Page 29 of Brutal Dragon King

Surely, it has nothing to do with the attraction I feel pulling me toward the king…

I have to actively keep reminding myself that the king is the enemy, not the benevolent leader he wishes to be in my eyes. He's the reason why I suffered in the village, and as a reminder, I quickly go to bed and rummage through the pillowcase to remove my mother's necklace that I'd hidden there.

Pulling the wooden beaded chain over my head, I breathe a sigh of relief as a sense of calm washes over me. With my palm pressed on the carved wooden pendant, I close my eyes and see a faint image of my mother's smile as if she's in the room with me.

That's the only consolation I have. I imagine my life would have been better in The Emberlands if my parents were still alive. Their death secured my spot as the resident outcast, and losing them was probably the reason why I picked up all that weight and became a target of the village's taunts and abuse.

There's only one person responsible for taking everything from me that could have made my life a little easier: King Haidën. I shouldn't forget where my loyalties lie, even if I lose my virtue to him tonight.

It's not like that virtue was precious. Not even my life was precious, but still, I pushed through and survived. Surely, I have a purpose in this world, or I would have never been born in the first place.

That's the belief I've been holding onto for as long as I can remember, and the flames of that penchant for survival reignited when I remember my cause for being here, in the palace, as the king's breeding slave.

I won't crumble under pressure, or the appeal the king naturally exudes. It's probably just a manipulation tactic—how the dragon shifters reel in their prey to get exactly what they want. It's not like it means anything when his eyes glitter like black gold the way they did when he kissed me, or when I found him in the hallway yesterday eve.

That kiss itself was the bane of my existence, rupturing my senses and throwing me off the course of the only thing I was set on getting.

Revenge.

I feel the desire coursing through my veins now that I stand here contemplating my life purpose, about to dress for the ritual that will cement what I am meant to be to the king.

His child-bearer.

Gulping, I open my eyes, determination slipping through the cracks of despair and trepidation and reigniting my depleting resolve to give me the strength I need to endure this. After all, I've never been one to crack under pressure—even if I haven't been faced with a challenge of this magnitude before.

So what if I feel attracted to the king? I'm probably one of many. I've witnessed the way Aerwyna looks at him, with such intense admiration as if he's the only thing in the world when she's around him.

I'm not the only one moved by his strikingly good looks. If he thought kissing me in the changing room would instill some kind of fear in me, he was wrong.

It only made me realize that in those moments of pure, obliterating passion, King Haidën is off his guard.

That's when I can strike, when I can take my opportunity to exact revenge for murdering my parents. I'm not oblivious to the fact that I can somehow make his life miserable every time I rebel against him and refuse to bow like the others. He isn't accustomed to being defied.

The dragon king always gets what he wants. But if he thinks I'll go down without resistance, he's so wrong.

Taking the longest, deepest breath I've taken all day, I walk up to the bed where the palace servant laid out the robe, and lift the sheer, flimsy thing up while peeling the towel off my body. I push aside any resisting thoughts before folding the robe around my body, letting my fingers drift over my mother's necklace as if to fuel my desire for revenge.

That desire outweighs the physical attraction I feel for the king, and by the time the servant comes back to lead me out ofthe palace, my purpose is strengthened, and I'm determined to find a way to make this as difficult as I can for the king of The Spine.

When we're at the palace entrance, two guards grab me from either side of the door to lead me away. I suspect they're the same guards who dragged me into the palace grounds the night of the reaping, one of them throwing me over his shoulder to force me into submission. The brutality of their hands feels familiar, but the unwelcomed harshness serves as a reminder that I am nothing but a slave in the kingdom.

My indecent attire has me feeling low, worthless, and exposed as we enter the cobblestone path in the courtyard. My previous exploration of the palace gardens hadn't led me to this side of the grounds when King Haidën interrupted me and grabbed me for my first flight into the air.

Now, when we near large, overreaching metal gates, I realize that I wouldn't have been able to explore beyond this when one guard moves ahead and begins turning a lever that lowers the gate.

When the portcullis is lowered, it reveals an old wooden bridge that crosses the river below, leading toward the ingress of the dark, shadowy forest. The second guard comes over to reclaim my arm, and I'm dragged again to cross the bridge and enter the woods.

Before we disappear into the eerie setting, I glance at the sky, where the moon casts a silver glow on the entrance of the forest, illuminating as much as it can against the tall formation of trees. The full moon calms my nerves, embracing me in its celestial beauty as if to soothe me for the path I'm about to embark on. Feeling eased, I no longer resist the guards, almostwillingly complying with their rigorous tugs as I'm led into the unknown.

Only the silence is frightening, the absence of hooting owls prominent when I compare this journey to the times I would frolic in the woods in The Emberlands. This forest is vaster, secured by trees grown so close to each other that there is no clear path.

Strange, I think, since the dragons are giants who would never fit between the growth out here. Perhaps this is uncharted territory for the dragons, but it gives an opening for a possible escape if I need to. We begin trekking a steady incline as we mount the hill, and the trudge is long and cumbersome until we finally see light at the end of these dark, mysterious tunnels of tree trunks.

The clearing opens up to a giant, natural Stonehenge set out in the center, similar to the one in the village, but at least three times the size. On either side of the slabs of rock are two ominous figures, one with a billowing silk robe of bright colors and sleeves that extend to the floor, and the other a sword-bearing man whose shape I'd make out from a mile away. My heartbeat quickens, and the calmness I felt coming out here is lost now that we've reached a flattened clearing between the forestry mountains.

Both their backs are turned to us, their heads lifted to the full moon as if they've already begun the ritual. But when dry leaves and stones are crushed in the wake of my bare footsteps, the king turns and secures my gaze with his intensely penetrating gaze. His eyes proceed to rake over my frame, the corners of his mouth twitching when he notices my bare legs.

The flimsy robe barely covers my body, simply a thing that alludes to my voluptuous breasts and the apex of my thighs with a darker tinge of white to keep those parts of me protected.

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