Page 30 of Brutal Dragon King

It’s hardly protection when the king’s scrutinizing eyes seem to drink in the sight of my legs visible from the sheerness of the robe. As he grazes his gaze back up, I instinctively press my thighs shut, a pool of arousal forming between them as if his dark eyes alone draw desire out.

Goosebumps erupt across my arms when his eyes flit from either one, his brows knitting and eyes narrowing as a lowly growl rumbles from him.

“Leave the human,” he orders his men, who release me at once as they bow to their king. He doesn’t stop flicking his stern gaze between the two men, a glint of something unusual flashing past his eyes.

Is that… jealousy?

The confusion leaves me breathless, standing a few meters from the king as I suddenly forget all about my vendetta. His radiant aura is almost tangible around his grand, magnificent form. Dressed in a navy blue royal mantle, he reeks of the power he possesses as he takes one step forward. My breath hitches in my throat when his eyes return to mine, glowing with sadistic sobriety as he ogles my body.

I am just an object for him, I remind myself as I keep my chin up, once again spurring the obedience I’m meant to show. He opens his mouth, and I know it’s to scold me, but to my surprise, he doesn’t breathe a word and instead presses his lips into a firm line.

He turns his face to the figure on the opposite side of the Stonehenge, prompting her to turn and reveal herself as the Queen Mother, Mana. As soon as her eyes land on me, I bowinstinctively, the natural reaction occurring every time I’m in her presence.

“Come…” she calls to me, one arm lifting as she reaches manicured, green fingertips that beckon me forward. Moving for the first time in the king’s presence. I don’t give him a second glance, keeping my eyes on his mother.

She’s the only other person present for the ritual ceremony, and I’d rather keep my eyes on her than on her son as I approach them. Both round the corners of the Stonehenge, stopping in front of a shorter stone that serves as a table, bearing two crowns and a white crystal ball.

The powerful witch picks hers up—a polished silver ornate headpiece embellished with emerald stones on the arched front. She places it on her head with her eyes closed, and when she opens her eyes, the gems light up in a lively shade of glowing jade, matching her sparkling eyes as if drawing power from her being.

She turns to the king and nods, and he proceeds to lift his turreted golden crown onto his head. There isn’t a magical transformation in the solid gold or the crystal diamonds adorning the crown when he places it on his head, but there’s something invisibly magical about the king wearing his crown and standing tall and mighty in his mantle.

Wow… I think, only retracting the unruly thought when he snaps his fingers at me to call me forward.

Making my way right up to the stonehenge in my bland robe, I feel highly out of place between the two powerful creatures who rule over the Nayara Dynasty. Queen Mana, who ruled the three kingdoms while her sons grew up to become the ruthless kings they are today, places a hand on the crystal ball.

“Now, Haidën,” she instructs her son with a nod, removing her hand from the crystal ball that has white smoke forming all around it.

Mesmerized by the magic taking place right before my eyes, I’m fixated on the crystal ball as the king steps in front of it, holding his arms out on either side of him. Through his sleeves, dragon claws distend from his fingers like menacing talons.

Queen Mana turns to me, her eyes still glowing in swirling jets of green and gold, and she nods to the other side of the stone table. I follow her wordless command, taking to the opposite side of the king, who, to my relief, has his eyes closed.

The process seems rehearsed between the monarchal mother and son since no words are exchanged between the two. The silence that stretches is eerie, yet I feel captivated and unable to make a move unless instructed by the witch.

The silence seems to be a part of the ritual, so I keep my breathing low as if I’ll interrupt something important. Perhaps it’s the Queen’s presence here tonight that forces me into obedience, but even the possibility of running away is futile now that she’s here.

She might curse me even more than I’ve been destined for in the past. Besides, where will I go, unless it’s my death I wish to accomplish by running away?

At least this way, I can complete my mission to get revenge on the king for what he did to ruin my life. I only appear compliant through this strange ritual because it’s a means to an end.

Just as I am for the king.

The Queen Mother nods toward the crystal ball, gesturing with both hands that prompts me to follow the action and placeboth my hands on the ball. It feels icy cold beneath my palms, a tingling sensation growing from my fingertips as if the ball is drawing my energy. I’m no witch, just an ordinary human, yet it feels like I’m wielding power with my hands.

King Haidën’s eyes snap open, and this time, the dark orbs are lighter, a fiery shade of solid gold with thick, forbidding swirls of white spiraling through. His pupils and irises are undistinguishable, and he appears otherworldly as he turns his attention to the crystal ball.

His mother walks behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, which prompts him to open his mouth. The breath he lets out is reminiscent of the fire he breathed over my head the day he flew me to the sky. He breathes fire directed at his side of the crystal ball, but it ignites the entire sphere with gold heat that spreads through my fingertips and palms.

I gasp, feeling pulled to the crystal ball when it’s livened by King Haidën’s fire-breath. He closes his mouth, and the tether of fire between his lips and the crystal ball is cut, but the heat permeating off the ball is stronger than ever.

Without a word, King Haidën places his palms on his side of the crystal ball, his eyes remaining hypnotized as he turns his attention to the glittering mass beneath both our palms. His mother simply touches the top of the ball with a single fingertip, and somehow, it elicits a series of groans from the dragon king.

It starts as a small, anguished cry that ripples from his chest, then escalates into louder croaks and groans while he keels over the ball, his chest heaving with rapid thrusts. There’s something primal about the sounds the king makes, something insanely magnetic, that has me watching him intently while keeping my hands on my side of the crystal ball, my eyes fixated on the king who seems to be in a trance.

Despite the scorching feeling beneath my palms, I can’t get my hands off the crystal ball. I’m stuck to it, just as my ears are fixed on listening to the king’s groans as the only sound filling the air out here tonight under the full moon.

My pulse races, and I wonder if he’s in some kind of pain with the way his face pulls and contorts with every harrowed groan. Eventually, the sound smooths out and turns into something like a moan as he lifts his head toward the moon. He howls then, and it sounds more beastly and carnal than anything I’ve ever heard before.

Like a mating cry falling from his lips, he doesn’t stop until his mother removes her hand from his shoulder. He stops groaning, peeling his head down and settling his glittering eyes on the crystal ball. The fiery gold dies, and his eyes return to their normal shade of dark brown, his breath coming in hot pants while a bead of sweat rolls from his brow and down his cheek.

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