Chapter 3 Monster’s Bride
Thalira
“No,” I said, the single word cutting through the tense murmurs of the council elders. “I refuse.”
My father’s hand froze mid-air, the parchment trembling in his grip.
“You want me to marry a creature whose face no living soul can even describe?” stepping forward, the heavy silk of my royal gown rustling against the cold stone. “A man who might be half-beast and half-monster? I am a soldier of Aethelgard. My place was on the battlefield, dying alongside my brave soldiers. Drag me back to the gallows. Executing me is far better than forcing me into his bed!”
“Thalira…”
“Father, I refuse! I'll not be subjected to such a decree!”
“You can not…”
“I can decide…!”
“Silence!” the King bellowed, slamming his fist onto the arm of the throne.
The echoing crack made the elders flinch. It was the first time in my twenty-one years he had ever raised his voice at me with such raw fury.
“You will hold your tongue, Thalira!” he hissed, leaning forward, his eyes bloodshot with panic. “It is a miracle from the gods that he did not demand your head on a spike, or simply unleash his beasts to burn our entire civilization to ash. He was generous enough to offer a trade. He asked for you. It is the greatest mercy the Fire Lord has ever shown any living soul, and you will not throw it back in his face!”
“Mercy?” laughing bitterly, a hollow sound in the grand hall. Had father considered this before throwing me at him in the battlefield? “Fayher we or know that's not mercy. He wants a puppet to torment. He wants to humiliate Aethelgard by taking its commander as a slave!”
“You should be rejoicing, Princess,” Elder Malakai interjected, stepping out from the shadows of the pillars with a sinister, slow smile. “The gods have handed us the very tool we needed. We can finally get exactly what we want.”
Narrowing my eyes, a cold chill settled in my stomach. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Think like a general, Princess Thalira,” the elder whispered, his eyes gleaming with dark ambition.
“You are going to accept this marriage, not because you have a choice, but because it places you exactly where we need you. Get close to him, find his vulnerabilities, sleep beside the monster, and when his guard is down, slit his throat. Kill him off, and then you can return home a hero.”
Turning my gaze slowly toward the throne, my heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. “You knew this,” my voice barely a whisper. “You are willingly pawning me off to a monster just to use me as an assassin.”
“We did not expect such a perfect opportunity to present itself,” my father added, his voice losing its anger, replaced by a calculating chill. He smoothed down his tunic, entirely detached from my horror. “But it has and we must make maximum use of it. We want him dead, Thalira. And frankly, we are not surprised he demanded you. You are a rare, dangerous beauty. Any man would fall for a face like yours, even a beast.”
I had never been wanted in this palace. To them, I was a plague, a curse, and now, a weapon to be discarded in the dark.
Staring directly into my father’s cold eyes, lifting my chin, my voice hardened into steel. “Swear an oath, Father. Swear before the elders and the gods that if I return to Aethelgard with the Fire Lord’s head, I will be granted total, absolute freedom. I will no longer be restricted from living my life outside these palace walls. Swear it, and I will go.”
That's the only thing I wanted. To be gone from this hell.
The King did not hesitate for a single second. “I swear by the blood of our ancestors. Bring me his head, and you are free.”
The bitter sting of mockery was the only sound echoing through the dressing chambers as the maids forced me into a heavy, dark wedding veil.
“Look at her,” Vivienne sneered, leaning against the doorway with a chalice of wine. She had married a wealthy, handsome prince of a neighboring clan a year ago, and had returned just to witness my downfall. “The great Commander Thalira, reduced to a monster’s prize.”
“Our luck has always been superior, dear sister,” Rosalind giggled, adjusting her own expensive jewels. She, too, had wed a beautiful royal, while Cassandra, their youngest sister, stood beside them, still being selective with her suitors. “They say the Fire Lord is a hideous, mutated beast—half-dragon, half-human. Your luck really is terrible, Thalira. You are marrying a literal nightmare.”
Ignoring their laughter, stepping out of the room, my focus remained entirely on the hidden dagger strapped tightly beneath the heavy layers of my wedding skirts.
The grand courtroom had been decorated with terrifying speed. Blood-red banners hung from the high ceilings, and the air was thick with the scent of heavy incense and nervous sweat. My father gripped my arm tightly, walking me down the long aisle toward the altar.
And then, the humiliation began.
There was no groom waiting. The altar was completely empty. A gasp rippled through the gathered crowd of nobles; it was an unspoken, brutal insult for a bride to stand and wait for her husband to arrive. Minutes stretched into agonizing silence.
And just before I was beginning to get really pissed, a sudden burning agonizing heat flared right against the side of my neck.
I recognize that pain. Three days ago, kneeling right in the presence of the Fire Lord with sword to my neck, the pain had jarred to life.
My breath caught in my throat. The strange, hidden mark I had carried since the night in the forest when I was six years old began to throb violently. It felt like liquid fire pouring into my veins, pulsing to a heavy, invisible beat. My vision blurred instantly. The room spun, the faces of the whispering nobles twisting into distorted shapes as a wave of dizziness threatened to drop me to my knees.
While still struggling to stay on my feet where no one noticed, the colossal iron doors of the courtroom burst open, the sound echoing like a thunderclap through the cavernous hall.
“Announcing His Imperial Majesty, Lord Azrael Theron Ashvane, the Sovereign Fire Lord of the Drakon-Vyr!” a herald’s voice bellowed, trembling with sheer terror.
Struggling against the intense heat in my body, forcing my blurry gaze toward the entrance, the entire room suddenly fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Then, a massive wave of sharp gasps, shocked whispers, and dropped chalices erupted through the crowd.
Blinking rapidly to clear the haze, my own breath caught completely.
The picture forming in my vision was entirely unearthly. There was no mutated beast. There was no half-dragon monster.
Walking through the threshold was an extraordinarily beautiful, terrifyingly regal young man. His long, snow-white hair flowed like spun silver, cascading all the way down to his waist, contrasting sharply against his dark, ruby-trimmed armor. He looked larger than life itself, exuding a dominant, predatory aura that made the air in the room turn completely heavy. His face was a flawless mask of icy indifference as he walked, his piercing grey eyes locked onto mine.
The nobles pointed in total, unmitigated shock. Loud murmurs rippled through the benches.
“How is he not a monster?”
“Look at him...”
“He is a god.”
My mouth hung open, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs as the painful throbbing in my neck suddenly ceased, replaced by a strange, tingling warmth.
He took the final, long stride toward the altar, stopping mere inches from me. The sheer height of him cast a shadow over my smaller frame. Looking down at my stunned expression, a slow, dangerously beautiful smirk stretched across his perfect lips.
Leaning down, his voice a deep, velvety baritone that vibrated right against my skin, he whispered, "Careful with the dagger beneath your dress, Bride.”
