Page 7 of Brutal Dragon King

It’s not like we choose our humans—at least, not in The Spine. My brothers might have their own reaping methods, but here in my kingdom, a random human is picked through the lottery draw. They’re just numbers on a token, and they’ll suffice as the child-bearer for a dragon shifter. Besides, I couldn’t bother with the logistics, or care enough to turn the reaping into an exaggerated, extravagant affair.

It’s just a plain old lottery system where a random token will be picked. It makes it easier for me since the humans aren’t worth my time. There are more important things to take care of, and it doesn’t matter what the child-bearer looks like.

But even if I had a preference, the human who crashed into me on my way to the first leg of the reaping procedure today isn’t exactly fit to carry a dragon cub. At least, at first glance, I might consider that she would be the least likely to carry a dragon cub to full term. Strongly out of shape, it’s impossible that she cares for her well-being, and probably stuffs her face with anything she can get her hands on.

Besides, she’s just a whimsical human, a careless half-wit creature with no real reason to be breathing except that she has a one-in-fifty chance of being randomly chosen in tomorrow’sdraw. Hopefully, the slim chance of her token being picked will be enough to cancel out another encounter with her.

Then why is there a nagging sense that my inner dragon felt drawn to her with all her voluptuous curves and overflowing breasts in that dreadful brown robe? Gulping, I push aside the image of her doe blue eyes, not wanting to dwell on the dangerous thought that I might get lost in them.

“Sex slave…” I murmur distastefully, the bitterness swirling in my mouth forcing me to dive into my meal to get rid of the taste. I shake my head, and my silence somehow gives Jaidën the floor to break his own.

“Will you be attending the reaping draw tomorrow, Brother?”

I look up and frown at Jaidën. “My attendance isn’t required at tomorrow’s draw.”

Shrugging, I dive into my meal while Mother prattles on about the reaping procedure and how my absence tomorrow doesn’t matter since I’m not handpicking a child-bearer from the peasants. Kaidën doesn’t miss a chance to add that since the human will be a sex slave, she should be appealing to our inner dragons.

I choke on my first bite of the baked potato. Not because of what Kaidën said, but because I can still taste soil. Spitting the unswallowed mass of raw potato into a napkin, I slam my palm on the table with brute force. The impact rattles the cutlery loudly enough to send a servant scurrying into the hall.

“Your Majesty…” he bows, then shrieks in surprise when I grab the towel over his arm and yank him closer.

Growling in his ear, I grate, “Who is responsible forthis?”To drive in my point, I grab the half-unbaked potato and smashit between my fingers, large clumps of dry, rawness left in my palm.

“F-forgive me, Your Majesty,” the servant apologizes, on the brink of tears with his trembling voice. “I will check with the kitchen—” he begins as he reaches for my plate, but I’m so angry that I snatch it back and fling it across the room. When it shatters to a botched pile on the ground, Mother gasps.

“Haidën!” she exclaims, clutching the pearls on her neck, her eyes wide. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“Do not question me, Mother…” I grate through gritted teeth, rising to my feet and yanking the napkin from my chest before tossing it on the table. “I will not hear any more about the reaping. I have lost my appetite, anyway,” I say the last statement more for the trembling servant who doesn’t know where to put his face.

My firm announcement stretches a grim silence over the dining hall, and that’s my cue to make my departure and retreat to my bed chambers for the night without anyone daring to follow me or press my buttons.

Duty-bound as the eldest brother and the king of The Spine to sire an heir isn’t as exciting as my mother and youngest brother make it out to be. It shouldn’t be an exciting event, after all. It’s just something that needs to be done so that the kingdom remains as powerful as it always has been.

That’s all it is. Duties.

Chapter 3 - Althea

I listen to the light clicking of the sewing machine as I stitch the lace lining to the underside of a gown, humming along as if it’s the tune of a melodious song. It’s the only thing that calms my nervous system right now. Pressing my tongue in my cheek to stay focused instead of dwelling on what day it is today, I think I’m doing my best work, and Delores will have no reason to chastise me.

Except, I was wrong when she abruptly pulled out the plug of the sewing machine, stopping me in my tracks. Bracing for the impact of her bitter scolding, I press my eyelids shut, until I feel the foreign warmth of a hand on my shoulder.

Startled, I recoil and open my eyes only to find Delores staring at me with a kind glint in her eyes that seems highly out of place. I frown, my lips parting to question what’s happening when she smiles and speaks first.

“You do know what today is, don’t you?” she asks, her voice strangely soft.

“Erm—It’s Friday…?” I shrug nonchalantly, keeping my hands on the silk gown, desperately wanting to return to work.

What is she doing?

Why is she acting this way?

Delores clicks her tongue, her smile remaining. “It’s the day of the annual reaping, of course!” she chimes eagerly. “Why don’t you go home and prepare for the ceremony tonight?”

“Prepare for the reaping?” I frown deeply. It’s not as if the annual reaping is considered a festive occasion. Everyone in The Emberlands has been on their nerves, worrying they might bechosen in tonight’s draw. It’s far from “lucky” to be picked as a dragon shifters’ child-bearer.

No one knows what conditions a child-bearer will face in the kingdom of The Spine. We’re treated like peasant scum, and could never be considered worthy enough to be treated with respect. A child-bearer is the only hope for a dragon shifter to reproduce, but that doesn’t mean it earns a human better conditions.

I glance at the marketplace, buzzing with activity as everyone does their best to keep themselves busy so they don’t have to dwell on the fear of what the outcome will be tonight. Though they act as if they don’t care, the village is drenched in the scent of fear that wafts around, masking itself as the sweat of hard labor.

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