I admit, I daydreamed about my wedding as a little girl. Not about the groom or my married life to follow. Just about the wedding itself.
As a princess, my role was made clear from the moment I could understand basic commands. Love and happiness are things commoners get to enjoy. Royals, though, we trade in those luxuries for power and wealth.
I never looked forward to whatever bland noble they'd marry me off to, but I didn't have any say in the matter, so I accepted my fate.
He'd be whoever he was, and that was that.
However, I'd at least enjoy the wedding. I dreamed of a grand event with flowers from every corner of the realm filling the banquet hall. A full orchestra playing music until our legs couldn't dance anymore. A dress tailored to fit like a glove so everyone would know what a prize my future husband had won.
I take a deep breath, running my fingers along layers of gauzy silk.
The dress isn't far from what I dreamed of. Silk of the purest white floats behind me like a summer mist. My back is bare, and a collar of gold holds up the fabric covering my chest. The draped silk pulls at my hips, my legs peeking out with my every step.
Tonight, I surrender my freedom to duty.
At least I have a dress that will sear my image into the memories of all the guards marching me to the altar, even if I don't have the flowers, music, or a groom.
Well, at least not a human groom.
"Taliyah."
My mother stands, sniffling and shaking, at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the sacrificial altar.
I ignore her as she wraps me in a tight embrace. Instead, I look up the stairs to where tongues of flame lap at the heavy air. Tips of vibrant orange wings come into view, and a roar of displeasure echoes off the mountains.
Seems my "groom" is as cranky as I am.
I can sympathize. He thought he would get his annual tribute of gold and jewels, and I thought I'd be facing a man at the altar, not a dragon. Finding common ground is important in a relationship, right? Even one where I'll either end up eaten, burned, or crushed?
"Mother," I sigh, trying to pull from her tightening grip, "let's not prolong this further."
She wails at my request, and I roll my eyes. Her and Father decided my fate. She needs to accept it, just as I have. Am I happy about it? No. Have I come to terms with the fact I can't escape it? Yes.
I always knew happiness was a dream.
"Come, Nikalin. Our daughter is strong. Take comfort in her resolve. Her sacrifice will become a beacon for our people. She will never truly leave us."
What good is being praised if I'm dead? Not like I get to reap the benefits. Let's call this what it is: the execution of a convenient pawn.
I narrow my eyes at my father, the man whose poor financial decisions landed me in this spot.
He looks away, the coward. He isn't just a spineless monarch that happened to sire me, but also a lazy fool.
Eight kingdoms form our realm, and each one handles the year's offering in turn. He had eight years to save up for our tribute, but he and my mother just kept putting it off. Then war breached our borders, and saving up was no longer an option.
I pry myself from my weeping mother, who keeps one arm linked in mine as we ascend the stairs. My father stays silent, not once glancing my way. My mother shudders with each rolling wave of the dragon's hot breath cascading down the steps.
At the top, the beast emerges from the mountain's shadow to meet us.
His body glows hot like an ember, and his dark red eyes burn with fury. His scaled snout rumbles, a snarl reveals an array of sharp teeth lining his jaw. Thick horns that taper off with an elegant twist run along the curve of his scalp. Claws as black as night and as long as my arm dig into the stone with each thundering step.
"Lord Dragon."
My father falls to his knees and my mother soon follows, though she whimpers the whole way down.
"War has hurt us, and our purse will not be enough if we surrender all our gold to you. So we ask you to accept our daughter. She is our greatest treasure. Taking her from us is a punishment worse than death."
My whole body trembles before the might of the monster. Perhaps the dragon will be so kind as to give me a quick death, so I don't have to suffer any longer.
The beast swings his terrible head; all scales, horns, and seething smoke. His red eyes drag over me as if I will be a very disappointing snack. Then he turns his long snout to the sky and bellows out a roar wreathed with flames.
My mother screams and my father presses himself deeper into the stone.
I, however, keep my eyes on the beast. His heated breath evaporates my tears, leaving them bloodshot. I don't blink.
I want the dragon to remember my face, to see my determination, and to know I died unafraid.
For a moment, he looks back at me.
His roar settles into a deep rumble, and his mouth shuts, hiding his menacing teeth. He leans forward, giant muzzle hovering only a couple of yards away.
There's noise surrounding me, but my ears grow deaf to the clamor. All I can hear is the dragon's sniff as his nostrils flare.
Then he snaps back, rearing up on his hind legs and shrieking to the stars. The whole mountain quakes when he lands back on the ground.
My arms wave and my legs, inhibited by my flimsy dress, try to find purchase. However, I can't grip the smooth rock of the altar. I fall backward toward the steep staircase, wondering if a cracked skull will end me before the dragon does.
Then the air is crushed out of me, and I slip into a darkness that I can only hope is the sweet release of death.
***
I feel giddy and breathless as consciousness slowly returns.
Wind whips my face and beats against my ears. In the background, a hum resonates with such strength that I feel it reverberating in my bones.
I try to take a breath, but a stiff brace constrains my chest and stomach. Each breath is painful and wretched. I wiggle to ease the ache, but a tightening grip around my torso meets my every attempt.
I'm trapped in a space between heaven and hell, I think. Jokes on them. My life has always walked the fine line separating the two.
I peel one eye open, blinking away the tears from the rush of air.
My arms dangle below me, swinging freely as clusters of trees race by. I spot shaggy goats grazing at the base of a mountain, their heads turning to watch my ascent toward the jagged peaks.
The morning sun cuts out a shadow shaped like my beastly executioner, which cascades over the rising cliffs below.
