Page 9 of Brutal Dragon King

The lack of effort has me wondering how they could consider the setup fit for King Haidën. Is the dragon shifter so hideous, that he wouldn’t care about his welcoming to the village? Does he not care about appearances, being swept up by the bloodshed he’s fond of?

Gulping as I take the stone steps onto the platform, I make my way to where the other female human participants are huddled in a line at the back of the structure. I can’t escape their scornful scowls, or be oblivious to their mutterings behind cupped hands as they whisper about my arrival.

But I can ignore it. It’s not my first rodeo, even when someone whispers that the “bane of the village” has arrived.

Standing at the back of the line, the two women closest to me start shuffling away, the blonde one leaning toward the brunette’s ear to whisper, “I can’t imagine what he’d do when he sees her.”

The brunette’s eyes flicker to me, narrowing with contempt as she scoffs.

Naturally, they’re speaking about me. Although I can’t make out what they mean.

What will “he” do when he sees me?

Who are they talking about?

The blonde glances over her shoulder, scrunching her nose after sniffing as if I smell horrendous. Subconsciously, she’s bruised my self-esteem enough to have me dropping my head to take a sniff of myself.

I don’t smell bad. I bathed before I got ready for the reaping.

Woah…

Why should I care about what they think?

Crossing my arms and hugging my chest tightly, I turn to the back of the center, watching as the senior waxing gibbous moon illuminates the sky with a gentle silver glow. Its maternal essence washes over me with the warmth I suddenly crave. I’d slipped up in my attempt to remain unbothered by the cruelty of the villagers. The Emberlands is unforgiving, but its people are hateful.

As I sigh, I mentally compose myself and toughen up against the brutalities I constantly face. In only two days, the August moon will be in its full glory, signaling the commencement of the mate bond between the king and whoever is chosen tonight.

Life will go on as it did before, and I’ll continue facing the viciousness of the villagers. Nothing will change, and I will have to be strong once again with no way to escape these conditions.

As the numbness washes over me, I see the king’s entourage marching forward in formation, each of them with one hand on their swords on their left hips, ready to slay any human that might dare to make a wrong move that could be seen as a threat to the king.

I strain my eyes, trying to get a closer look to see if the faceless king is amongst the group of soldiers. Perhaps he wears the metal headgear to match them, with its tinkling chain visor to prevent us from seeing his face.

But none of them appear out of the ordinary, each sophisticated and diplomatic as they walk with matched steps toward the center. The two rows disperse on either side, opening up to one suited female figure with a clipboard in hand. She’sequally as tactful in her strides as she’s the first of the dragon committee to step onto the stone platform.

The royal secretary doesn’t spare a glance at any of the humans gathered here tonight. With her haughtily lifted chin, she keeps her eyes fixed on the podium ahead. Beside the wooden podium stand is a low table with the metal pot in which the candidates dropped their tokens yesterday. Now it’s fixed with a globular lid, and a lever pointed in the secretary’s direction where she places her clipboard on the podium stand.

So, the dragon king hasn’t made his appearance. He must be a beast and doesn’t want to be seen lest the humans start thinking he’s too ugly to be considered the revered leader.

The only ones in attendance are his men, and the secretary who brings news from his kiingdom to the village every year. Dragon shifters. Or Nayarans. It doesn’t matter. They’re the most powerful creatures in the Nayara Dynasty, with all three kingdoms being ruled by a Nayara brother.

None of them have shown their faces to the villagers. They’re probably horrendous, anyway.

But that’s all the villagers seem to care about—looks. I catch the way the others pass derisive looks my way, and again hear someone muttering “Fatty” when I meet her gaze. Instead of meeting anyone else’s eyes, I set my sight on the sphere beside the secretary with a razor-sharp focus that would be deemed powerful if I weren’t a mere human.

Each second that ticks by is like a ticking time bomb, ready to detonate the moment the lever is turned and the gears work to pick a random token from the pot. A clearing of a throat draws my attention to the far left, sprouting me from my focus. True to her word, Delores stands outside where some of the villagers have gathered to watch the reaping, and I gasp.

Delores winks at me, wiggling her fingers in the air to coerce me to look forward. Frowning, I turn my attention to the dragon shifter woman ready to address us, my heart dropping the moment she opens her perfectly sculpted mouth to speak.

It can’t be me… That’s all I can chant mentally, trying to reassure myself that I cannot possibly have picked up on any negative energies from the number that was given to me when I picked up my token.

“Humans of The Emberlands…” she begins, her gaze pointed out blankly in front of her while she addresses us. “... The annual reaping to determine His Majesty, King Haidën’s child-bearer will be completed. Note that once a token has been picked, the chosen candidate will be required to leave the village immediately. Any objections will not be entertained, and resistance will be dealt with accordingly.”

The moment of silence that stretches out is meant to remind us that death is imminent if anyone resists. When the secretary turns the lever, I take a deep breath, my gut churning from the knot of nerves that begin winding there as if an imaginary lever has been pulled there. It’s my fourth year waiting with bated breath for the results of the draw to put my worries to rest.

I may have fantasized about getting my revenge on the ruthless king, but there is no viable way I could do that without putting my own head on the chopping block. The only way to gain access to The Spine would be through being the chosen one as a dragon’s slave.

I don’t have that kind of luck. It might be a curse, anyway.

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