Chapter 2 Arranged Marriage to a Cruel Monster
Thalira, 21
A shocking splash of freezing water hit my face, wrenching me violently from sleep. I gasped, coughing as the icy liquid dripped down my chin.
Blinking through the wet blur, I found the Queen Mother staring down at me with a twisted, mocking smile.
“How dare you sleep while our entire realm hangs by a thread?” she sneered, her voice echoing off the damp stone walls. “Your pathetic failure against the Drakon-Vyr Clan has brought us to ruin, and yet you rest like a lazy dog?”
I tried to shift, but the heavy iron chains rattled loudly against my wrists and ankles. I had been bound hand and foot in the deepest dungeon of the Kingdom of Aethelgard since the remnants of my army marched back in defeat.
Following the loss, the Queen had immediately decreed that I should be hanged until decreed otherwise. My execution was only delayed because the feared Fire Lord, the fully covered ruler who now held our borders captive, promised to decide the final fate of our kingdom in two days on the day of the defeat.
Today was that day.
They called me a fearful warrior, a prodigy of the blade. My name alone sent fear through clans and Kingdoms.
To escape the torment of the palace and the cruelty of my stepmother, I had joined the royal army at the age of twelve. Through sheer tenacity and blood, I rose to the rank of Commander by eighteen, never losing a single battle. That flawless record stood until my father, driven by an insatiable lust for power, commanded me to wage war against the Drakon-Vyr.
They were a sovereign clan of elite vampires and fire-wielders, a force no mortal human army had ever successfully defeated.
Two days ago on the battlefield, my lines were completely crushed. I had stood before their ranks, waiting for the executioner's blade to claim my neck. But just before the sword swung, a dark, slightly enraged voice had echoed from the masked, fully covered ruler sitting atop a massive black stallion.
No living human had ever seen the Fire Lord's true face. The terrifying rumors claimed he was an ancient, hideous beast, a mutated monster that looked half-dragon and half-human, which was why he kept his entire body hidden beneath heavy armor and a dark mask.
With a single wave of his gauntleted hand, he ordered his men to spare my life. It was the first time the ruthless Fire Lord had ever shown mercy and it unsettled me and everyone in the Kingdom.
Because everyone in Aethelgard knew it was a curse, not a kindness. Sparing the kingdom's greatest general meant he intended to extract a far more painful price. The Queen had been forced to hunt me down in this dark cell because my father, the King, mistakenly assumed I was resting safely in my royal chambers.
“Unchain her,” the Queen Mother barked at the guards.
The moment the heavy iron cuffs clattered to the dirt floor, she stepped forward and slapped me hard across the cheek. The force of it snapped my head to the side, the copper taste of blood rising in my mouth.
“Listen to me, you cursed plague,” she hissed, grabbing a fistful of my bright red hair to force my gaze up. “If that monster demands anything despicable from us because of your failure, I will gladly carve those useless blue eyes out of your skull and feed this wretched hair of yours to the vultures! Now go. Get washed and put on your royal garments. The King demands your presence in the grand hall immediately.”
A short while later, I stood before the tall mirror in my old chambers. Clad in the heavy royal silk of an Aethelgard princess, I hardly recognized myself.
Despite a brutal childhood and years spent in blood-stained armor, the girl looking back at me did not look broken. Defeat had not dimmed the fierce fire in my eyes.
Taking a deep breath, I walked out of my room into the hallway leading to the crown room. I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the crown room. My father sat upon his golden throne, surrounded by the tense, whispering elders of the war council.
The moment my father saw me, he stood up and rushed down the steps, wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace. I stood rigid, knowing it was entirely a facade. His reckless greed had just slaughtered thousands of my brave soldiers, yet his only real anger was that he had failed to conquer the Fire Lord territory.
“You sent for me, Father,” I said, stepping back from his hollow embrace. An embrace that had failed to protect me for years.
The King paced back and forth, his fingers trembling as he clutched a sealed parchment. He looked completely restless, the usual arrogance entirely drained from his pale face.
“The Fire Lord has delivered his terms,” my father stated, his voice cracking under the weight of the news.
I braced myself, wondering what terrifying tribute the tyrant wanted. Gold? Our fertile lands? The remaining soldiers as slaves?
I clenched my fist, anger radiating through me but I stayed calm.
“He has given us two choices,” my father whispered, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Please tell me, Father.” I urged, my heart beating fast.
Father coughed slightly and stepped back a little. Then he looked at me. “He ordered that we either hand you over to become his bride, or he will unleash his dragons and burn all of Aethelgard to ashes.”
The room fell dead silent. A cold dread washed over my skin.
“What?” I found myself exclaiming as I raised my head up to look at the king. “What did you say, father?”
“You must prepare yourself, Thalira,” my father added, totally ignoring my outburst, his voice hollow as he finally looked at me. “The royal carriage from the Drakon-Vyr Clan is already at the gates. The wedding takes place in two hours.”
