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  • Rejected Bride: Married To The Dragon King novel by Catlaina Sloggett Read Online

    Rejected Bride: Married To The Dragon King novel by Catlaina Sloggett

    Blurb

    I knelt on the cold stone of the Dragon God Altar, waiting to marry Lord Harper Carney. It was my only chance to escape the gilded cage of my family.

    But when Harper finally arrived, he wasn’t alone. His arm was wrapped tightly around my cousin, Hettie.

    Right in front of the entire court, he coldly announced that our marriage was a mistake.

    Hettie leaned into his embrace, wearing a triumphant smile while playing the innocent victim.

    The assembled nobles openly jeered at me. They mocked my greatest failing—that I was a worthless “Dragonless” born without the inner fire.

    My own father was furious, not at them, but at me. He demanded I go to Hettie’s estate and beg for her forgiveness.

    When I refused, he threatened to cut off all my funds and revoke my only job at the Royal Scribes’ Office.

    I was publicly abandoned, stripped of my dignity, and left with absolutely nothing.

    I didn’t cry, and I didn’t scream. Why should I be the one to apologize when they were the ones who betrayed me?

    For years, I had endured their abuse, treated like a pawn to be sacrificed at will. But looking at their smug faces, my despair turned into cold resolve.

    I took off my betrothal coronet and dropped it at Harper’s feet, publicly nullifying the contract myself.

    I thought I would have to face the ruin alone, until a mysterious, powerful man with burning golden eyes stepped out of the shadows.

    “Marry me,” he said. “I will be your shield, and we will crush them together.”

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    Rejected Bride: Married To The Dragon King novel Chapter 1

    Addison Jordan POV:

    I stood before the Dragon God Altar, the silk of my white gown whispering against my skin. It felt like a lie.

    The murmur of the crowd was a physical thing, hundreds of pairs of eyes pressing into my back. Each whisper was a tiny needle.

    The ceremonial fires had been lit for an hour.

    My fiancé, Lord Harper Carney, was late.

    My fingernails dug into my palms. The sharp, clean pain was an anchor in the rising tide of humiliation. It was the only thing that felt real.

    A ripple of movement went through the crowd. A gasp.

    My head snapped up. Hope, sharp and foolish, pierced through the dread.

    I saw him then, cutting a path through the assembled nobility. But he wasn’t alone.

    His arm was wrapped tight around my stepsister, Lady Hettie Conway. Her smile was sickeningly sweet, the triumphant bloom of a well-tended weed.

    Every sound in the grand hall—the crackling fires, the rustling silks, the whispers—vanished. All I could hear was the frantic, desperate hammering of my own heart against my ribs.

    They walked toward me, each step a deliberate desecration of what was supposed to be my sacred moment. They were walking on my dignity, grinding it into the cold stone floor.

    Hettie leaned into Harper’s side, her gaze a cloying mix of pity and pride. “Addison,” she purred, her voice just loud enough to carry. “I’m so sorry we’re late.”

    The victory in her tone was a dagger, twisted with practiced grace.

    “Harper loves me,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that everyone could hear. She tilted her head, showing off the necklace she wore. The starlight pendant. The one I had designed. The one meant for the Lady of House Carney. “You should be happy for us.”

    I looked at Harper. The man who had sworn his future to me just last week. His face held no guilt. Only impatience and a flicker of contempt.

    “Addison,” he said, his voice cold and dismissive. “It is what it is. Our betrothal is at an end.”

    The words were a thunderclap in the sudden silence. I was now officially the greatest joke in the capital.

    I could feel the shock, quickly followed by the delicious, hidden delight of the crowd. A scandal was always more entertaining than a ceremony.

    I forced my spine straight. I would not crumble. Not for them.

    I met his gaze, my own as cold as the grave. “Lord Carney,” I said, my voice steady. “I thank you for showing me your true character. From this moment, there is nothing between us.”

    Harper’s brow furrowed, his pride stung by my composure. “Who do you think you are?” he sneered, his voice laced with venom. “You’re a dragonless woman. Without the protection of my house, you are nothing.”

    I didn’t answer. There was nothing left to say.

    I turned my back on them, on the life that had just been stolen from me.

    And as I turned, my eyes scanned the edge of the crowd, searching for an escape. My gaze snagged on a figure standing alone in the shadows of a great pillar, apart from the gossiping throng.

    He was tall, his silhouette a stark cut of darkness against the flickering torchlight.

    The light was too dim to see his face clearly, but I could see his eyes. They were the color of molten gold.

    His gaze cut through the crowd, through the noise and the spectacle. It held no pity, no mockery. It was a deep, searing regard that seemed to see straight through the shattered facade to the wreck beneath.

    For a single, bizarre moment, the frantic rhythm of my heart steadied. It was like finding a solid piece of rock in the middle of a churning, frozen sea.

    He just watched me. As if he were the only other person in the room, the sole witness to my public execution.

    Hettie’s shill voice cut through the air behind me, unwilling to let me have the last word. “A dragonless nobody, abandoned at the altar! You’re worthless now, Addison!”

    My feet faltered for a second.

    Then I walked faster, fleeing the whispers, the stares, the ruin of my life.

    But the stranger’s gaze followed me, a brand of heat on the back of my neck.

    Rejected Bride: Married To The Dragon King novel Chapter 2

    Addison Jordan POV:

    I fled down the altar steps, the sound of my own breathing harsh in my ears. The laughter and whispers of the crowd felt like a physical pursuit.

    A wave of cloying perfume washed over me, and Hettie caught up, blocking my path. Her face was a mask of false concern that made my stomach churn.

    “Addison, don’t be like this. I know you’re upset,” she began, her voice dripping with counterfeit sympathy. “But you can’t blame Harper. Who would want to marry a dragonless woman, whose blood runs cold?”

    The term was a common slur for those of us who couldn’t transform. A reminder that I was lesser. Incomplete.

    I stopped, my gaze flat and empty. “Move. We have nothing more to say to each other.”

    My coldness seemed to finally crack her facade. The feigned sweetness vanished, replaced by the raw, ugly spite I knew so well. “You think you’re still the high and mighty daughter of House Jordan? You’re a public disgrace! A joke!”

    She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss meant only for me. “Everything that was yours will soon be mine. Your chambers, your status, Father’s favor.”

    Her words were poison, meant to find purchase in my deepest insecurities. But the part of me that could feel was already numb.

    A thin, cold smile touched my lips. “Is that so? Then you had best pray that stolen things bring you luck.”

    I pushed past her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a fight. I knew any reaction, any anger, would only feed her triumph.

    I finally escaped the main hall, finding refuge in a quiet, deserted corridor. The sudden silence was a relief, but it couldn’t quiet the storm inside me.

    A low, resonant voice spoke from behind me.

    “She’s wrong.”

    I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. It was him. The man from the shadows.

    He stepped out of the pillar he’d been standing in, his tall frame seeming to shrink the corridor. Up close, his eyes were even more arresting—a pure, liquid gold that was the legendary mark of a pure-blood dragon.

    A jolt of alarm went through me. I took an instinctive step back. “Who are you?”

    He didn’t answer, just closed the distance between us with slow, deliberate strides. He moved with a predator’s grace, utterly silent.

    I caught his scent then—a strange, clean smell of ozone after a lightning strike, mixed with something ancient, like smoke and hot metal. It wasn’t a cologne. It was the scent of power.

    He stopped three paces from me, his golden gaze intense. “You are not worthless, Lady Jordan. Your value is far beyond their comprehension.”

    I stared at him, speechless. In a day filled with betrayal and scorn, he was the first person to offer a single word of anything else.

    I took a moment to truly look at him. He wore a simple, dark tunic, impeccably tailored but unadorned with the crest of any house I recognized. Everything about him screamed power, but a quiet, restrained power, unlike the flashy peacocks of the capital.

    “I don’t understand your meaning, my lord,” I said, my voice tight with caution, falling back on the formality of court.

    A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He didn’t seem to mind my wariness. “It’s quite simple. I saw your predicament. And I heard their foolishness.”

    His golden eyes held a glint of something I couldn’t decipher. “And I, as it happens, have a predicament of my own. I was also stood up by my intended bride today.”

    He said it so casually, as if discussing the weather.

    My jaw dropped. I couldn’t form a coherent thought.

    He held out a hand toward me. It was a large hand, strong and calloused, a warrior’s hand. “Since we have both been so inconveniently abandoned,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Perhaps we should make a pair.”

    My mind went completely blank. The world tilted on its axis.

    “Marry me, Lady Jordan,” he said, his gaze locking with mine. His tone was calm, but it held a weight, a command, that was impossible to ignore. “In return, I will be your shield. I will stand between you and all the storms to come.”

    The proposal was madness. Utter insanity.

    But as I stood there, stripped of my future, my name, my dignity, his offer wasn’t a proposition.

    It was a lifeline.

    I stared into the bottomless gold of his eyes, my heart pounding a frantic, desperate rhythm.

    Rejected Bride: Married To The Dragon King novel Chapter 3

    Addison Jordan POV:

    I stared at the man before me, his outrageous proposal hanging in the air. It was a mad gamble. But I was a gambler who had just lost everything. I had no more chips to lose.

    I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to force the chaos in my mind into some semblance of order. “I don’t even know your name, my lord,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

    He seemed to have expected the question. His golden eyes were calm, unreadable. “Albion Ballard. I am a lord from the borderlands.”

    A border lord. It made sense. It explained the raw, untamed power that clung to him, so different from the polished, perfumed nobles of the capital.

    I needed a shield. An identity that would free me from the clutches of House Jordan and the lingering stain of the Carneys.

