Page 5 of Brutal Dragon King (Nayara Dragon Kings #1)
I glance over my shoulder, only to find the king’s dark, piercing eyes boring into my soul. For a hot moment, I recognize once again how incredibly striking he is. Beautiful, even. But a predator is only alluring to its prey as a manipulation tactic, to make the hunt easier for him.
A shiver runs through every inch of my stout frame, and not even the soldiers that cuff my hands with ruthless grips feel as strong as the king’s eyes on me.
I can’t bear those eyes, fighting the urge not to cry against his ruthless behavior. I don’t know what possessed me out there to stand up against him and accuse him of needing me to validate his status when I refused to bow.
He is the king, after all, the ruler of the Nayara Dynasty. I was so close to witnessing him slaying his own royal secretary for her question, while he didn’t even threaten to kill me for my disobedience. It was frightening having to watch his dark, ominous presence tower over the woman who I thought couldn’t bat an eyelid for anything thrown her way, but it only reminded me that the dragon king is capable of murder.
I don’t know how I did it, but I stood up to him despite knowing what he did to my parents and what he was capable of. It only proved that the survival instinct I’ve had since the age of five is still alive and thriving, and it’s not going anywhere amid my twisted turn of fate.
I pushed his buttons so far, but the king didn’t kill me. He must be so determined not to waste his time on another reaping draw, that he’d rather keep me alive despite my insolence.
But now that has left me as the only slave to be given a room inside the palace. When I’m finally able to tear my eyes away from him, it’s just in time for the guards to drag me through the gaping doors of the palace, and an involuntary gasp escapes me.
The white marble floors, coupled with the luxurious trimmings of fine gold, are mesmerizing, captivating, breathtaking even, as they serve as a stark contrast to the conditions I’ve lived in my whole life. Once again, I’m reminded of those harsh conditions, even if none of the lavishness around me comes close to the harsh conditions of the village.
Only the contrast of the difference in the circumstances stands out. When we’re in the center of the hallway, right beneath a hanging chandelier and standing on a plush carpet with softness so profound, I can feel it through the tattered soles of my shoes, we stop.
The royal secretary, Aerwyna, spins on her heel and faces me with a death-defying glare, her eyes bright with fury as she seemingly tries to make up for the scene outside.
Her scoff is loud enough to bounce off the far walls and high ceiling, but when it returns to my ears, I don’t flinch. A fleeting frown passes, but she quickly gathers her composure back with a rising, haughty chin.
“Let her go,” she tells the guards who have me bound. They hesitate to release me, but she lifts a hand midair and continues, “King Haid?n has made it clear that he doesn’t want another reaping. She’s not going anywhere. She won’t be killed just yet.”
The guards grunt beside me before letting go. When my mind dwells on her last statement, I wring a hand over my arm that will probably be bruised by tomorrow.
I will not be killed yet.
It’s a reminder that I am still disposable once the king gets what he needs from me.
But until then, I can get away with murder, as I saw tonight. To avoid Aerwyna’s skeptical glare, my eyes flicker around the grand hallway when an idea comes to mind.
If the king doesn’t kill me just yet, I can entertain the fantasy of exacting my revenge for my parents’ murder. I can’t escape my fate, but I can make the most of it. I might not know how just yet, but I’ll figure something out.
I am a slave in the palace, and that’s my advantage. For a long time, I used to hear the whisperings of the guards during the previous reapings.
The child breeders were locked in an underground bunker every night, and weren’t treated like their lives were valuable, since, to the dragons, they’re not. But here I am, beholding the magnificent palace from the inside.
It’s something the secretary doesn’t seem glad about when she clicks her tongue and takes a step forward. To my surprise, she reaches out and strokes a long, manicured finger across my chin.
“Do not be fooled, human,” she sneers. “Just because you are in the palace, it does not mean you are one of us.”
Something is ignited inside me, and I ride the bravery that I felt when I was outside.
“I don’t want to be like you…” I bite back, narrowing my eyes at her.
She retracts her hand slowly, deliberately, her lips curling into a snarly smirk.
Without warning, she spins right in front of me, her hair swinging over her shoulder and the perfect ends slapping me across the face. “Come, slave.” Aerwyna enunciates the last word with bitterness, then proceeds toward the flight of marble stairs ahead.
Hesitating, I glance over my shoulder at the guards on either side. The rest of the entourage remained to guard the door, while only the two that had been tugging me along like a ragdoll stay looming with menacing threat.
There isn't any distinct way out of the palace. Besides, even if I tried to run, I wouldn't get far. A dragon guard would easily sweep over and catch me.
No.
I will not try to run.
I will stay and fight.
If King Haid?n thought his threats would silence me, he's in for a surprise.
There's just something tempting about the satisfaction I felt outside when I stood up against him, and I suddenly crave more. A longstanding fantasy that finally can come to fruition in the wake of me having nothing left to lose.
