here,’ said Furfur. ‘Where am I going to find another coven willing to take me?’

‘You could always try the Ladies of Camelot,’ suggested Aziraphale.

Furfur whipped around to face her. ‘The Ladies of Camelot? They’d never take the likes of me!’

‘On the contrary, I think you’re just what they’re after,’ Aziraphale lied glibly. ‘I hear they’ve been on the lookout for curious gentlemen of noble birth such as yourself.’

Aziraphale’s knowledge of witchcraft was sketchy at best, but she did know that the Ladies of Camelot were not in need of the likes of Earl Furfur. They’d eat him alive. Slow roasted. For breakfast. Good.

Crowley was still hovering above and she snorted, letting out a menacing plume of fire and acrid smoke that made Furfur cough.

‘Aye, well, perhaps I will,’ he said, mercifully turning to remount his horse. He pointed at Crowley, eager to pretend he was leaving with dignity on his own terms. ‘See that you don’t bother me again.’

‘Bother you?’ Crowley harrumphed, but did nothing to stop Furfur departing. Aziraphale didn’t wait to see what happened next – she ran inside, without another word or a backward glance at Crowley.

‘Princess, c’mon, you can’t sulk in there forever.’

‘Go away!’ Aziraphale sat with her back against the library door, determined not let Crowley in. She couldn’t let Crowley see her in this state – face puffy and eyes red from blinking back tears.

How could she have been so stupid? True love’s kiss, indeed. Of course it wasn’t real. Just another of life’s cruel tricks, and Aziraphale had been daft enough to fall for it.

‘I brought you chocolates,’ said Crowley. ‘Marc de Champagne truffles. Your favourites. Won’t you let me in so I can give you them?’

‘Oh I suppose you think that’s all it takes!’ Aziraphale scrambled to her feet, and turned to shout at the door. ‘Silly little princess, doesn’t know any better. A few sweeties and a bit of play acting, she’ll fall for any fairy story. You must’ve had a great time laughing at me.’

‘I’m not laughing at you, princess.’ Crowley spoke softly, so that Aziraphale could only just hear her. ‘And I don’t think you’re silly – well, you are silly, but not in a bad way. In a fun way. I… I really enjoyed being silly with you.’

Aziraphale remembered Crowley as a tiny dragon curled up on her lap, making a whole show of how she wasn’t really snuggling. Giggling, meandering conversations as they drank too much wine of an evening and pulled apart the more outlandish plot points in whatever novel Aziraphale was reading. Amiable bickering about how best the dragon should dispatch the next of Aziraphale’s suitors.

She’d enjoyed being silly with Crowley too.

‘Don’t make me spill my heart out to a door,’ said Crowley. ‘Just… give me a few minutes, yeah? Let me apologise properly. Explain myself. Then if you still don’t want me anymore I’ll get out of your hair and you’ll never have to see me again.’

In spite of her anger, Aziraphale felt a stab of panic at the thought of never seeing Crowley again. Besides, she was curious about how Crowley was able to change between dragon and woman with such apparent ease. She took a deep breath, rubbed her face, and opened the door.

Standing in the dim light of the hallway, Crowley looked sadder than Aziraphale had ever seen her. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to pull Crowley close, whisper reassurances, and kiss the frown off her face. But she was still angry about Crowley’s deception, and she wanted answers.

She turned and walked across the library to a little table in front of the window, certain that Crowley would follow her. She took a seat and gestured for Crowley to sit down opposite her.

‘So I’m a shapeshifter,’ she said without preamble. ‘I can switch between dragon and human at will. I can’t change into anything else though.’

Aziraphale nodded. None of this was news. ‘Have you always been this way? Or were you telling the truth about a witch’s curse?’

‘Sort of,’ said Crowley. ‘I mean, it was a witch – the witch I told you about, Anathema. Only she isn’t really evil, I just say that to annoy her. Me turning into a dragon wasn’t a curse, though. I asked her to.’

‘Why?’

‘I was really unhappy,’ Crowley explained. ‘Restless. I grew up on one of the western islands, Mag Mell. I was sort of… lesser nobility back there. But I got kicked out. Always was a trouble maker, bet you’re not surprised by that.’

She laughed softly and paused, as if giving Aziraphale the chance to ask follow up questions. Aziraphale did want to know, of course, but it seemed cruel to ask, with Crowley looking so uncharacteristically vulnerable. So for once she held her peace and allowed Crowley to continue.

