Welcome to the Oh-So-Typical Fantasy story. I really don't know why this is called that, as it is not nearly as typical as to be called Oh-So-Typical. Really, it's about the most outlandish, ridiculously impossible Fairy Tale ever. So you can forget Cinderella, Belle, Snow White and all the others. I'm going to tell you a Fairy Tale like you have never heard before.
Once upon a time (as all stories must, for some unknown reason, start) there was a princess. Actually, she wasn't really a princess. She was really a duchess, but princess sounds so much better than that. This princess-who-was-really-a-duchess lived in a castle, along with her parents and two brothers by the sea somewhere in medieval England, which is where all stories must take place. The Duchess was not terribly pretty. She did not have flowing golden locks, nor did she have stunning raven hair. She actually had short-cropped, bright red hair, that stuck up a bit in the back. She did not have the perfect, skinny little body, rather she was muscular and strong Her eyes were not blue as the depths of the ocean, and a river of freckles dotted her tanned face. She was not your average helpless princess.
This duchess, who was given the long-winded name of Hyacinth-Anne-Marie, usually went by just Anne, for obvious reasons. Now Anne, unlike most young ladies of her day, liked to spend her time studying sword-fighting, and riding Thunder, her prized stallion. All of the other ladies at court did cross-stitch until their fingers were sore, and then they knitted, just to rest their hands.
Anne was nearing her sixteenth birthday, which meant that she would have to undergo the Dragon Ceremony. Where Anne lived, on a girl's sixteenth birthday, they were locked high in a tower that was guarded by a vicious dragon. The first night to defeat the dragon (feed him a sleeping pill without being bitten in half) would win the lady's hand. There were no arranged marriages in THIS part of England! Anne was dreading the ceremony. She really didn't want to be married, but also, all of the dashing, strong, courageous knights were already taken, and with her luck (demonstrated by her awful name) she would probably wind up with Harold. Who is Harold, you ask? Harold is the geeky, yet not so bright young prince of England, at the fictional time in which this story takes place. His father was handsome, dark, and strong, but Harold was gangly, buck-toothed, and absolutely infatuated with Anne. If not Harold, it would be Damion. He was dashing and handsome, but also stuck up, stubborn, and the fact that he had recently been made and Earl just helped his ego to swell a little more. One of these two not-quite-so-charming men would claim her hand, and she would become the unhappily wedded wife.
If not one of these two, she would be wed to Charmanden, the far-to-polite prince of the neighboring country of France. Yes, Prince Charm, as Anne had been told to call him, had it all. He was slick, polite, used perfect manners, and, to wrap up the package, he had bad breath. Anne didn't mind Charmanden so much, but she couldn't hold a conversation to long before his breath got unbearable. The reason for his bad breath lied in his favorite dish; anchovies garnished in a light garlic sauce.
She wasn't sure which of these young royals would be first to try defeating the dragon. They all had a fairly equal chance. Charmanden could fight, and Damion would talk the beast to sleep. But, out of the three, Anne thought that Harold had the best chance of defeating the dragon. One look at Harold in amour, and any dragon would simply die laughing.
Your next question will probably be; "Where on earth do you get a dragon?" To most, this question is a fairly sensible one to ask. But in Anne's time, it was dreadfully obvious; you just walk down to the local "Ed's Rent-A-Dragon" and pick one out.