    “What are your terms?” I asked. That was the crucial question.

    “A contract marriage,” he replied, his voice crisp and direct. “We will be husband and wife in name, to satisfy the world. In private, we are allies. We do not interfere in each other’s lives.”

    The words were a balm to my raw nerves. My greatest fear was trading one cage for another.

    I met his intense gaze. “If I agree, I need your word. This marriage will not be another set of chains.”

    “You have my word,” he said, his voice low and certain. “You will have the freedom you desire. The contract will last until we mutually agree to end it.”

    I was silent for a long moment. My father’s cold face flashed in my mind, then Harper’s betrayal, Hettie’s triumphant smirk. I could not, would not, be their victim any longer.

    This was a leap into the unknown, but staying put was a death sentence.

    I made my decision. I raised my hand and placed it in his outstretched palm.

    His hand was warm and dry, enveloping mine. A strange, unexpected current of heat flowed from his skin to mine, chasing away some of the bone-deep chill that had settled in me. It was the first warmth I had felt all day.

    “I accept, Lord Ballard.”

    He closed his hand around mine, a firm, possessive grip. The corner of his mouth lifted in that ghost of a smile. “A wise choice, Lady Jordan.”

    He didn’t release my hand. Instead, he turned and led me back towards the Dragon God Altar. We weren’t heading for the main stage, but to a small, secluded chamber where an elder sat recording the day’s betrothals.

    The elder looked up, his face a mask of shock as he saw me—the abandoned bride—now on the arm of a stranger.

    Albion wasted no time on pleasantries. He reached into his tunic and produced a heavy, dark metal signet ring, pressing it onto the elder’s desk. It was carved with a complex dragon motif I didn’t recognize.

    The moment the elder saw the signet, his shock morphed into pure, undiluted awe. He scrambled to his feet, bowing his head so low his chin nearly touched his chest. “My lord,” he stammered.

    My own confusion deepened. What was that signet that it could command such reverence? But this was not the time for questions.

    Under the elder’s trembling guidance, we completed the marriage contract under the silent watch of the Dragon God statue. There were no guests, no blessings. Just cold, formal vows and the scratch of a quill on parchment.

    When my name, Addison Jordan, was written next to Albion Ballard, a wave of dizziness washed over me. Hours ago, I was to be Lady Carney. Now, I was Lady Ballard.

    The ceremony was over in minutes. Albion handed me a copy of the parchment. “Keep this. It is your guarantee.”

    I took the heavy document, my new reality feeling fragile as dried ink.

    We walked out of the altar together. Most of the nobles had dispersed, eager to spread the day’s gossip.

    “To avoid unnecessary complications,” Albion said suddenly, his voice low. “I suggest we keep our arrangement private for now.”

    That suited me perfectly. “I agree,” I said quickly.

    He gave me a sideways glance. “You are the new project director for the Sterling Guild’s new development, are you not? The handover must be keeping you busy.”

    I stopped in my tracks and stared at him. “How did you know that?” My appointment was official only yesterday, known to no one outside the Guild’s highest echelons.

    He shrugged, his face giving nothing away. “I happen to know one of the board members.” The words came too smoothly—too practiced, like a line he’d rehearsed a hundred times.

    Smooth enough that my gut told me it was a lie—a pretty cover for an even prettier truth. But I didn’t press. First day of marriage. Pressing felt too serious, too heavy.

    It was only then that I realized—this man felt so close, yet so far. Close enough that I could smell the cedar on his cuffs. Far enough that I had no idea who he really was. Mystery stacked upon mystery, and I didn’t even have the strength to lift the first layer.

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  • The Godblood Bride: Mending the Cursed Dragon Lord novel by Maui

    The Godblood Bride: Mending the Cursed Dragon Lord novel by Maui

    Blurb

    I was forced to replace my sister and marry Lord Gideon Carlisle, a crippled Dragon Lord rumored to be a monster whose brides always ended up dead.

    But the real danger wasn’t my terrifying husband. It was Audrey, the fragile, innocent girl he took in and fiercely protected.

    She lured me to a cliff, confessed to murdering his first two brides, and tried to shove me into the abyss.

    When her clumsy attack failed and she nearly fell herself, Gideon’s shadow guard rushed in to save her. But he only saw the aftermath.

    Audrey immediately burst into tears, pointing a shaking finger at me.

    “It was her! She pushed me! She tried to kill me!”

    Without hesitation, Gideon chose to believe his precious ward.

    He looked at me with cold, golden dragon eyes, condemning his own wife without a trial.

    He threatened me with dragon’s flame and locked me in my chambers, while Audrey smiled triumphantly behind his back.

    I couldn’t believe a supposedly brilliant Dragon Lord could be so utterly blind, protecting the very monster who had cursed his life while treating me like the villain.

    But I wasn’t the weak, original bride who would just accept this injustice and die quietly.

    I calmly walked back into his study, pulled out a vial of Truth Serum, and forced it down Audrey’s throat so my blind husband could finally hear the truth.

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    The Godblood Bride: Mending the Cursed Dragon Lord Chapter 1

    Anya POV:
    “For the glory of the Beaumont family, this marriage is your utmost duty, Elsa.”
    The hypocritical voice of my ‘father,’ Lord Corbin Beaumont, echoed in the dressing room. His immaculate formal attire, embroidered with the golden dragon’s flame of a true Dragon Lord, mocked the cheap, silver-threaded scales of my substitute wedding dress.
    I looked at him through the mirror. Yesterday, I would have cowered. But yesterday, before my dearest sisters Isis and Livia pushed me down the grand staircase, I was just a weak, “dragonless” disappointment.
    The agonizing pain of shattered bones hadn’t killed me. Instead, it had broken the ancient seal deep within my soul.
    The pure, primordial Dragon God bloodline had awakened, flooding my mind with lost dragon medical arts and a warrior’s unyielding pride. I was no longer the fragile Elsa. My true bloodline name, vibrating in my veins, was Anya.
    “Is it my duty, Father?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. I turned, my gaze piercing his cold, blue eyes. “Or was it the duty of your precious, true-born Isis?”
    Martha, my trembling maid, gasped from the corner. Corbin’s paternal smile vanished, replaced by a dark scowl. He wasn’t used to being challenged by a waste of a daughter.
    “This union with Lord Gideon Carlisle is sanctioned by the Dragon King,” Corbin warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “He may be a paralyzed cripple with a damaged dragon soul, but you will serve him. Do you intend to defy the King?”
    I took a slow, fluid step toward him. The newly awakened dragon instincts in my blood easily analyzed his stance—full of arrogance, completely open to attack. “Of course not. I will marry the ‘monster’ Lord Carlisle. But I have one condition.”
    I let the silence stretch, enjoying the sudden flicker of unease in a Dragon Lord’s eyes.
    “From the moment I step into that carriage, I am no longer a Beaumont. Consider the debt of my miserable upbringing repaid in full. A spiritual Parting.”
    Corbin’s face cycled from red to white. A Parting was a grave stain on a noble’s honor, but he desperately needed this alliance to appease the King.
    “Fine,” he squeezed the word through clenched teeth. “As you wish, you ungrateful wretch.”
    “Then we are done,” I stated. I picked up the heavy bridal cloak, ignoring his seething rage, and walked out. The satisfying sound of a shattered dragon crystal goblet echoed behind me.
    At the manor’s entrance, a plain, unmarked carriage waited—a final, petty insult. I climbed in, touching the hidden pouch in my sleeve.
    Inside were fine bone and silver needles I had hastily crafted using the ancient dragon healing arts now burning in my mind. They were a surgeon’s tools, and a newly awakened warrior’s weapons.
    The carriage lurched forward toward the dragon’s den. Gideon Carlisle, I thought, feeling the blood hum in my veins. I hope you’re ready for your bride.

