Page 14 of Monster's Pretty Bride

They are waiting for something.

An attack? Enemies? I’m not sure but there’s a shift in power in the atmosphere.

I inhale sharply, the taste of the storm thick on the wind. The tension that lingers in this place is not one of triumph. They are not celebrating their victory, their warlord’s dominance over his captive bride. They are bracing for something worse.

I press my hands harder against the railing, the stone unyielding beneath my grip. The realization cuts deeper than I expect.

The enemy I was taught to fear is fighting a war of his own.

And the ones who sent me here never intended for me to leave.

A flicker of movement draws my attention below. The courtyard remains dark, the torches lining the walls burning low, casting enough light to reveal the figures moving toward the training grounds.

Naranus.

I stiffen.

He moves differently than he did earlier. Less controlled. His steps are sharp, his shoulders coiled with a tension that ripples through his wings as they flex and fold against his back. The molten fractures along his arms flicker brighter, a silent warning of magic straining against his will.

He is unraveling.

I need to see how far the damage spreads.

I push away from the railing and slip out the side entrance of my chamber, pressing into the shadows as I make my way down the winding stone corridors. The halls are mostly empty, the gargoyles who usually stand guard absent. Strange.

The warlord’s absence from the stronghold must be intentional.

Something is happening.

I reach the boundary of the training grounds and press myself against the archway, taking in the sight before me.

Naranus stands in the middle of the arena, facing off against another gargoyle, one nearly as large as him, his dark wings half-flared, his stance braced for combat. His challenger’s tail flicks once, slow and deliberate. The movement is not one of submission.

This is not a sparring match.

This is a test.

A challenge.

A warning.

The gathered onlookers stand at the edges of the arena, their silence suffocating, their expressions unreadable. They are waiting for blood.

Naranus rolls his shoulders, his head tilting slightly as he regards the challenger before him.

“You doubt me.”

The words carry through the stillness, laced with something quiet. Dangerous.

The other gargoyle shifts, his claws flexing. “You have become reckless,” he says. “We all see it. You let a purna slip a blade into your chamber.”

The tension in the air thickens.

A slow smirk pulls at the corner of Naranus’s mouth. “She failed.”

The challenger steps forward. “You let her live.”

Naranus remains motionless, his golden gaze burning, the cracks along his forearms pulsing brighter. “You question my rule.”

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