Marx was the farthest thing from a delicate bride, yet better to send the wyrm a knight capable of defending himself than a hapless maiden. The multi-layered gown they’d stuffed him into had done the trick getting him into the beast’s den. It hissed at him to undress, but he’d only shook his head and stayed silent… feeling the press of cold steel against his skin under the lace. He was too slow when the wyrm looped it’s long body about him- then shed its skin.
Marx was speechless as a woman emerged, hair as read as the wyrm’s scales. Bright eyes locked onto him as she smiled. “My handsome bride is a shy one.”