    The Godblood Bride: Mending the Cursed Dragon Lord Chapter 2

    Anya POV:
    The convoy stopped at a desolate outpost named Dragon’s Claw, a collection of rough stone buildings huddled against the biting wind. I sat alone in my dim room, the faint, acrid scent of crushed herbs lingering in the air.
    I was carefully coating the tips of my newly crafted bone needles with a mild paralyzing sap—a low-tier dragon poison formula that had naturally surfaced in my awakened memories.
    Martha paced frantically, her whispers a litany of worry, convinced my defiance of Lord Beaumont would turn my life in Carlisle’s castle into a living hell.
    I ignored her. I knew the real battlefield lay ahead.
    The door burst open, slamming against the stone wall. My two “dear sisters,” Isis and Livia, swept in, flanked by their sneering maids.
    Isis, promised to the crown prince Alaric, was a vision in a fiery red riding habit. Her golden hair was perfectly coiled, her lips curved in a look of pure disdain. “Well, well. If it isn’t our little sister, rushing off to her doom.”
    Livia, her ever-present shadow, chimed in with a giggle. “Don’t be so harsh, sister. Perhaps the crippled lord has a taste for sickly little things.”
    Their maids tittered. Martha shrank into a corner, her face white with terror.
    I slowly set down my needle, letting the ancient, arrogant blood of the Dragon God simmer beneath my calm exterior. I forced the soft, harmless smile of the old Elsa onto my face. “Did you two follow me all this way just to say that?”
    My calm seemed to enrage Isis. She stalked forward, snatched a cup from the table, and sneered.
    It was the inn’s cheapest mead, a drink considered “coarse fare” by dragon-blooded nobles. She flicked her wrist, and the dark, sticky liquid arced through the air, soaking the front of the only decent cloak I owned.
    “Oh, dear,” she said, her voice dripping with fake surprise. “My hand slipped.”
    I looked at the dark stain, then back at her. They expected tears. They expected the familiar cowering. Instead, I smiled, my newly awakened predatory instincts humming.
    “It’s alright, sister,” I said softly. “My hand slips sometimes, too.”
    Before she could process my words, my dragon-blood reflexes took over. I took a sharp step forward, my movements fluid and imperceptible, my foot intentionally “catching” on the leg of the table.
    I stumbled, sending an entire platter of honey-drenched pastries sailing through the air. It landed with a wet smack squarely on the front of Isis’s pristine, expensive riding habit.
    A shriek tore from her throat as the sticky jam and crumbs slid down her bodice.
    “You dare!” Livia screamed, her hand flying toward my face.
    To my awakened senses, her slap moved in slow motion, clumsier than a newborn hatchling. I sidestepped with effortless grace, my foot hooking neatly around her ankle with calculated precision.
    Livia yelped, losing her balance and pitching forward, crashing directly into Isis who was desperately scraping the mess off her dress.
    They went down in a tangle of flailing limbs and furious curses, their perfect hair undone, their dignity in tatters. Their maids just stared, mouths agape, too shocked by this “accident” to help.
    I walked over to them, looking down at their sprawled forms. My voice was gentle, but the latent, icy pressure of my true bloodline leaked into my tone. “Are you alright, sisters? You should be more careful.”
    My gaze fell on a small object on the floor, knocked loose in the scuffle. A brooch, fashioned with a single, small red dragon crystal. It was the only thing my mother had left me. I picked it up, letting a fraction of my dormant power touch the stone. It instantly flared with a warm, inner fire.
    “And another thing,” I said, pinning the glowing brooch back onto my dress. “My things? You don’t get to touch them anymore. Every bit of suffering you inflicted… I will collect that debt. In full.”
    They stared up at me, breathless, a primal, inexplicable fear dawning in their eyes. The oppressive aura rolling off me was not the weak Elsa they knew.
    “We’re leaving,” I said to the petrified Martha.
    By the time a frantic Lord Beaumont arrived, all he found were his two precious daughters—one hysterical, the other shivering with a terror she couldn’t explain—and an empty road stretching toward the mountains.
    In the carriage, Martha finally found her voice, looking at me with awe and terror. “My lady…”
    I ignored her, turning the dragon crystal brooch over in my fingers. Lord Beaumont must be furious, realizing the “lamb” he’d sent to the slaughter had suddenly grown fangs. But his real worry would be the lack of an official welcoming party from the groom—a profound insult in dragon society.
    I, on the other hand, didn’t care. If Gideon Carlisle wouldn’t come for his bride, then his bride would march right into his lair. I was getting into that castle, armed with my ancestors’ arts, one way or another.

    The Godblood Bride: Mending the Cursed Dragon Lord Chapter 3

    Anya POV:
    We finally reached the lands of Gideon Carlisle.
    In the distance, perched atop a volcanic peak, Goldspire Castle clawed at the sky like a dormant beast. Its black rock walls were embedded with massive, raw dragon crystals that pulsed with a cold, faint light under the bruised sky.
    But our progress was halted at the border of the domain. A massive, black dragon crystal, taller than a man, served as a boundary stone. Carved into its polished surface was the Carlisle crest: a roaring golden dragon.
    The castle’s drawbridge was raised, the portcullis down. A line of guards in black, heavy plate armor stood like statues before the gate, their leader, a knight captain, watching our approach with an expression of pure indifference.
    The Beaumont steward in charge of my escort trotted forward to parley. He returned moments later, his face pale. “They refuse us entry,” he stammered. “They say the lord gave no order for the bride’s arrival today.”
    It was a calculated humiliation. A small crowd of locals had already gathered at a distance, their whispers buzzing like flies as they pointed at our sad little procession.
    “How can they do this?” Martha wailed from inside the carriage. “It’s an insult! It’s against all custom!”
    I pushed open the door and stepped out. Every eye turned to me. I wore the cloak Isis had stained, but my back was ramrod straight. I allowed a fraction of my true, ancient dragon aura to seep into the air. Instantly, the whispering crowd fell dead silent, an inexplicable dread chilling their spines.
    I walked to the front of our party, directly facing the knight captain. He loomed over me, his gaze like ice from behind his helmet’s slit. But in the face of his hostility, my blood only sang with absolute arrogance.
    “I am Elsa Beaumont,” I announced, my voice not loud, but carrying a piercing clarity that demanded submission. “Your future lady.”
    The captain let out a short, harsh laugh. “The lady of this castle will be welcomed by our lord himself. You, woman of unknown purpose, will leave this land immediately.”
    The insult was deliberate, meant to strip me of all legitimacy.
    I smiled. “I am not here in the name of House Beaumont. I am here by the will of the Dragon King’s Command.”
    From the folds of my cloak, I produced a scroll. It was made of cured dragon hide, tough and pale, and sealed with the royal wax imprint of a fiery dragon. As my fingers touched the seal, my own dormant power hummed in faint, dismissive recognition of the royal magic.
    “The command is here,” I declared, holding it high for all to see. “To see this seal is to see the King. Lord Carlisle is a vassal to the Dragon King. Does he mean to defy his sovereign and turn away the bride the King himself has sanctioned?”
    The Dragon King’s Command was the highest law in the land. Its authority was absolute. A ripple of fear went through the crowd of onlookers; many dropped to their knees.
    Even the proud knight captain bent a knee, though his head remained defiantly high. A subtle sheen of sweat appeared on his brow, perhaps sensing the unnatural, terrifying pressure radiating from this supposedly “dragonless” bride.
    “We do not defy the King,” the captain said, his voice a low growl. “But our lord’s orders were clear. No one enters without his leave.”
    “Then I am not ‘no one,’” I said, taking a step toward the gate. “I am his bride. Now, I command you. Open the gate.”
    The castle guards shifted, their eyes flicking between the royal seal in my hand and their unmoving captain.
    I turned to my own escort, the Beaumont guards who were looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Your mission was to see me inside this castle. Fulfill your duty.”
    Caught between my order and the authority of the royal decree, the Beaumont captain drew his sword with a grimace. “Force the gate! Escort the lady inside!”
    A pathetic, short-lived scuffle broke out. My guards made a half-hearted attempt to push forward, met by a solid wall of Carlisle shields.
    Just then, a long, deep horn blast echoed from the castle’s depths. The grinding of chains began, and the massive drawbridge started to lower.
    The fighting stopped. Everyone stared at the dark, yawning maw of the gatehouse.
    From the shadows within, a deep, raspy voice, like stone grinding on metal, carried across the distance. “Let her in.”
    I straightened my stained cloak, lifted my chin, and walked alone across the drawbridge. I passed between two lines of guards, their gazes a mixture of awe, resentment, and suspicion. They expected a trembling lamb; instead, they watched a predator casually strolling into a rival’s den.
    The great hall was vast and dim, lit only by the faint glow of the dragon crystals embedded in the high walls. At the far end of the hall, shrouded in shadow, was an enormous throne of black obsidian.
    A man was sitting on it. Even seated, his presence was immense, radiating a palpable, crushing pressure that made the ancient dragon blood in my veins boil with an intense urge to fight. He wore black, scale-patterned formal wear, and a silver mask covered the left half of his face.
    He was not in a wheelchair. His legs were crossed casually, one hand resting on the arm of the throne, fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm.
    This was Gideon Carlisle.
    Our eyes met across the cavernous space. I saw the eye his mask did not hide. It was not the eye of a man. It was pure, molten gold, the burning, slitted pupil of a dragon.
    And as his predatory gaze locked onto mine, I didn’t flinch. Instead, my own eyes reflected the unyielding, ancient arrogance of a Dragon God.

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  • The Healer Bride: Awakening the Ruined Dragon King novel by Zana Kheiron

    The Healer Bride: Awakening the Ruined Dragon King novel by Zana Kheiron

    Blurb

    I was the eldest daughter of the Reynolds family, but in a world that worshipped dragon power, I was born completely “Dragonless.”
    After ten years of being engaged to Prince Krishna, the King suddenly decreed that my fiancé would marry my half-sister Deena instead.
    As for me, my father ruthlessly discarded me.
    I was ordered to marry Lord Boyce Carlisle, a crippled, dying warlord with a shattered Dragon Core and failing organs.
    I was being sent to a desolate border fortress just to be a dying man’s nursemaid, and then his widow.
    Deena flaunted her triumphant smile, whispering maliciously in my ear.
    “This is the fate a ‘Dragonless’ deserves. You’re being sent there to be buried with him.”
    My father didn’t even look at me, treating my death sentence as a highly profitable political trade.
    The suffocating despair and humiliation drove me to tie a silk sash to the ceiling beam and kick the chair away.
    Why should I be thrown away like trash?
    Why did my mother and I have to die in obscurity while they celebrated their royal wedding?
    But as the noose tightened, a violent torrent of memories flooded my mind.
    I remembered my past life as a top surgeon on Earth who spent thirty years snatching lives back from the jaws of death.
    I didn’t die.
    I cut myself down, wiped away my tears, and looked at my hands.
    I would heal this dying warlord, and use him to drag every single one of them to hell.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Healer Bride: Awakening the Ruined Dragon King Chapter 1

    Aspen POV:

    The Royal Messenger stood in the center of House Reynolds’ grand hall, slowly unfurling a heavy parchment scroll embroidered with the King’s golden dragon claw sigil.