‘Anyway, I was angry, and kind of lost when I ran into Anathema. I’d never met a witch before, so I asked her if she could magic me into something else. Something better.’

Instinct made Aziraphale reach across the table to take hold of Crowley’s hand. Her annoyance didn’t seem so important anymore.

‘Anathema said she could cast a spell to change my appearance, but it wouldn’t change me. Only I could do that.’ Crowley forced and awkward smile. ‘Witches love all that cryptic, mystical shit.’

Thoughtful, Aziraphale considered the story. Her earlier anger was slipping away in the face of Crowley’s honest confession and the knowledge of the sadness she’d endured. There were still things she didn’t understand though. ‘Why did you pretend?’

Crowley shrugged, awkwardly looking away. ‘It wasn’t… I never planned to. It was just a joke at first,’ she admitted. ‘Then you seemed to like the romance of it all, and it was easier not to say anything. I wasn’t trying to trick you or anything. I didn’t know it would make you so angry.’

‘I wasn’t angry so much,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Well, a bit. But mostly I was embarrassed. I am a romantic old softie, and thinking I’d be able to do that… it made me feel special. Important.’

‘You are special and important,’ insisted Crowley hotly. ‘Fuck those arseholes in the palace for convincing you that aren’t. Look, I’d’ve spent the rest of my days tearing about the countryside as a dragon, scaring children and horses, if I hadn’t met you. But this is the real me.’

She stared at Aziraphale, intense and determined, and Aziraphale felt her own expression soften in return. Crowley looked so fierce and so beautiful, Aziraphale didn’t doubt her.

‘I was fibbing before,’ she admitted. ‘When we first kissed and I said I preferred you as a dragon. Even if it didn’t make you change, I’m glad. I like you better like this.’

Still holding on to Aziraphale’s hand, Crowley got to her feet and moved around the table, then crouched down in front of her. So close Aziraphale could’ve counted each one of her damp eyelashes, or the freckles that sprinkled her face.

‘It kind of was you, princess,’ she said softly. ‘Maybe not the true love’s kiss that you’ve read about in storybooks, though. Magic had nothing to do with it. You made me want to be myself again.’

‘Because you love me.’

Crowley laughed softly. ‘You are the most obstinate, vain, spoilt creature I have ever met,’ she said. ‘And I love you more than anything.’

Unable to hold back any longer, Aziraphale pushed forwards, awestruck, closing the last of the gap between herself and Crowley, and kissed her. The kiss was gentle at first, affectionate, but soon grew deeper and messier, as Crowley’s mouth opened hungrily against her own, and she climbed into Aziraphale’s lap.

‘So, does this mean I’m forgiven?’ Crowley hummed as she pressed soft, tickly kisses to Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale laughed as she tightened her grip on Crowley’s waist pulling her close.

‘You’re certainly being very persuasive,’ she said. ‘You could probably give up on talking completely to concentrate on kissing me, we’d never argue again.’

‘Tempting. But you’d miss my wit and charm.’

‘Oh is that what you call it?’ said Aziraphale. ‘Sounds more like pointless wittering and boasting to me. All that gloating about how I was so in love with you, when you were so dreadfully smitten yourself.’

‘Not gloating, really, I was just happy,’ Crowley muttered. ‘Anyway, it’s still your fault for being so lovable.’

Despite being weighed down by Crowley straddling her lap, Aziraphale managed a little happy wriggle. ‘We all have our cross to bear, dear.’

Crowley pressed another kiss to her forehead. ‘You’re ridiculous. I love you.’

‘And I love you.’ Aziraphale smiled. ‘I’m glad that you’ve told me everything, even if I wasn’t very willing to listen at first. Would you really have gone away for ever if I’d stayed angry?’

‘Hm, reckon I’d’ve found a way around it,’ said Crowley. ‘Might’ve had to go back to sleeping on your roof as a dragon. A little one so no-one could see me. Would’ve been like having a grumpy gecko curled around your chimney.’

Aziraphale thought Crowley hanging about the house as a tiny dragon would be rather darling, but she knew better than to tell her how cute she’d be like that. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ she said. ‘I’m jolly glad you plan to stick around.’

‘Always, princess,’ said Crowley. ‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I might not look like one right now, but I am still a dragon at heart. Gotta make sure I guard my treasure.’

Aziraphale beamed at her, a pink blush colouring her cheeks. She was just so happy. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh, yes. I suppose you must.’

Which, of course, she did.