I'd lost my parents twenty years ago, and tonight, it feels like I've lost any semblance of my freedom. It's hardly the freedom I had before when I was the subject of the village's disdain, but at least I wasn't forced to bear a dragon cub and face the grueling reality that my death is imminent once I've given the king what he needs.
Taking a deep breath, I will my spirit into gear and pass my moment of hesitation as a bemusing thought comes to mind. Imagine me, a worthless human, disrupting the palace of The Spine, taking on the mighty and powerful king as revenge for what he did to my parents…
What he did to me…
Losing them paved the way for a desolate future, and now, it's culminated in a life that wasn't even worth living in the first place.
Why not bask in the luxury of embracing my surroundings? Why not enjoy the perks of getting the little revenge I can on the king by being disobedient and maybe, just maybe, finding a way to hurt him?
As I follow Aerwyna up the extravagant flight of stairs, I run my fingers through the damp strands of my hair, grimacing at its greasiness. When Aerwyna takes a sharp left on the landing, I pull my hands out of my hair and straighten my expression, not wanting to give her another reason to belittle me.
I've had enough for one night. Though I'm hardly fazed by their taunts—or anyone's, for that matter—I've spent all my energy on facing the ruthless king tonight. Perhaps it hasn't fully settled in that I'm the king's breeding slave, still running on adrenaline that will no doubt pass by the morning. Or, perhaps it's the mere fact that I'm the only slave in the palace building, entering the elevator behind Aerwyna as the speakers sing a lulling tune as if to soothe my being.
The confines of the elevator, when the doors slide shut, and it begins moving, feels constricting, as if the walls are closing in around me as a gentle but firm reminder that I'm nothing but a prisoner here, even with my privilege. Something tells me that it's no privilege to be kept under the king's pointed nose, and the insufferable silence that stretches keeps me avidly avoiding Aerwyna's pointed, berating gaze.
She doesn't breathe another word to me, her haughtily lifted chin aimed out ahead of her with her arms crossed over her chest. For a moment, I thought she might threaten me in the privacy of the lift.
Perhaps the fate that awaits me is even worse than I care to acknowledge right now, and the royal secretary has better insight than I do. As soon as the doors slide open, she saunters out into a brightly lit hallway with a fine rolling carpet, exotic in its rich shades of burgundy and navy, and walls so pristinely white, the paint seems fresh.
I just step out over the threshold that separates the elevator's steel structure from the grand hallway, when a figure up ahead stops Aerwyna in her tracks. I do the same, pausing as I lift my eyes to observe the figure that seems to float forward on featherlight feet.
My breath is snatched, most probably from the swirling orbs of iridescent green that lock with my eyes like I'm hypnotized. With whispering waves of her sleeves swaying out at her sides gracefully, the blonde-haired woman soars forward. As she comes closer, her emerald eyes become colder, her ethereal face hardening.
“What is this?” she asks, her firm tone directed at Aerwyna while she scowls at me. She's close enough now to tower over me with her slim, beautifully tall body. The woman oozes wealth from head to toe, beholding the palace's wealth and opulence with her fine silk robe of paisley patterns and the potent scent of roses she carries with her. It's intoxicating, and mesmerizing as her entire aura demands respect.
“Her Majesty, the Queen Mother,” Aerwyna says, quickly bowing. She too, has been taken by the woman's ethereal presence.
Even I'm unable to stop myself from bowing, not putting up a fight like I did with her son, the king. It's only when I'm staring at the Queen Mother's golden, pointed shoes, that I realize she must naturally exude dominance and demand respect with the assistance of the magick she wields.
Unlike the others, she's not a dragon shifter, though she might possess the power to shift into any form she liked. Her magnificence screams of not only a wealth of possessions and the extravagant palace, but a wealth of knowledge and power unlike any being.
In some ways, the witches living in The Emberlands enjoy their freedom solely because the Queen Mother herself is a witch. The high priestess who hails from the Astral Plateau is the most powerful of them all and had been the Queen of all three kingdoms in the Nayara Dynasty for centuries alongside her husband, King Aid?n, and together, they had three sons; Haid?n, Jaid?n, and Kaid?n.
The dragon king disappeared soon after, and the Queen was left to foster her children alone, growing them into the powerful and ruthless kings they are today, each ruling over a portion of the Dynasty, with districts in The Emberlands.
Her fierce and resilient nature alone demands respect, and she doesn't have to lift a finger to command it.
The mystical being is stunning, her aura exuding the power she wields. When she snaps her fingers, my eyes flick to the long, manicured nails at the tips, and her palm opens as if she's magically drawing my attention up.
“Why is the slave in King Haid?n's quarters?” she demands, her voice soft and firm as she glowers at me.