    “By royal decree of His Grace, King Gamaliel Carlisle.” The messenger’s voice boomed off the high vaulted ceilings, cutting through the suffocating silence. “The betrothal between Prince Krishna Carlisle and Lady Aspen of House Reynolds is hereby dissolved.”

    A collective, theatrical gasp rippled through the assembled family and retainers.

    “In its stead,” the messenger continued with formal gravity, “a new union is declared. Prince Krishna shall take to wife Lady Deena of House Reynolds. Furthermore, in recognition of House Reynolds’ enduring loyalty, His Grace grants Lady Aspen Reynolds in marriage to Lord Boyce Carlisle of Blackwood Keep.”

    Boyce Carlisle.

    The name dropped over the grand hall like a suffocating winter frost.

    Once the kingdom’s invincible War God, blessed with the purest Dragonflame lineage, Boyce was now nothing more than a ruined legend.

    His Dragon Core had been violently shattered in the northern abyssal wars, his rank stripped, his vitality drained.

    He had been left to rot in the desolate wasteland of Blackwood Keep—a crippled, paralyzed “corpse” who couldn’t even speak, let alone summon dragonflame.

    Every single eye in the hall locked onto me, waiting.

    Everyone in the capital knew that Prince Krishna had been my entire world since childhood.

    I had loved him with a devotion bordering on madness, carving his name into my heart and enduring years of ridicule for his sake.

    They had all gathered today expecting a spectacle.

    They expected me to fall to my knees, claw at my chest, scream in hysterical agony, and beg my father not to trade my beloved prince away for a living corpse.

    My stepmother, Eleanor, rested a manicured hand over her chest, pretending to be shaken while her eyes glittered with dark, predatory amusement.

    Beside her, my half-sister, Deena, wore an exquisite gown of shimmering silver dragon-scale silk.

    She took a delicate step forward, her eyes brimming with manufactured tears as she reached out to clasp my hands.

    “Oh, Aspen…” Deena whimpered softly, her voice dripping with sickly-sweet poison. “Please don’t hate me! I begged Father and Prince Krishna to reconsider! But the royal bloodline requires a dragon-blessed bride for Krishna… and Lord Boyce is in such desperate need of a gentle caretaker in the frozen north. I will pray for you every day, Aspen.”

    Her fingers tightened, her sharp nails deliberately digging into the soft skin of my palm in a private, vicious gesture of triumph.

    I looked down at her hands, then slowly lifted my gaze to meet her eyes.

    My heartbeat remained slow, even, and calm.

    There were no hot tears burning behind my eyelids.

    No trembling in my breath.

    My silver-gray eyes were cold, unreadable, and as still as a frozen sea.

    Deena’s rehearsed expression began to fracture.

    The fake tears dried instantly in her eyes as she shrank back from the unsettling stillness in my gaze.

    I withdrew my hands from hers without a single drop of hesitation and turned directly to the royal envoy.

    “I accept the King’s arrangement.”

    My voice was clear, ringing with effortless composure through the silent hall.

    The messenger blinked, his mouth parting slightly, completely taken aback by my absolute lack of resistance.

    Sitting upon the high seat, my father, Elder Fredrick Reynolds, narrowed his eyes, his knuckles tightening around his gilded cane.

    He had stationed guards at every exit, fully expecting another humiliating display of madness from the daughter he considered a disgrace.

    “Aspen,” Fredrick’s voice rumbled down, cold and completely devoid of paternal warmth. “Three days ago, you brought shame upon this house by trying to hang yourself over a broken betrothal. I will not tolerate any more tantrums. You will accept this decree with dignity.”

    I turned toward him, offering a shallow, flawlessly executed curtsy.

    “You need not worry, Father,” I replied, my voice smooth and devoid of any sorrow. “Since it is His Grace’s royal will, we should not delay. Please prepare the dowry that rightfully belongs to the firstborn daughter of House Reynolds—including every ledger, estate deed, and manuscript left behind by my late mother.”

    Eleanor’s breath hitched in sharp disbelief.

    Fredrick’s jaw tightened, unsettled by how easily I had taken control of the room. “You shall have your mother’s chest, Aspen. See to it that you leave for Blackwood Keep by dawn.”

    “Gladly, Father,” I said, a faint, razor-thin smile touching the corner of my lips.

    Without sparing another glance at Deena’s pale, confused face or the whispering crowd of retainers, I turned on my heel and walked out of the grand hall with steady, measured strides.

    They believed they were banishing a broken, lovesick girl to rot in an icy wasteland beside a dying beast.

    They had no idea that they had just set me free—and placed the most lethal weapon in the kingdom directly into my hands.

    I returned to my room and closed the door, shutting out their world.

    Reaching into the drawer, I pulled out a small, weathered wooden box.

    It had belonged to my mother—the only thing of value she had left me.

    I lifted the lid.

    Inside, several thick, leather-bound journals lay quietly among dried herbs.

    Boyce Carlisle.

    The ruined lord.

    I knew nothing about him, but that didn’t matter.

    He was the first piece on my new chessboard.

    The Healer Bride: Awakening the Ruined Dragon King Chapter 2

    Aspen POV:

    The heavy oak door to my chambers was kicked open without so much as a warning knock.

    Deena swept into the room like a gilded peacock, her silk gown shimmering with radiant Dragonflame embroidery.

    It was the ceremonial gown crafted for her upcoming royal engagement feast—a celebration that was supposed to have been mine.

    Two handmaidens scurried behind her, balancing velvet-lined jewel cases laden with royal rubies and enchanted dragon-gold.

    I didn’t look up from my desk.

    My fingers remained steady as I traced the fine botanical sketches in my mother’s worn leather journal, cataloging the neurotoxic and restorative properties of high-altitude mountain moss.

    I treated Deena’s arrival as nothing more than a passing, filthy draft of wind.

    My absolute indifference was a sharper slap than any shouted curse.

    Deena’s smug smile tightened into a brittle grimace.

    Striding across the room, her clawed hand shot out, snatching the leather journal from under my fingers and hurling it violently onto the stone floor.

    “Still playing with dirt and dried weeds?” Deena sneered, kicking the book against the baseboard. “A No-Dragon should learn how to beg at a real master’s feet, not grub around like a peasant in the mud.”

    I stayed still for a moment, then slowly bent down.

    I retrieved the book and gently brushed the dust from its weathered cover, keeping my face entirely blank.

    My silence only fed her twisted arrogance.

    Deena tilted her chin up, deliberately stroking the magnificent teardrop ruby resting against her collarbone.

    “A gift delivered from Prince Krishna himself,” she purred, her voice dripping with vanity. “He calls it The Dragon’s Blood. He told me its fire only belongs on skin as pure and noble as mine.”

    She took two steps closer, leaning down until her breath felt hot and cloying against my ear.

    “Do you want to know what else my sweet prince said about you, Aspen?” she whispered viciously. “He said you were a bore. A cold, defective No-Dragon whose very touch felt like handling dry clay. He said keeping you by his side made him feel like he was dragging a rock.”

    I slowly closed the leather journal, setting it back on the desk.

    Seeing that I still didn’t shed a tear, Deena’s eyes flashed with venomous frustration.

    Needing a heavier blade to draw blood, her lips curved into a wicked, deliberate sneer.

    “Then again, this whole pathetic, dirt-scrabbling existence makes sense,” Deena said, flicking her golden curls. “You’re the spitting image of that dead wretch you called a mother.”

    My pulse stopped.

    The air inside the room turned instantly frigid.

    “She was nothing but a lowborn apothecary slave who used cheap herbal aphrodisiacs to crawl into Father’s bed,” Deena hissed, stepping closer and jabbing a sharp finger toward my chest. “A worthless parasite without a single drop of dragon blood! The moment Father took my mother, your mother was thrown into the freezing courtyard like discarded garbage, coughing up her own lungs until she died alone in the dark. That’s the blood in your veins, Aspen. A lineage of beggars destined to rot!”

    The entire world fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

    Before Deena could even draw her next breath, my arm moved like a striking viper.

    My fingers clamped around her throat with crushing force.

    With a single, violent motion, I drove her backward.

    Her back slammed against the heavy stone wall with a sickening crack, shaking the candle sconces above us.

    Deena’s eyes bulged in instant terror.

    Her breath choked off into a strangled, wet wheeze as her hands frantically clawed at my wrist.

    But my grip was forged of unrelenting steel; she couldn’t move my fingers a fraction of an inch.

    I leaned in close, my silver-gray eyes locking onto hers with a lethal, absolute killing intent.

    “Deena Reynolds,” I whispered. My voice was quiet, smooth, and colder than the frozen peaks of Blackwood Keep. “You can take my former betrothed. You can parade your stolen jewels. You can play whatever games you want in this house.” I tightened my fingers slightly, feeling the violent tremor racking her entire body. “But if you ever drag my mother’s name through your filthy mouth again…” I leaned an inch closer, each word slicing like a razor blade across her skin, “…I swear on her grave, your grand royal wedding will be the day they bury you in the dirt.”

    For the first time in her pampered life, Deena saw true, unhinged danger.

    She realized with terrifying certainty that I wasn’t bluffing.

    I wouldn’t cry, and I wouldn’t beg.

    I would simply end her.

    Her face flushed a deep, mottled purple as tears of pure panic streamed down her cheeks.

    The two handmaidens dropped the velvet cases in horror, trembling in the doorway, too paralyzed by fear to scream for the guards.

    I held her there for three agonizing seconds, letting the cold terror sink deep into her bones, before releasing my grip.

    Deena collapsed onto the stone floor like a sack of silk and jewels, clutching her bruised throat, gasping desperately for air in ragged, terrified sobs.

