Page 6 of Monster's Pretty Bride

Gargoyles move through the stone walkways, their bodies shifting between flesh and rock, their wings flicking in agitation as they speak in hushed tones. No laughter, no idle conversations. Only watchful eyes, hunched shoulders, and the occasional scrape of claws against the ground.

Unease thickens in my chest.

These creatures do not revel in victory. They do not celebrate their supposed triumph in securing a bride for their lord.

They do not look like conquerors.

They look like men waiting for the blade to drop.

I press my lips together.

The purna told us the gargoyles were monstrous. Brutal. Bloodthirsty. That Naranus ruled them through fear and strength alone, that they would sooner tear out their own throats than submit to another’s rule.

But this?

This looks like a kingdom on the brink of collapse.

Movement catches my eye.

I shift my gaze toward the western ledge, where a figure stands near the boundary of a crumbling terrace. Taller than the others. Sharper. Firelight from the forge below flickers across his skin, illuminating the jagged fractures cutting across his back, his wings half-furled, shifting against the wind.

Naranus.

I go still.

He hasn’t moved in minutes, hasn’t acknowledged the soldiers who pass him by with cautious glances. He stands rigid, hands braced on the stone railing, his focus locked on something unseen in the distance.

The tension in his body isn’t the easy, deliberate kind of a predator waiting to strike.

It’s something else.

Something brittle.

His claws dig into the stone, cracking the surface. A slow inhale flares his nostrils, his wings twitching before settling again.

The sight roots me in place, breath held tight in my throat. He does not turn. Does not sense me watching.

He is alone.

The realization unsettles me more than it should.

I shift away from the railing, retreating back into the chamber, closing the balcony doors behind me. My pulse is an uneven rhythm, a sharp counter to the silence pressing in around me.

I pace.

Studying him will be difficult. He is not predictable in the way the purna described. There is no clear weakness, no single fault to exploit. He is not merely cruel or power-hungry.

He is something worse.

Unstable.

A creature unraveling at the edges, barely held together by whatever magic still thrums beneath his skin.

My fingers twitch at my sides.

This will require patience. Precision. I will have to stay close, wait for the cracks to widen, for the right moment to strike.

A breath shudders through my lungs, and I force my hands to still.

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