The dragon had arrived.

With a sweep of its wings, it summoned a hurricane that tore through the palace barrier. The supposedly impregnable defense shattered instantly under draconic magic. Then, claws extended, it snapped off half the tower—princess and all—as if breaking a sandcastle, and carried them away.

Guards stood frozen like puppets, staring blankly upward as the dragon vanished.

Overwhelmed by the aura of nature’s apex predator, their very souls trembled. Resistance? Impossible.

And so, the dragon—its mind seeded with the queen’s suggestion—effortlessly stole away the poor, helpless little princess.

...

High above, the dragon tore open the tower with its claws. It lowered its massive head, pressing one eye to the gap.

Just then—a book flew out and smacked its completely unguarded eye.

ROAR—!

Pain flared. The dragon slashed the tower apart, hooked the hiding princess with its tail, and lifted her before its face.

"Mortal… how dare you attack me—"

Its voice boomed like a flash flood, like a tractor tumbling down a mountain… then shrank to a mosquito’s whine.

Because the princess—held aloft by its tail—was already crying.

No. She *was* crying.

Exquisitely lovely, she possessed a charm that captivated all—regardless of gender, species, or realm. And now, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, she looked heartbreakingly pitiful. Beautiful even in sorrow. So fragile. So wronged.

The dragon panicked. This tiny bundle felt like molten coal… no, worse. Something that pierced deeper than fire.

It wanted to drop her—but remembered: human. Fragile. This height would kill her. So it held on.

Torment began.

Dragon instincts held slaughter, battle, magic—not how to soothe a sobbing child.

It ached. Nearly twisted into a mask of agony.

It tried a threat. One word. Her sobs worsened. It swallowed the rest.

Frantic. Desperate. Finally, voice cracking like a plea:

"Please… little miss… stop crying?"

She stilled. Tilted her head. A sly smile.

"Then take me back."

Silence.

The dragon realized—it was being toyed with. Fury flared… but she instantly blinked up with wide, trembling eyes.

Defeated.

It couldn’t harm her. Not this adorable, mischievous little thing.

With a sigh, it recalled how humans kept pets—especially cats. Cute, yes… but cunning. Proud. They’d ignore kindness, flash attitude, even play tricks.

*What ill intentions could a cute little cat possibly have?*

And now…

*What ill intentions could the little princess possibly have?*

Right?

The dragon sealed its hearing, cast a quick protective spell around her, and flew on in stubborn silence.

Back at the lair, the princess stayed quiet. She’d learned crying changed nothing—so she closed her eyes, conserving energy.

The dragon expected a tantrum upon arrival. Instead? Docile. Curious. She flitted gently through the caverns, eyes bright with wonder.

Peculiar. Not unpleasant… just unsettling. After millennia alone, this tiny, darting presence felt strange.

It almost spoke—*be still*—

But she sensed it. Slid quietly into a corner. Leaned against the wall. Sat perfectly still. Like a porcelain doll.

At first, the dragon felt relieved. Obedient. Good.

Then… silence. No soft footsteps. Only its own breath, loud in the hollow quiet.

Restless. Something missing. It turned.

She was asleep.

*How carefree.*

To sleep so peacefully… in a dragon’s lair? What life had she known?

It couldn’t wake her.

…Maybe it didn’t want to.

Her sleeping face was simply too heart-melting.

...

Meanwhile, as the dragon carried the princess home, the prince chatted with two guests.

One tall, one short. Both bore hunched postures and faces few cared to approach.

Yet the prince smiled warmly—not polite pretense, but genuine kindness.

No wonder nations welcomed this foreign prince on his travels.

As the Lady of the Lake said: born humble, he walked as virtue made flesh.

The guests, long mocked and shunned, sipped his tea with nervous awe. They glanced up together.

The prince offered a gentle smile. "Why do you stare?"

They exchanged a look. The shorter man whispered, "Your Highness… what do you truly need from us brothers?"

The prince feigned surprise. "Brothers? I thought you were merchants. One tall, one short…"

The man gave a bitter laugh. "Please… just tell us. We won’t refuse."

The prince nodded. "What treasure are you truly crafting for the king?"

Tension thickened. The guests trembled. The prince sighed inwardly—*this will fail*—

Then the taller man spoke. "Not a secret. Just… a garment."

"A garment?"

"The most beautiful clothing in the world. Woven only with the Fairy Tale Kingdom’s full might."

The prince went still. "Impossible. Beauty is subjective. Unless…"

His hand drifted toward the Sword of Virtue. Voice low. "Unless it brainwashes everyone."

Sweat beaded on their brows.

"No! Not brainwashing!" the tall man waved frantically. "We… we don’t *have* the fabric! We told the king it’s visible only to the wise. His pride forces him to pretend he sees it. We take his gold, gems… 'materials'."

He grinned, fox-like. "In two days, at the celebration, the foolish king will parade in 'the world’s most beautiful clothes'."

He leaned in.

"And that is—*The Emperor’s New Clothes*."