Well, at least I'm not dead, I think as I register the pounding beat of my heart. Unfortunately, a terrifying awareness that I'm dangling well above the ground in the clutches of a dragon accompanies that realization.
The combined rush of emotions results in an ear-splitting scream—a rather impressive feat considering my constrained chest, if I say so myself.
"Quiet!"
I slap my hands over my lips, more out of surprise than obedience.
My eyes, wide and wild, cast around me.
A scaly foot tipped with vicious claws binds my body. Above me, wings flap in graceful arcs as the sun shines through the thin skin, revealing a map of veins within. The beast's chest rumbles with each fiery growl.
I choke on the rise of both my fears and undigested dinner. Still, I dare to look ahead, catching the crimson eyes of my captor, watching me with contempt.
"Home soon," he says. Or I think that's what he says. His voice is all fire and gravel.
I nod my understanding, despite nothing making sense, and then close my eyes.
Dragons can talk? Why haven't I read this in our texts?
I don't have long to consider what a dragon with a human tongue means. The beast lands soon after, and my whole body jerks against the firm hold of his claws.
As if to punctuate the physical reality of my situation, he drops me unceremoniously to the floor. My exposed skin slaps against the pebble-strewn rocks and my joints cry out upon impact.
"Fuck! That was unnecessary!"
I roll onto my back and take deep, heaving breaths to restore my lungs.
If he can talk, then he can learn that he's not the only one who can breathe fire. He will regret not eating me right away.
Allowing adrenaline and anger to fuel my whimpering body, I push myself up into a seated position.
"Don't turn your back on me!" I make my demand as the dragon lumbers away and faces a wall carved out of the mountainside. "You think just because they forced me upon your altar that I will let you toss me around like a rag? I am a princess, and you will..."
The mighty monster shudders and rears upon his hind legs. Like water receding from the shore, the tail and wings disappear into his spine—a spine now sheathed in copper skin instead of fiery orange scales. Fingers and toes replace the terrifying claws; and a mane of dark auburn fills in where horns had been.
"My gods."
I can't form any other words. The absurd and oddly alluring spectacle before me dulls my sharp tongue.
Despite witnessing the beast within him, I can't deny the humanity and masculinity of my captor. Thick muscle wraps around his broad shoulders, and his smooth back glistens with a sheen of sweat. To my delight, there isn't even a hint of a tail above his firm backside.
Unfortunately, I only get a moment to admire his handsome figure before he throws on a cloak.
"Lord Cephias, I'm glad to see you back safely."
My head snaps around to a set of stairs carved from the black rock. An older man in a dull velvet jacket and breeches descends the steps and approaches my captor without glancing toward me.
"Where is the treasure?" He looks around the younger man as if the dragon is hiding a pile of gold behind his stately form.
"There." He shoves every ounce of his scorn into that single word before pointing in my direction.
"Oh," mutters the older man, finally looking my way. "Oh, no."
I scramble to my feet and the wind whips around me, tugging at the light silk covering my shivering body. It takes a moment to regain control over my chattering teeth, but eventually, I manage to speak.
"No need to act so excited," I snap. "I know I'm a catch."
I wonder if dragons even understand sarcasm. In the shadows, I can't see his expression. I wrap my arms around my breasts and rub away the cold with my hands.
"My lord, I should fetch another cloak and I'll have Jennit prepare..."
"You," says the dragon, ignoring his companion, "were not what I asked for."
He steps forward with the stab of his finger, finally bringing his face into the light. Despite the sneer curling his lush lips, his features are breathtaking.
A fierce fire glints in his eyes, a proud curve defines his nose, and dark whiskers soften the sharp cut of his jaw. He walks with a powerful stride, the buckles of his cloak barely hiding the tantalizing skin beneath it.
I suck in a breath and—in what is not the proudest moment of my life—consider whether being sacrificed is as terrible as I thought.
"I beg your pardon," I say, shutting down such traitorous thoughts, "I did not ask for you either. You think I wanted to be sacrificed to a dragon, um, man thing?"
"Dragonith," he corrects with a growl. "It is your people who have shortened our name over millenniums. Such disrespectful, ungrateful creatures."
"Ungrateful," I scoff, the lingering heat of my breath condensing into a hazy cloud between us. "I don't know why we even bother with this ridiculous ritual. What have you done for us besides drain our banks?"
"We protect you. The threats that linger outside your borders are only invisible to you because my people keep the enemies at bay."
"Protect us?" I spit out the words, partially because of how ridiculous his answer is and partially because I'm so cold my jaw locks up. "Do you know why my kingdom was attacked? Because a neighboring kingdom feared they wouldn't have enough for their next offering to appease you. So they stormed our treasury. All for naught. The damn fools wasted both of our purses since my parents were neglecting to save for their own tribute."
He opens his mouth to respond, but snaps it shut again and pinches back a growl. He turns away, scanning the stone beneath our feet, before looking at me from the corner of his eye.
For a moment, he holds me there, and I study the way a lock of his hair hugs his brow and teases his lashes. Though I know he was a dragon only minutes earlier, the sheer beauty of his features chases away the monstrous impression.
My cheeks warm and I glance toward the ground, realizing how doing so relinquishes what power I had in the conversation.
"Killian, go get our guest a cloak. We'll get our gold out of her one way or another. Until then, she can rest easy in our dungeons."
The servant bows before running up the stairs. However, I may not need the cloak now that my blood is pumping with rage.
I look up at the dragon with my lips parted in disgust and terror. The smirk of delight I find there reminds me that, palatable form aside, he's still a monster whose fire can turn me to ash.
"Welcome to your new home, Princess."