Perfectly

   The collection of Islands shudder. At first, no one thinks anything of it. Till it floods with heat. Burning and intense, even for the warmest running of dragons. Even for those in their scaled skin felt overwhelmed by the heat.

   And the Islands shuddered.

   As quick as the heat had rolled over them, it was gone. Leaving much darkened but sound. Grass could be regrown and gardens were kept inside anyway. Even though they had wilted, it would be fine. Ignoring a chill that swept over the homes.

   “A storm, surely.”
   “We’ve passed through warmer waters.”
   “Not that much damage was done.”

   That evening, their King had died. The heat wave was a sign of grief. A young Prince burned away the final scale before taking a crown and holding it unsteadily in his claws. Dark eyes stared at it. Full of hatred.

   Then fear.
   And tears.

   A much softer hand brushed against a scaled shoulder, grasping it till it shrank and was able to be cupped by said hand.

   “Ye seem less t’en pleased, little hatclin.’ Ain’t ye happy t’e be Prince?”

   “No.”

   The tears washed the last of the dark from the younger cookie’s eyes. Bright and vibrant red stared at the crown now. Only looking away when something nudged at his tail. A chest nudged it. Nudged again. And seemed to watch.

   “I… I have nothing.”

   The chest floated up and settled back on a step.

   The softer hand carefully took the crown and the slightly shorter cookie knelt down.

   “Mulberry of t’e Drifting Islands, Hatchling of forgot’en nest,” The voice spoke carefully and slowly, accent still there in a few words, “I; Irish Cream, Friend of the King and of t’e Isles, crown you, Prince.”

   Irish Cream set the crown between Mulberry’s horns. Watching it as it seemed to weigh down the young dragon’s shoulders, even as it started to float. The Black gem turned Red. Though, to Irish Cream’s old eyes, it glinted with a deep dark fire.

   The people of the island accepted their new prince, but wondered as to why he wasn’t King. Mulberry never answered. And they came to accept that as well. He did well, so why question it? He controlled everything perfectly. It was better than it had been! So no complaints from anyone. Every trade was always smoothly performed, the temperatures shifted evenly and were always what everyone desired. The chains hadn’t tangled, and the islands stayed in order.

   It was obvious to many that this Prince had quite a bit of power.

   Few recalled how he looked out of cool-down form. Some spoke rumors of dark, pebbly scales and black eyes.

   But it was simply appearance? Why care for that?

   “...Not the King’s child...”
   “...From the wrong clutch...”
   “...heard he had a temper…”

   Irish Cream would laugh these away, just as they did everything. How would they know? “Does it look like I’ve ever had an egg? I simply watched over the child as the King asked me too.”

   And Mulberry had nothing to say on the matter, avoided the subject.

   So, with everything going as perfect as he had been. Irish Cream left for the hills, unneeded at the castle. Even with all they had done, Mulberry thought more for Irish Cream’s ideals.

   “Return to the hills, this place is too dark for you.”

   Irish Cream for once felt like protesting it, but didn’t. They had never seen a Prince so… capable. It was rather relaxing, so they let themselves relax. Watching over from the hills, as the people continued to ask, the Prince continued to meet the expectations. Years continued to pass. Perfectly.

   Perfectly,
   Mulberry did everything asked of him and more.
   Perfectly,
   The Prince never seemed to displease his people.
   Perfectly.

   No one knows what happened.
   But the perfection shattered.

   A huge heatwave burned scales and houses and the land, but leaving nothing burnt. It should have scorched e v e r y t h i n g. The world was full of black flames. Leaving nothing untouched, but harming nothing.

   In fact.
   It was cold.

   Irish Cream went to the castle to wait.
   And they waited.

   As the Drifting Islands started to shiver, everything warmed again.

   And in front of Irish Cream was a burnt and bleeding Prince. Darkness in his eyes, dark scales falling to the ground.

   “W’at happened, Hatchlin’?”

   Irish Cream had never been embraced by the prince before, even when they had watched him while he grew up to be a Prince, but they let their arms go around Mulberry easily. Quietly humming and tail twitching.

   They smelled burnt scales and sugar.

   And felt tears through their coat. Mulberry shook, sobbing against the ancient being. Whispering a secret that Mulberry could hardly get out. Voice shaking with more than his shuddering breath. Over and over and over Mulberry whispered what had happened. Whispering and clinging and sobbing.

   It was a long moment.
   So Long.

   And Irish Cream wasn’t sure they liked how it ended. With Mulberry taking in a deep breath and let go. Eyes red and tired. The gem in the crown glittered dangerously. And Mulberry left. Irish Cream returned to the hills, left to ponder what all of what happened.

   And everything was perfect.