Aerwyna keeps her head lowered when she replies, “The king has ordered for her to be placed in the guest bedroom, Your Majesty.”
“Hmm…” the Queen Mother hums with a speculative frown as she sizes me from head to toe. She clicks her tongue as she saunters forward, clutching my chin in those perfect fingers and turning my face from side to side to inspect it.
I feel like an experiment, a prototype that no one has seen before, but still despises because of my tacky clothes and plumper cheeks. Abruptly releasing my chin, the Queen Mother clicks her tongue derisively, stepping back on heeled feet and looming over me.
“Bow, slave,” she commands, and I instantly drop my head. “I am Queen Mana, the mother of the king whose heir you shall bear.”
Nodding tentatively, I keep my eyes lowered as Queen Mother Mana questions Aerwyna about my presence in the palace.
The secretary explains what's going on, and a series of more snidely clicks of the Queen Mother's tongue rings out.
“Take her directly to the bedroom chamber,” Queen Mana instructs Aerwyna. “There is no need to give the slave a tour of the royal palace.”
Aerwyna nods hastily, standing ramrod straight as she digests the command and waits for the Queen Mother to disappear behind us, entering the elevator.
I have no idea what just happened, but I was compelled to show her respect even if I despise everyone in The Spine. She demands the honor, and I'm just glad when the elevator beeps to signal its descent. Her hostility toward me isn't unusual, but it leaves a bitter sting in my gut.
Everyone keeps reminding me that I'm a slave, as if I don't already know that. As if I haven't faced their ridicule enough all my life.
Nothing has changed, and it never will, even if I am inside the palace. It means nothing, except to serve as a reminder that the king plans on showing me just how powerful he is by throwing me into the room beside his. I don't know how he plans on “showing” me his power, except that it can't be good if I'm now under his watchful eye.
Aerwyna unlocks the door, then pushes it open and nods. “There's no need for me to check for your comfort. You will wait inside for further instructions from the king.”
Once inside, Aerwyna shuts the door behind me with a loud, deliberate “bang” that vibrates off the far walls of the bedroom and causes a stir on the nightstand when the lampshade clicks. When the silence is consuming, and I have a moment to breathe, I take in my surroundings for the first time without the limerence of adrenaline pumping through my veins.
I groan at last. Despite the luxury of the palace or the bedroom, I'm standing in, I can't be oblivious to my situation. I am still meant to be the king's breeding slave, and my only hope of feeling some kind of consolation is exacting my revenge.
Glancing around, I look beyond the abundance of wealth, my survival instincts kicking into gear to see a way out. Of course, running away will only be a death sentence, so I have to find a way to face off with the king. I notice two doors on the right wing, and carefully make my way there, moving my limbs for the first time since arriving in the room.
According to my calculations, the doors are on the opposite side of the king's bedrooms. I heard Aerwyna's passing remark that his bedroom was on the right, muttering under her breath when she closed the bedroom door behind me. I glance inside the first door, finding a bathroom fit for royalty, and discover that the second door is locked.
Speculating with a frown, I deduce that this door leads to the king's private chambers.
If King Haid?n plans on siring an heir, it won't be long until he unlocks this door and comes to me, wanting to take what is his with his entitlement. Though the opulence of the bedroom is tempting, the thought of being close enough to the king to hurt him is more enticing and leads me to the balcony to gather my breath and prepare for war.
That's what this is, what I plan. Raging war on the king for stripping me from the luxury of parents that would have protected me from being deemed a “bad omen.”
My heart drops when I look over the castle lawn and see activity in the courtyard. Standing there with only two guards, is the king himself in all his glory, cast in the light of the moon's glow after a gentle rain.
It would be inhumane of me to deny that the king is striking, and bold as he towers over a human knelt on both knees in front of him. Though he's too far to be heard, I know he's addressing the human because the power of his voice thrums through my chest.
It's not just his innate royal power that beckons my attention; the man himself in his human form is the most beautiful sight to see. With long locks of dark hair glistening from the rainfall and slicked back, his broad shoulders command authority and taper into a narrow waist.
His figure is sublime, dropping my jaw so steadily that I'm hardly aware of the drop until I'm staring dumbfoundedly at the king. I'm so caught in my fixation of the king, that I'm only aware of his unsheathed sword when the silver blade flashes through the air. What happens next is a blur, turning the strange knot in the pit of my belly into recognizable fear.
The gut-wrenching sight of the human man being decapitated right before the king is worse when I lose the fad for the king's good looks and realize the extent of what I just witnessed. It drives in my plan of action, knowing that it would be my head rolling down the bridge if I tried running away.
I'll have to be cunning in my plan, and execute my revenge with precise, crafty methods. The king isn't fazed by my words, it seems. So, I'll have to try a little harder and be smart about this.
He is, after all, the ruthless dragon king.