    I stood over her, casually smoothing out the cuffs of my dress.

    Then, a faint, chilling smile touched my lips.

    I stepped over her trembling legs, reached down into one of the open cases scattered across the rug, and picked up a small, crystal jar sealed with gold wax.

    It was her prized royal beautifying balm—an expensive concoction of moon-lily oil and crushed pearl that she religiously applied to her neck and face every evening before any grand banquet.

    A perfect scheme for vengeance formed in my head.

    I weighed the cold crystal in my palm, and then, right before her terrified, tear-filled eyes, I slipped the jar into my pocket.

    “Get out of my room,” I said softly.

    The spell of pride was utterly broken.

    Deena scrambled to her hands and knees, clawing at the doorway before stumbling out into the corridor, her frantic weeping echoing down the stone halls as her maids fled behind her.

    The Healer Bride: Awakening the Ruined Dragon King Chapter 3

    Aspen POV:

    After Deena fled in hysterical terror, a heavy, cold stillness settled over the bedchamber.

    The lingering scent of her cloying perfume mixed with the sharp odor of fear.

    I walked over to the stone casement, watching her scurry across the torchlit courtyard below, clutching her bruised neck while her maids scrambled behind her.

    My hands were still steady—not a single tremor of hesitation, only the cold adrenaline of calculated retribution.

    I closed my eyes, and the bitter memories of the past flooded into my mind.

    I remembered my mother, Elara Beaumont.

    She had been the most brilliant apothecary in the realm, gifted with an unparalleled understanding of biological chemistry and medicinal flora.

    But because she was a No-Dragon, high society viewed her as little more than an outcast.

    When she met my father, Fredrick Reynolds, he was nothing more than an ambitious merchant upstart who had bought a petty noble title, plagued by a latent, crippling bloodline disease.

    It was my mother who spent sleepless nights formulating rare tinctures to purge his condition, single-handedly curing him and paving his ascension to the Council of Elders.

    Yet the moment Fredrick secured his wealth and power, he discarded her like an old shoe.

    He brought in Eleanor as his concubine, seduced by her claims of diluted dragon lineage—a glorified half-blood pedigree he foolishly believed would elevate him—while banishing my mother, his lawful wife, to a dilapidated pavilion on the outskirts of the estate to cough up blood until she died of a broken heart.

    Her dying words to me had been, “Aspen, never trust a Reynolds.”

    For years, I had been a blind fool, pouring my entire heart into Prince Krishna in a desperate search for love and belonging—only to walk the exact same tragic path as my mother.

    Three days ago, when Fredrick Reynolds marched into this room at Eleanor’s urging, coldly commanding me to yield my betrothal and legitimate status to Deena—his concubine’s daughter—and submit to being sold off to the ruined, paralyzed Boyce Carlisle, the final pillar of my sanity collapsed.

    Consumed by grief, betrayal, and unbearable despair, I tied a silk cord around the rafters and hung myself.

    Everyone in the manor believed it was a sheer miracle that I opened my eyes three days later.

    They had no idea that during those three days of comatose darkness, my soul had crossed the dimensional void into a parallel, hyper-advanced civilization known as the Modern World.

    In that world, I grew up as a penniless orphan.

    But in a society governed by merit, knowledge, and modern science, I rose through sheer grit, graduating at the absolute top of the nation’s premier medical academy.

    I devoted that entire lifetime to clinical surgery, neurotrauma, and advanced pharmacology—saving countless lives and pioneering revolutionary neural regeneration techniques that earned me the legendary title of The Peerless Healer.

    I lived that second life to a peaceful old age, closing my eyes on my deathbed—only to wake up in a sudden gasp back in my twenty-year-old body, precisely two days after my suicide.

    The weak, weeping girl who begged for Prince Krishna’s scraps of affection died on that cord.

    I had returned as a master surgeon and biochemical genius, armed with centuries of cutting-edge clinical mastery that this primitive world of swords and dragons could never comprehend.

    I opened my eyes.

    Every trace of sorrow was gone, replaced by absolute, glacial resolve.

    Walking back to the table, I set down the crystal jar of royal beautifying balm I had taken from Deena.

    From the hidden compartment in my mother’s wooden chest, I pulled out a small packet wrapped in oiled paper: Dragon’s Shade powder.

    On its own, the crushed herb was harmless.

    But when combined with the lunar pearl extract used exclusively in royal court cosmetics and activated by body heat, it triggered a violent, delayed biochemical reaction twelve hours later.

    The symptoms were horrifying: an angry, weeping scarlet rash covering the entire face and chest, paired with unbearable agony and itching.

    It mimicked a disgusting, incurable pestilence, yet after twelve hours, the compound would metabolize completely and vanish without a trace, leaving no evidence for any physician to find.

    Using a fine silver needle, I stirred a precise pinch of the powder into Deena’s cream until the paste was seamlessly smooth.

    I knew Deena’s vanity.

    With her engagement banquet only three days away, she would order her servants to sneak back and retrieve her prized cream, and she would slather it on religiously.

    I could already picture it: Prince Krishna lifting his radiant bride’s veil on their wedding night, only to recoil in sheer revulsion at the hideous, festering rash covering her face.

    A razor-thin smile touched my lips.

    Consider this the first installment of your debt, little sister.

    I set the doctored jar in a visible shadow near the door.

    A gentle knock broke the silence, and Penny, my personal handmaiden, slipped into the room carrying a bowl of hot broth.

    Her eyes were red and puffy from crying.

    “My lady…” Penny’s voice trembled with grief. “The entire manor is whispering. They say… they say the Elder is exiling you to the frozen wasteland of Blackwood Keep. Lord Boyce is a shattered, dying man… it’s too cruel!”

    I took the warm bowl and looked into her tear-streaked face.

    Penny had been with me since childhood, the only person in this venomous household genuinely loyal to me.

    “Penny,” I said softly, my voice firm and reassuring. “I leave for Blackwood Keep at dawn. It is a dangerous, frozen ruin, and you are not obligated to follow me.”

    Penny didn’t hesitate.

    She dropped to her knees, grasping my hand tightly.

    “Wherever you go, my lady, Penny will go. Even if Blackwood Keep is a dragon’s tomb, I will never leave your side.”

    Warmth spread through my chest.

    “Pack our warmest cloaks and every medical ledger in this room, Penny. We aren’t going there to die. We are going there to take command.”

    After Penny left to prepare our trunks, I looked out toward the distant northern mountains.

    My next moves were clear: First, give Deena and Krishna an unforgettable wedding catastrophe. Second, establish absolute control over Blackwood Keep. Third, heal Boyce Carlisle.

    To the world, he was a living corpse with a shattered Dragon Core.

    To the greatest surgeon of two worlds, he was the ultimate clinical challenge—and the sharpest, most terrifying weapon I would ever forge.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Unwanted Northern Heiress Shines Again novel by Yan Huo

    The Unwanted Northern Heiress Shines Again novel by Yan Huo

    👉 READ NOW

    I had managed the Castro estate for three years, supporting my husband, Lord Brian Castro, while he fought on the battlefield.

    But the moment he returned victorious, he coldly announced that the King had granted him permission to marry the powerful Dragon Knight, Lady Brittaney Kirk.

    “I expect you to show grace, accept this, and prepare the best rooms for her.”

    He commanded me like a glorified servant, expecting me to continue running the household for his new bride.

    His mother also mocked my Dragonless bloodline, telling me my honor was tied to them and I should be grateful to even stay.

    In my last life, I cried and begged him not to abandon me, hoping my devotion would win him back.

    But my compliance only allowed them to build their glory on my misery, and my entire family—House Serrano—was slaughtered by assassins in a single night.

    Until I died, I didn’t understand why my years of sacrifice were met with such cruel betrayal, or why my brave father and brothers had to die in pools of blood just to pave the way for Brittaney’s rise.

    Opening my eyes again, I was back on the night Brian arrogantly announced his new marriage.

    This time, I didn’t shed a single tear.

    I packed up my massive dowry, gathered my eighty loyal servants, and went straight to the Dragon King to demand a Rejection Ritual.

    I would leave them with nothing but an empty shell.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Unwanted Northern Heiress Shines Again Chapter 1

    Elaine Serrano POV:
    “Elaine, take off the ancestral Dragon-bone ring of House Castro. Brittaney is my true Fated Mate, and from today on, you will step down and serve as a lowly personal maid.”

    Bang. The heavy oak door of my bedchamber was violently kicked open.

    The freezing, ruthless voice of my husband, Lord Brian Castro, shattered the silence of the night.

    I sat before the mirror in a delicate silk gown, looking at my own reflection. Just a few moments ago, I had opened my eyes to find myself reborn—brought back in time to the exact night Brian returned from his year-long war, the night I had prepared to offer myself to him as a welcome-home gift.

    In my previous life, I was foolish enough to let my love for him blind me. When he shattered my heart with his cruel declaration, I had cried, begged, and eventually swallowed my pride, accepting the humiliation of becoming his lowly personal maid just to stay by his side. But my pathetic compromise only led to a horrifying end: they drained every last copper coin of my dowry, butchered the loyal servants I brought from my homeland, and finally, Brittaney burned me alive in a freezing dungeon with her dragonfire!

    Now, looking at the man I had once loved with all my heart, I felt nothing but a sickening wave of pure disgust and a bone-deep thirst for vengeance.

    He strode in, but he wasn’t alone. Next to him stood Brittaney Kirk, a tall, striking female Dragon Knight. Brian’s arm was wrapped tightly around her waist. His deep blue eyes, looking at her, burned with a raw, fiery devotion he had never, ever shown me.

