I stare at the massive dragon before me, hands shaking. Mathilda is huge, about ten times the size of me. Her scales are scarlet with mottled patches of black, and her eyes are amber-gold. She has sharp teeth as large as my hands. She is beautiful in a terrifying way, like, 'Look at me for too long and I'll pulverize you' beautiful. Just looking at the beast before me is enough to send shivers up and down my spine. I have to ride this thing.

"Steady there, Lorelei. Mathilda isn't going to bite. She's a sweetheart, just like you." Sir Pendergast, the grizzled old Rider Knight who is teaching me to Ride, smiles as he says these words. Sir Pendergast has cared for me since my mother died, eleven years ago. He is tall and wiry, with grey hair and prickly stubble. He has a sort of threatening care in him, as if he'll hurt anyone who looks at me the wrong way. That is one of the reasons that I was entrusted to him as a child; the wonderful toughness that I have grown to love. Sir Pendergast is part of my life in a way that my father isn't. My father cares about me, certainly, but he is too busy most of the time with royal affairs. I understand, though. He- no, we- have a kingdom of over one hundred thousand to run, after all. Everyone has problems, and everyone comes to us for council. I help out when I can, but it's not the most exciting post listening to the proletariat whine about wages ('Cynthus get twelve goldens more than me per week! It's not fair, he may have a more important post but he is a lazy rag!) and temperatures ('It gets too hot in the summers and too cold in the winters!' I replied to this hotly, 'Then send us your papers of transfer and we'll get you on your way!') for ten hours a day.

I know that I'm trembling as I mount the ladder that will help me get on to Mathilda's back. This is the first time I have ever ridden a real dragon. That fact is not unusual, however. Many Riders train for over ten years before actually getting on a dragon. The saddle that I am supposed to use looks tiny on her massive back. I grasp Mathilda's reins and roll so that I am straddling her. The dragon's back is warmer than I expected, and every inch of it is sheer muscle. Mathilda is much stronger than I had realized. One false move on my part, and she could send me tumbling. There may be a strap on the saddle, but it's frayed and most likely won't stand up to a stiff breeze. Her reddish scales, with their patches of black, are tightly fitted. They feel smooth to the touch, but tightly coiled.

I take a deep breath. Sir Pendergast smiles at me encouragingly. I snap Mathilda's reins in the clearly discussed signal for 'fly', and she sits back on her haunches. What is she doing? She rotates so swiftly that my stomach does acrobatics. Wait, we didn't go over this! But before I can yell out that I'd rather just learn hypothetical Riding if all dragons are this unpredictable, she shoots up into the air like a grenade. I scream, clinging to the saddlehorn like it's the last thing on Earth. She evens out, and I smile. This is more in the vein of what I was expecting. She soars forwards, and I can relax a bit. I lean back. A giant floating heavy-sack stands before us. These heavy-sacks are used in the traning of Rider Knights. I am a rider princess, but that is not the same. Also, the heavy-sacks and such are used for entertainment purposes and air-slalom courses. I yank the reins, and she turns so far and fast that we almost slam into a second slalom obstacle, a curtain of sharpened wires for ducking under. We avoid the heavy-sack, but Mathilda snorts at me in a way that suggests that she is not pleased. How was I supposed to know how hard to pull on the reins? From then on, I become one with the dragon. That may sound ridiculous, but it's true. Every time I even reach for the reins, she swoops gracefully in the direction I want. She turns a loop-de-loop just when I'm thinking that this is getting rather boring and we should turn back. When she does this, I throw my head back and whoop. The sound is caught on the wind, and it floats away from us, like a wild birdcall. I am free! Not that I was ever imprisoned, but I feel now as though I have not a care, not a responsibility. Up here in the thin, sweet air, we are all equals. A princess like me is no longer a princess. A peasant is not a peasant. We are one and the same. I think it's beautiful.