Mathilda is the best dragon in the world. She is as sweet as Sir Pendergast promised, only more so. She knows exactly how to react to everything, and after a while I allow the reins to go slack in my hands and let her captain this ship, so to speak. I have learned, as part of my Riding lessons, how to project my thoughts in the Dragon language. I think at her, 'Go around the training grounds'. The young Rider knights train there and I want to show Sir Traice that I can Ride, too. But I hear Mathilda's thoughts loud and clear. 'No, Princess. Your betrothal banquet is tonight, and you must be ready.' I groan inwardly. Sometimes that dragon has more common sense than should be allowed.
We swoop back towards the castle, and instead of controlling Mathilda, I gaze out over the towns and lakes and forests. It feels nice to take a break, drifting over the soft-looking green ground. But as soon as I pass the Great Lake, I grab the reins tight and brace my knees against her back. I promised my father that I would not make my mother's mistake. I promised that I would not do anything foolhardy or dangerous. See, my mother died falling from a dragon that she was Riding. She was trying to perform some sort of stunt where she let go of the reins and stood up on the dragon, and she fell into the Great Lake. For years my father would not even allow me to go near a dragon. But I convinced him that I would learn properly to Ride, that I would not make Mother's mistake.

As we near the landing pad, I convince Mathilda to circle a few times first. The townspeople are gazing up at me. Dragon riding in itself is not uncommon, but it is uncommon to see a princess flying a dragon. We land perfectly. Alright, maybe not perfectly, but fairly well still. Okay, fine, I completely lose the aim of the landing, but we don't die, so I count it a success. I crank the lever next to the landing pad, and it slowly spirals down to the dragon stables.  We're both covered in sweat, but she's actually foaming at the mouth. I bring her into her stall, where a washbucket waits. I dump a massive bag of oats and a bale of hay into her trough, and then I add a barrel of imported Greckan brandy. She is a very picky dragon. If we water down the brandy, or use a local variety, she refuses to eat it and tips it over with her nose. I wash her, scrubbing and towelling as she eats. The warmth of the sponge in my hand makes me feel happy and confident. I survived my first solo Ride. I may become the most famous Rider ever. I may be in all of the history books! Well, not likely, but wouldn't that be cool?

"Princess Lorelei! What on Earth are you doing?" My bitter-faced governess, Mizz Perugia, storms into the stall. Her blue serge dress is so starched that I'm amazed she can move in it. She looks perpetually as though she is sucking on a gigantic lemon. Her hair is in such a tight bun that it must be painful. "You look horribly disreputable, and you have a banquet to be at tonight!"
I gaze down at myself. I suppose she's right. I scraped my dark hair back into a messy plait this morning, and it's all but falling out now. I'm in dark green pantaloons and a white blouse with laces on it. The blouse has a dark spot that I think is an acid stain from the dragon-washing fluid. My Riding boots are scuffed and my toes are showing through a hole in one. I'm covered in sweat and dirt and hay and dragon mouth-foam. I absolutely stink of dirt and brandy, and my eyes are wild. If Miss Perugia did not know me well, she might suspect that I had been taking a drink in the village pub. Mizz Perugia takes me by the arm, thinks better of it, and just motions me along. I really despise her. I'm eighteen now, and I don't need a governess. Tonight, at my betrothal/birthday banquet, I will tell her that her services are no longer required, and it will be one of the best moments of my life. I am not mean, but this woman has stretched my patience so thin that it is as full of holes as my boots.

We go up to my chambers, and I go into my bath-room. It is like a small porcelain hall, full of reflective tiles and lovely glasswork. There is a stained-glass window with the likeness of a violet orchid on a blue background. My bathtub is shaped like a swan and made from crystal tinted blue. I'd rather just have a normal bathtub, but as a princess that can't happen. And, you know, everyone should enjoy a bit of luxury sometimes. I soak off all of the dirt and wind-chap in a hot bubble bath, and then I dress myself. When I was younger I had maids in scores to help me with my dresses. But now that I'm older I got dresses that I can do up myself, so that way I don't need that extra half-hour of hassle. Besides, I am a young woman. I don't need awkward maids fumbling around all over me. My dress for tonight is black and long, even though black is typically a mourning color. It is truly my favorite color. Miss Perugia always tries to get me to wear gowns in awful shades of aquamarine and lavender that make me look like a ghost. The dress that I selected is velvet and sleek and utterly beautiful. I made it brighter by sewing (in a rather uneven hand) long strips of purple ribbon down the sides, and putting purple ribbon lacing into the bodice. With some grunting and hassle, I roll on my awful stockings (that I only wear to formal events where I will not have to move much), and then go to pick a pair of shoes. I choose purple dancing slippers with rosettes on the toes, even though dancing slippers are inappropriate for a banquet. The curl-toed slippers that are popular among the richer citizens are horribly impractical, and boots are socially unacceptable for a young lady to wear to formal events. I don't particularly care what's acceptable, but I have to make a good impression on my suitors.