    “She is the new Lady of this Dragon Court,” Brian declared, his gaze shifting to me with absolute zero warmth.

    He paused, clearly waiting for my hysterical breakdown, my tears, and my desperate pleas.

    But I simply sat there, my face as calm as a frozen lake.

    My utter lack of reaction seemed to irritate him. A flash of annoyance crossed his handsome face. He closed the distance between us in two large strides. His large, calloused hand gripped my jaw with bruising force, forcing me to look up into his eyes filled with pure, unadulterated repulsion.

    “Are you deaf, or just too stupid to understand?” he snarled, raking his gaze over my silk gown with a vicious sneer. “Did you really think a cursed Dragonless like you could keep me? Let’s be honest! The only reason I married you was because you used your family’s wealth to force my hand! Look at yourself—a cold-blooded Earthbound who can’t even produce a spark of dragonfire. Hugging you is like hugging a freezing corpse!”

    My fingernails dug so fiercely into my palms that warm blood began to drip onto the carpet.

    “And don’t look at me with that dead expression!” Brian tightened his grip on my jaw, his voice dripping with venom, deliberately weaponizing my deepest trauma. “What are you now? Your father and brothers were arrogant fools! Their bloodline was so weak their dragonfire was extinguished by the enemy, getting your entire family butchered like pigs! You are a jinx with a broken Dragon Core! Asking you to stay in my castle as a personal maid is an act of profound charity!”

    Three years ago, my father and six brothers died in battle. Shortly after, enemy spies infiltrated my homeland and brutally slaughtered my mother and the entire household of the old, the weak, women, and children! Simply because my father and brothers had been the strongest shield against the enemy nation, they annihilated my entire bloodline! Every single person was hacked with seventy-two sword strikes. Even my third brother’s newborn son was butchered and dismembered so horribly his tiny body wasn’t left intact.

    Even in a second lifetime, hearing him weaponize my slaughtered family against me again made the maddening urge to kill scream in my veins. If looks could kill, Brian would have been torn into a thousand bloody pieces right then and there. But the phantom sensation of being burned alive by dragonfire flared in my bones, an agonizing reminder of what reckless anger would cost me.

    I masked the lethal sharpness in my eyes perfectly. Patience, I told myself. Before I destroy them, I need to take back every single copper coin I own.

    “Oh, Brian, please don’t be so harsh on her,” Brittaney sighed, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his waist from behind, deliberately pressing her breasts against his armor. She flashed me a condescending, venomous smile over his shoulder. “Elaine, please don’t be sad. Since you have nowhere to go, you can stay. I loathe doing chores anyway. From now on, you can draw our bathwater, and… oh, you can wash our bedsheets every morning. It will give a fragile, magic-less thing like you a sense of purpose.”

    “What is all this screaming?” The harsh voice of my mother-in-law, Lady Icie, echoed from the hallway. She walked into the room, drawn by the commotion. She was wearing the expensive, gold-threaded silk I bought for her, yet when she saw me, her face twisted with absolute disdain.

    “Have you no shame, Elaine?” Icie spat. “Brittaney is a true Winged warrior. Her fiery dragon breath cured my illness and brought me immense joy. You just smell of earth and death. It is the Court that feeds you! Brian is merciful enough to let you serve him. Learn to know your place and be grateful!”

    Grateful?

    When Brian left for war, Icie was dying. I exhausted my massive dowry to hire a Royal Dragon Healer. I, a Dragonless, used my own body heat to keep her warm through freezing nights. Every single bite of food these dragons ate, the chandeliers above their heads, the very castle they were standing in—all bought with my wealth!

    And now, they were standing on the bloody corpses of my slaughtered family, calling me a freezing corpse, and demanding I wash their dirty bedsheets?!

    In my last life, this injustice had suffocated me. But now, it only brought a bone-chilling, terrifying calm.

    I slowly stood up. With agonizing slowness, I slid the heavy, ancestral Dragon-bone ring off my finger. The metal clinked sharply as I dropped it onto the table.

    “If that is the Lord’s command,” I lowered my eyes, completely masking the lethal, venomous sharpness hidden in my gaze. “I step down.”

    Brittaney’s lips curled into a victorious smirk. Brian let out a long breath of relief, letting go of my jaw and looking at Brittaney with deep affection. My complete surrender fully satisfied his arrogant Dragon pride.

    Smoothing the invisible wrinkles on my silk gown, I gave them one last, perfect curtsy befitting a lowly personal maid.

    But the moment I turned my back and walked out of the room, a twisted, bloodcurdling sneer finally broke through the fragile mask on my face.

    Enjoy your Fated Mate, Brian.

    I can’t wait to see your arrogant Dragon pride shatter into bloody pieces. Let’s see how deep your Fated Flame burns when you realize your glorious Dragon Court doesn’t even have moldy scraps to eat… once I cut off every single penny of my money.

    The Unwanted Northern Heiress Shines Again Chapter 2

    Elaine Serrano POV:
    The heavy oak door of my bedchamber clicked shut behind me, but it couldn’t completely muffle the laughter and celebration coming from the main hall. In the dim corridor, my loyal personal maid, Phoebe, stood trembling in the shadows.

    Without a word, she hurried to my side, draping a warm shawl over my shivering shoulders, and fell into step behind me as we walked down the freezing stone corridor.

    The commotion had already drawn the night staff out of the woodwork. The servants, who used to bow so low their noses nearly touched the floor whenever I passed, now openly lined the hallway, not even bothering to hide their gloating stares or their malicious whispers.

    “Did you hear? Lord Brian stripped her title. She’s just a personal maid now,” a scullery maid whispered loudly.

    “About time. She’s just a cursed Dragonless jinx anyway,” a guard snickered, his eyes shamelessly raking over my silk gown.

    I felt Phoebe shaking with rage behind me, but I didn’t stop. In my past life, these whispers were like knives to my heart. Now, they were just the buzzing of flies destined for the slaughterhouse.

    When I finally pushed open the door to my own chambers, the biting cold hit me instantly. The dragon-crystal heater was completely dead. Not a single spark of energy had been provided for the night.

    The moment the door clicked shut, sealing us inside, Phoebe finally collapsed to her knees.

    “My lady… how could he? How could Lord Brian do this?!” Phoebe sobbed, her fingers digging desperately into the cold floorboards. “He knew how much that night destroyed you! How could he use the slaughter of your family as a weapon to humiliate you in front of everyone?!”

    Looking at Phoebe, my childhood companion who shared my deepest trauma, the last trace of patience in my heart vanished.

    “Stand up, Phoebe,” I said, my voice dropping to an eerie, frozen whisper. I knelt and gently wiped the tears from her face. “Tears cannot wash away the blood of our families. Brian said House Serrano is nothing but a dead graveyard. Then it is time we show him how the ghosts from that graveyard feast.”

    I stood up and walked to the row of massive dowry chests in the corner of the room. They were made of ironwood, unique to the North, and branded with my family’s snow-wolf sigil.

    This was everything I had brought from House Serrano. It was also my ticket out of this disgusting cage.

    I opened one of the chests and took out a heavy ledger from a smaller box. My mother had left it to me. It recorded all the assets and connections of House Serrano.

    By the light of the dragon-crystal lamp, I began to carefully inventory my dowry.

    House Serrano. Once the strongest shield of the North, guarding the realm for the Raymond dynasty for generations.

    Three years ago, my father and six brothers died on the southern battlefield. Their dragonfire was extinguished when they were heavily surrounded. Shortly after, Veskarian assassins slipped through the broken defense line like ghosts, infiltrating our homeland. My mother, my sister-in-laws, and all the old and weak were brutally slaughtered in pools of their own blood.

    The official story was that it was a mad act of revenge by the enemy for my father and brothers’ past victories.

    I had believed it. But now, in my second life, I knew it wasn’t that simple.

    Brittaney Kirk… her shadow loomed over that tragedy. Back then, it was Brittaney’s elite Winged squadron that was supposed to reinforce my father. But they were mysteriously “delayed.” Their delay cost the lives of my father and brothers, which allowed the assassins to breach the North.

    In my past life, I thought it was a tragic accident. But after being burned alive by her dragonfire, a chilling realization crept into my mind: what if she had intentionally let my family die?

    A sharp pain shot through my chest. I gripped the edge of the chest, gasping for breath. The fire of vengeance burned in my veins.

    But it wasn’t time for that. First, I had to escape this cage.

    It wasn’t just these material goods in the ledger. There were also eighty servants who had come with me to the Castro estate. They were born into the service of my house, loyal only to me.

    Brian and the Castros all assumed that once I married into their family, these people and properties naturally belonged to them.

    They were wrong.

    According to the laws of the kingdom, a wife’s dowry belongs to her and her alone, unless she willingly gifts it away.

    And the “Rejection Ritual” was the only form of marital dissolution that allowed the female to leave with her entire dowry, no questions asked.

    It required the consent of both parties, or… a direct command from the Dragon King himself.

    Brian wanted his new bride and his glory. I wanted my freedom and my dignity. We would settle this the old-fashioned way, the dragon way.

    I closed the ledger and put it back. The plan was clear in my mind.

    The Castros thought they controlled everything, but they didn’t know that my father, Corbin Serrano, had been one of King Aurthur’s most trusted Dragon Lords. He had even saved the King’s life when His Majesty was a boy.

    The Castros didn’t know about that favor. But the King would remember.

    All I needed was a chance to see him.

    “Starting tomorrow morning,” I ordered Phoebe, my tone absolute and merciless. “Send our hidden guards to every Serrano-owned business, farm, and mine. Cease all fund transfers to the Castro estate. Cut off their food supplies, their winter clothing, their weapon shipments, and the Royal Dragon Healer’s fees. Freeze every single copper coin.”

    Phoebe’s eyes ignited with a fierce, vengeful fire. “You mean… we cut them off completely?”

    “Completely,” I turned to face her. “Since Brittaney loathes the ‘petty chores’ of managing a Dragon Court, let’s see how her glorious dragonfire conjures bread out of thin air.”

    “Prepare ink and parchment,” I said, my gaze shifting toward the distant, towering spires of the Dragon Palace. “I am writing to the Dragon King.”

    After the last word was written, I blew the ink dry, folded the letter, and sealed it with the Serrano family crest—a snow-wolf forged in blood and iron.

    “Find the most reliable messenger among our loyal guards,” I ordered, handing the heavy envelope to Phoebe. “Ride through the night. Deliver this straight to the Dragon Palace.”

    The Unwanted Northern Heiress Shines Again Chapter 3

    Elaine Serrano POV:
    Two days had passed since my letter was dispatched. The Dragon Palace hadn’t replied yet, but I wasn’t anxious. A petition of that magnitude took time.

    For the past forty-eight hours, I had barricaded myself in my freezing chambers. Whenever the Castro servants pounded on my door, demanding I come out and scrub the new Lady’s bedsheets, I simply ignored them.

    Bang, bang, bang!

    The heavy oak door to my quarters shuddered under an impatient fist. Hazel, the personal maid of the dowager, Lady Icie, stood in the hallway with her nose pointed at the ceiling.

    “Elaine,” Hazel announced, deliberately dropping my title. “Lady Icie requests your presence in the grand solar. Immediately.”

    Phoebe bristled beside me, but I simply gave her a calming glance. I smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on my elegant, dark velvet gown. I knew exactly why I was being summoned. The financial freeze had finally hit them where it hurt.

    When I stepped into the lavish solar, Icie Castro was sitting in the center of a plush chaise lounge. Standing right next to her was Brittaney Kirk, wearing a sheer morning gown, her arms crossed as she glared at me.

    “Elaine, my dear child, come sit,” Icie cooed, suppressing her obvious panic and forcing a tone of artificial, sickening affection.

    “I heard you froze the estate accounts out of a little… childish jealousy,” Icie began, her tone soft and placating. “I know you feel wronged. But you must understand, you’ve managed this household for three years, and you’ve done it well. Unfreeze the accounts. Pay the Royal Dragon Healer and the merchants for tomorrow’s ceremony. As long as you hold the purse strings, you will always be the true mistress of this Dragon Court in my eyes.”

    I watched her perform, my heart cold and detached. In my past life, I had believed these honeyed words, only to be drained dry.

    I gave a small, flawless smile, my eyes wide and perfectly innocent.

    “Mother, you misunderstand,” I said, my voice soft, respectful, and dripping with absolute compliance. “How could I possibly freeze the accounts out of jealousy? I am merely following Lord Brian’s strict orders.”

    Icie frowned. “What orders?”

    “Two nights ago, Lord Brian made it very clear that I am stripped of my title and am now nothing but a lowly personal maid,” I explained, blinking gently. “According to the kingdom’s customs, a personal maid has no right to manage the noble finances of a Dragon Court. It would be a severe overstep of my bounds. I wouldn’t dare touch the accounts.”

    Icie’s face stiffened. She hadn’t expected me to use Brian’s own vicious words as a shield.

    I turned my gaze to Brittaney, offering her a respectful, subservient curtsy. “Since Lady Brittaney is the true Fated Mate and the new Lady of this house, it is only natural that I make way for her. It is my duty as a servant.”

    “You…!” Icie switched tactics, her voice rising in panic. “Brittaney is a noble Dragon Knight! She will be busy with her training. How could she have time for these trivial matters? You must continue to manage the household. That is an order!”

    “I’m afraid I cannot, Mother,” I refused gently, maintaining my perfect, harmless smile. “If outsiders were to find out that a glorious Dragon Court relies on the dowry of a cursed, magic-less Dragonless to feed its warriors and pay its Healers, wouldn’t that make Lord Brian and Lady Brittaney’s Fated Love a laughingstock across the entire kingdom?”

    I paused, letting the humiliation of that truth sink into their arrogant bones.

    “I am doing this to protect House Castro’s honor,” I added smoothly. “I have already instructed my stewards to prepare the handover of all estate management. Lady Brittaney, with her powerful dragonfire, will surely have no trouble conjuring bread and paying the merchants for tomorrow’s ceremony, right?”

    Brittaney’s face turned ashen in an instant. Her arrogant glare shattered into pure panic. She knew how to swing a sword, but she didn’t have a single copper coin to run a massive estate.

    “You… you dare!” Icie shot up from her chaise lounge, the sudden movement causing her to cough violently. She pointed a shaking finger at me, her face purple with rage, completely unable to speak.

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  • The Dragon Lord’s Rejected Wife novel by Escritor apalacio

    The Dragon Lord's Rejected Wife novel by Escritor apalacio

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    For five years, I held House Ward together with my own two hands—a Dragonless wife managing an ancient dragon-blooded estate, counting the days for my husband to come home from the war.

    He came home with a pregnant mistress on his arm and a son who wore his eyes.

    He petitioned the Dragon King to make her his legal co-consort, and entered their bastard into the bloodline registry as his heir.

    His family doted on the boy and treated me like a ghost—until the boy shoved a bowl of scalding soup onto my hand at dinner.

    “A Dragonless woman is worthy of a physician’s time?” the matriarch sneered, hugging the grinning child.

    So I summoned my own physician. Paid from my own gold. And I smiled.

    Because I finally saw the game they were playing.

    I handed every key and every ledger to his clueless mistress—the very ledgers that prove House Ward is a gilded, crumbling shell held upright by my dowry alone.

    I accepted his co-consort. But I set one condition: the Rejection Ritual. A severance more final than divorce.

    They think I’m surrendering.

    They don’t know I’ve already lit the fuse.

    Let the glittering house burn. I’m done being his wife.

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    The Dragon Lord’s Rejected Wife Chapter 1

    Delphine Winters POV:
    “He’s here!”
    The shout echoed through the grand hall of Ward Manor, and my heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of anticipation.Five years I had lived as a widow in all but name—my husband gone to a war that never sent him home—and today, that long winter was finally over.
    I smoothed the front of my silk gown. It was a magnificent creation, the color of a twilight sky, a gift from my mother. Its cost could have fed a village for a year, yet it bore no shimmering scale patterns, no threads of woven dragon-fire. A silent, constant reminder of my status: Delphine Winters, the Dragonless wife, a wealthy merchant’s daughter who had married into the ancient, dragon-blooded House Ward.
    The air smelled of dragon’s breath incense and burning oak, a scent unique to the halls of dragon-kin nobility. Across the room, the massive dragon-head fireplace roared, its controlled flames casting a warm glow on the cold stone walls. The firelight danced over the Ward family’s war banner hanging above, the red-gold threads of its dragon sigil proclaiming their heritage as Half-Blood dragons.
    My mother-in-law, Eleanor, raised a goblet toward me. The wine inside had been warmed by dragon-fire, a privilege of the nobility. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. I knew she saw me not as a daughter, but as the treasury that kept this house from crumbling.
    From the high-backed chair at the head of the room, the family matriarch, Matilda, watched me with a critical gaze, as if I were a piece of furniture that didn’t quite match the decor.
    A horn blast from outside shattered the tense quiet. The lord had returned.
    My breath caught.
    The heavy oak doors swung open. And there he was. Erwin Ward. He stood silhouetted against the fading light, taller and harder than I remembered, the cold edge of the battlefield etched into the lines of his face. He wore the uniform of a Dragon Marshal—the battlefield rank the King had granted him for the northern campaign, worn over his hereditary lordship of House Ward—its dark fabric adorned with the family’s red-gold dragon crest.
    Cheers erupted. “Welcome home, Lord Ward!”
    I moved through the crowd, my own joy a silent song. Five years of waiting, of holding this house together, were about to be rewarded with his embrace.
    His eyes met mine across the hall. But there was no joy in them. No relief. Only a flicker of something complex and evasive. My steps faltered.
    He didn’t move toward me. Instead, he stepped aside.
    And revealed the person standing behind him.
    A woman. Young, dressed in a simple linen dress that was utterly out of place among the silks and velvets of the court.
    One of her hands was held tightly in Erwin’s. The other rested protectively on her swollen belly. She was heavily pregnant.
    My mind went blank. The cheering of the crowd became a distant, muffled roar, as if I were underwater.
    Beside the woman stood a little boy, no older than four or five. His eyes were a perfect, startling copy of Erwin’s.
    Erwin cleared his throat, his voice taking on a formal, proclamatory tone I had never heard before. “This is Beryl King,” he announced. “And our firstborn son, Theo.”
    My gaze swept the room. Eleanor avoided my eyes. Matilda, however, had a look of grim satisfaction. The other family members were watching me, their faces alight with cruel curiosity.
    They all knew.
    This welcome wasn’t for me. It was for her.
    I was the last to be told, in the most humiliating way possible. I was the punchline to a joke I didn’t even know was being told.
    The blood in my veins turned to ice. My body, which the dragon-kin called “cold-blooded” because I had no dragon-fire of my own, finally felt the part.
    Erwin looked at me, his lips parting as if to speak. “Delphine, I know this is sudden, but I hope you can…”
    I didn’t let him finish.
    Slowly, gracefully, I gathered the hem of my skirt. I sank into the most perfect, most distant curtsy I could manage.
    “Welcome home, Lord Ward,” I said, my voice as still and dead as a frozen lake. “And welcome to your guests.”
    I deliberately called them “guests.” It was the only weapon I had.
    Erwin’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t expected this calm.
    Beryl flinched, shrinking behind him and looking at me with wide, wet eyes, as if I were the villain in this story.
    The boy, Theo, showed no such fear. He peeked out from behind Beryl’s legs and made a face at me.
    I turned away from them, my back straight, and walked step by step into the shadows at the edge of the hall. The light was dim there, just like my heart.
    I could feel every eye in the room on my back. Pity. Glee. Contempt.
    I lifted my chin. My pride would not let me fall apart here. I was a Winters, not some wilting flower to be trampled.
    Erwin started to follow, but a sharp look from his mother stopped him. Eleanor then moved to greet Beryl, her voice warm and welcoming, as if she were the true lady of the house.
    Watching the farce, the last wisp of warmth I held for this family vanished.
    From this day forward, I live only for myself.
    And Erwin Ward, along with his entire house, would pay for what they had done today.

    The Dragon Lord’s Rejected Wife Chapter 2

    Delphine Winters POV:
    I stood in the shadows, a ghost at my own husband’s homecoming feast. I watched as Erwin was surrounded by his family, Beryl clinging to his side like a frightened rabbit. The boy, Theo, was already perched on Matilda’s lap, being fed a piece of dragon-flame baked pastry.
    That should have been for the child I was never able to bear him—the child we might have had, had he ever truly come home to me.A sharp pain lanced through my chest, but I forced my face to remain a mask of indifference.
    Finally, Erwin broke away from the crowd and walked toward me, holding two goblets. They were made of dragon-crystal, shimmering in the firelight, vessels only dragon-kin nobility were permitted to use. He offered one to me.
    I didn’t take it. “I’m not thirsty, Lord Ward.”
    His face hardened. “Delphine, we need to talk.”
    “I think we have nothing to talk about.” I turned to leave.
    He grabbed my wrist. His hand was hot, like a brand. “Don’t be like this.”
    I looked down at his grip, my voice dripping with ice. “Please let go. Your partner is waiting for you.”
    Erwin took a deep breath, his voice low and urgent. “Beryl and Theo will be living here now. I need you to give them the Lakeview Pavilion.”
    The Lakeview Pavilion. The most beautiful, spacious residence on the entire estate. By tradition, it was the home of the lady of House Ward. I had lived there for five years. Now he was asking me to give it to another woman.
    I laughed. It was a soft, brittle sound. “Of course. It won’t be my place for much longer anyway.”
    He stared at me, stunned by my easy agreement, completely missing the meaning behind my words.
    I pulled my arm from his grasp, not giving him another glance, and walked toward the corridor that led to my own residence, the Whispering Willow Court. I could feel his gaze burning into my back, but I didn’t turn around. The moment he walked through that door with her, everything between us had turned to ash.
    When I reached my rooms, my maids, Clara and Mina, were waiting anxiously.
    “My lady,” Clara whispered, her eyes red. “They are too cruel!”
    I sank wearily into a chair as Mina poured me a cup of hot tea. “It’s useless to say that now.”
    “So we just accept it?” Mina asked, her voice tight with indignation.
    “Of course not,” I said, lifting the cup and watching the steam curl into the air. “But not now.”
    My plan would require time. Patience. And the perfect moment.
    A hurried knock came at the door. It was Erwin’s personal manservant.
    “My lady,” the servant panted. “Lady Eleanor has requested Lord Ward’s presence. The lord is… in a temper. But he asked me to inform you that he is coming to your court.”
    I raised an eyebrow. Erwin, coming here? Forced by his mother, no doubt.
    A few moments later, I heard his heavy footsteps. He hesitated outside my door before finally pushing it open. He had changed out of his uniform and into a casual tunic embroidered with the red-gold dragon of his house. It made him look less like a soldier and more like a man consumed by irritation.
    He waved my maids away, leaving us alone.
    He didn’t look at me, pacing to the window instead. “My mother sent me to explain.”
    “Explain what?” I asked, my voice flat. “How you found ‘true love’ on the battlefield? Or how you can live comfortably on my family’s wealth while supporting a mistress and child elsewhere?”
    He spun around, his face a mask of fury at being so accurately called out. “It’s not like that! Beryl…”
    He bit back his words, the anger dissolving into a frustrated sigh. “Delphine, I know I owe you. But you can’t deny there’s been no affection between us for a long time.”
    “So that’s your excuse for betrayal?” I scoffed.
    He had no answer, only pacing the room like a caged beast.
    This was all going as I’d predicted. Eleanor, that clever woman, knew where the lifeblood of House Ward truly lay. She was afraid I would cut off the funds in a fit of anger, so she forced her selfish son to come here and offer false comfort.
    A pity for them. It was too late. My heart had died the moment I saw that woman.
    Erwin finally stopped pacing. He stood before me, reaching for my hand. I pulled it away.
    “Delphine,” he said, his voice strained. “Just give me some time. I’ll handle this.”

    The Dragon Lord’s Rejected Wife Chapter 3

    Delphine Winters POV:
    I watched Erwin’s hand freeze in mid-air. A flicker of hurt crossed his face, but it stirred no sympathy in me.
    “Handle this?” I repeated, my voice laced with undisguised mockery. “Is your way of handling this to ask me to give the mistress’s residence to your lover?”
    His expression turned ugly, a mixture of guilt and impatience. “Delphine, it’s different! Beryl… she saved my life!”
    He finally said it. The great, noble reason.
    “In the Blackwood of the North,” he began, his voice low and colored with memory, “I was ambushed by enemy dragon-fire. My Dragon Core was nearly shattered. The burns of enemy flame could not be healed by any herb in the borderlands, and my shattered guards lay dead around me. I should have died in that snow. But Beryl—a Dragonless woman with nothing—found me bleeding and burning, and she refused to let me die. She dragged me back from the brink and kept me alive for three months.”
    He did not say it, but I understood what he was leaving out: a common herb gatherer could not heal a wound of dragon-fire. What Beryl had saved was his body—the fever, the bleeding, the broken bones of a fallen dragon. The rest, the Dragon Core he said was “nearly” shattered, his own dragon’s constitution must have clawed back from the edge on its own, slowly, over those three months. She had kept him alive long enough for his soul to survive. That was the debt he owed her—not a cure, but a life.
    I listened silently. I listened as he described her bravery, her gentleness. I listened to the undisguised love in his voice.
    Every word was a shard of ice driving into my heart. And then I realized my heart was already numb. I couldn’t even feel the pain anymore.
    “So, to repay her for saving your life, you destroy our five-year marriage? You destroy my five years of waiting?” I asked calmly.
    “I’m not destroying it!” he retorted, his voice rising. “I can take her as my second partner! Delphine, among dragon-kin, a lord may take more than one partner—this is permitted!”
    “Permitted is not the same as normal.” I cut him off. “It is a rare thing, and a shameful one, and it is not normal. Not for me.”
    “It’s not up to you!” His patience finally snapped. He pulled a scroll from his tunic and threw it on the table.
    It was bound in black leather, stamped with the golden sigil of the Dragon God. I recognized it. A command from the Dragon King.
    “A co-partner must be entered into the bloodline registry—it touches the succession and the inheritance of my house—so I have already petitioned the King and received his permission,” he announced, his voice dripping with condescension, trying to crush me with the weight of royal authority. “By this decree, Beryl King will be a legal co-partner of House Ward, and Theo our registered firstborn.”
    I stared at the Dragon King’s Command. It was a death sentence for my love, my dignity.
    I started to laugh. I truly laughed, so hard that tears pricked my eyes.
    Erwin was bewildered. “What are you laughing at?”
    “I’m laughing at myself, for being such a fool.” I stopped, my gaze turning cold. “Erwin Ward, have you forgotten who pulled House Ward back from the brink of bankruptcy five years ago?”
    “Who filled your empty vaults with chests of Winters family gold? Whose dowry allowed you to maintain the facade of a Dragon Lord, to afford to even go to that damned war?”
    Every question I fired made his face grow paler.
    “I bought your family’s honor with my family’s wealth. And what did I get in return? I waited for five years like a widow, only for you to bring home a pregnant mistress and an illegitimate son, and to use a royal command to tell me I must share my husband!”
    My voice grew louder, five years of humiliation and rage pouring out of me.
    “You are using my money to raise your lover and your bastard, and you expect me to be grateful for the arrangement? Erwin Ward, is your face made of dragon scales?”
    He staggered back under the force of my words, his face a mottled mess of red and white. He couldn’t form a single sentence.
    “Delphine, I…”
    “Get out,” I said, pointing to the door. My voice was quiet, but it held the unshakeable force of a final judgment.
    He stared at me, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. In his mind, I had always been the docile, obedient wife.
    We locked eyes, the air crackling with tension.
    This was the first time in our five years of marriage that we had truly fought. And it was the first time I had ever told him to get out.
    He looked like he wanted to argue, but I just turned my back on him, a gesture of final dismissal.
    Another word from him would make me sick.
    Finally, he stormed out, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled in their frames.
    The room fell into a dead silence. I slowly sank to the floor, a deep chill seeping into my bones.
    Clara and Mina rushed in, helping me to my feet.
    “My lady, are you alright?”
    I shook my head, steadying myself on the table. The Dragon King’s Command lay there like a venomous snake, its golden sigil mocking me. The break was complete. It had already begun.

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