Page 9 of Brutal Dragon King (Nayara Dragon Kings #1)

I stare at the white robe, anger fueling my breath as my chest heaves uncontrollably and my fists curl at my sides.

That's all I'm supposed to wear? I think disdainfully, wondering how I'm meant to cover up with the sheer robe when I'm not meant to wear anything else underneath.

Those were the strict instructions I received from the palace servant, who'd come by this afternoon to lay out my robe for the evening's mating ritual with the king. She warned me that this was customary for the child-bearers who enter into mating bonds with the dragon shifters of The Spine.

It seems objectifying to a human slave, but then again, we don't have any real purpose here other than breeding slaves for the dragon shifters’ pleasure of reproduction. It's a simple process; perhaps the sheer robe is meant to appeal to the dragons.

Then why do I feel anxious about the upcoming ritual?

Surely, it has nothing to do with the attraction I feel pulling me toward the king…

I have to actively keep reminding myself that the king is the enemy, not the benevolent leader he wishes to be in my eyes. He's the reason why I suffered in the village, and as a reminder, I quickly go to bed and rummage through the pillowcase to remove my mother's necklace that I'd hidden there.

Pulling the wooden beaded chain over my head, I breathe a sigh of relief as a sense of calm washes over me. With my palm pressed on the carved wooden pendant, I close my eyes and see a faint image of my mother's smile as if she's in the room with me.

That's the only consolation I have. I imagine my life would have been better in The Emberlands if my parents were still alive. Their death secured my spot as the resident outcast, and losing them was probably the reason why I picked up all that weight and became a target of the village's taunts and abuse.

There's only one person responsible for taking everything from me that could have made my life a little easier: King Haid?n. I shouldn't forget where my loyalties lie, even if I lose my virtue to him tonight.

It's not like that virtue was precious. Not even my life was precious, but still, I pushed through and survived. Surely, I have a purpose in this world, or I would have never been born in the first place.

That's the belief I've been holding onto for as long as I can remember, and the flames of that penchant for survival reignited when I remember my cause for being here, in the palace, as the king's breeding slave.

I won't crumble under pressure, or the appeal the king naturally exudes. It's probably just a manipulation tactic—how the dragon shifters reel in their prey to get exactly what they want. It's not like it means anything when his eyes glitter like black gold the way they did when he kissed me, or when I found him in the hallway yesterday eve.

That kiss itself was the bane of my existence, rupturing my senses and throwing me off the course of the only thing I was set on getting.

Revenge.

I feel the desire coursing through my veins now that I stand here contemplating my life purpose, about to dress for the ritual that will cement what I am meant to be to the king.

His child-bearer.

Gulping, I open my eyes, determination slipping through the cracks of despair and trepidation and reigniting my depleting resolve to give me the strength I need to endure this. After all, I've never been one to crack under pressure—even if I haven't been faced with a challenge of this magnitude before.

So what if I feel attracted to the king? I'm probably one of many. I've witnessed the way Aerwyna looks at him, with such intense admiration as if he's the only thing in the world when she's around him.

I'm not the only one moved by his strikingly good looks. If he thought kissing me in the changing room would instill some kind of fear in me, he was wrong.

It only made me realize that in those moments of pure, obliterating passion, King Haid?n is off his guard.

That's when I can strike, when I can take my opportunity to exact revenge for murdering my parents. I'm not oblivious to the fact that I can somehow make his life miserable every time I rebel against him and refuse to bow like the others. He isn't accustomed to being defied.

The dragon king always gets what he wants. But if he thinks I'll go down without resistance, he's so wrong.

Taking the longest, deepest breath I've taken all day, I walk up to the bed where the palace servant laid out the robe, and lift the sheer, flimsy thing up while peeling the towel off my body. I push aside any resisting thoughts before folding the robe around my body, letting my fingers drift over my mother's necklace as if to fuel my desire for revenge.

That desire outweighs the physical attraction I feel for the king, and by the time the servant comes back to lead me out of the palace, my purpose is strengthened, and I'm determined to find a way to make this as difficult as I can for the king of The Spine.

When we're at the palace entrance, two guards grab me from either side of the door to lead me away. I suspect they're the same guards who dragged me into the palace grounds the night of the reaping, one of them throwing me over his shoulder to force me into submission. The brutality of their hands feels familiar, but the unwelcomed harshness serves as a reminder that I am nothing but a slave in the kingdom.

My indecent attire has me feeling low, worthless, and exposed as we enter the cobblestone path in the courtyard. My previous exploration of the palace gardens hadn't led me to this side of the grounds when King Haid?n interrupted me and grabbed me for my first flight into the air.

Now, when we near large, overreaching metal gates, I realize that I wouldn't have been able to explore beyond this when one guard moves ahead and begins turning a lever that lowers the gate.

When the portcullis is lowered, it reveals an old wooden bridge that crosses the river below, leading toward the ingress of the dark, shadowy forest. The second guard comes over to reclaim my arm, and I'm dragged again to cross the bridge and enter the woods.

Before we disappear into the eerie setting, I glance at the sky, where the moon casts a silver glow on the entrance of the forest, illuminating as much as it can against the tall formation of trees. The full moon calms my nerves, embracing me in its celestial beauty as if to soothe me for the path I'm about to embark on. Feeling eased, I no longer resist the guards, almost willingly complying with their rigorous tugs as I'm led into the unknown.

Only the silence is frightening, the absence of hooting owls prominent when I compare this journey to the times I would frolic in the woods in The Emberlands. This forest is vaster, secured by trees grown so close to each other that there is no clear path.

Strange, I think, since the dragons are giants who would never fit between the growth out here. Perhaps this is uncharted territory for the dragons, but it gives an opening for a possible escape if I need to. We begin trekking a steady incline as we mount the hill, and the trudge is long and cumbersome until we finally see light at the end of these dark, mysterious tunnels of tree trunks.

The clearing opens up to a giant, natural Stonehenge set out in the center, similar to the one in the village, but at least three times the size. On either side of the slabs of rock are two ominous figures, one with a billowing silk robe of bright colors and sleeves that extend to the floor, and the other a sword-bearing man whose shape I'd make out from a mile away. My heartbeat quickens, and the calmness I felt coming out here is lost now that we've reached a flattened clearing between the forestry mountains.

Both their backs are turned to us, their heads lifted to the full moon as if they've already begun the ritual. But when dry leaves and stones are crushed in the wake of my bare footsteps, the king turns and secures my gaze with his intensely penetrating gaze. His eyes proceed to rake over my frame, the corners of his mouth twitching when he notices my bare legs.

The flimsy robe barely covers my body, simply a thing that alludes to my voluptuous breasts and the apex of my thighs with a darker tinge of white to keep those parts of me protected.

It’s hardly protection when the king’s scrutinizing eyes seem to drink in the sight of my legs visible from the sheerness of the robe. As he grazes his gaze back up, I instinctively press my thighs shut, a pool of arousal forming between them as if his dark eyes alone draw desire out.

Goosebumps erupt across my arms when his eyes flit from either one, his brows knitting and eyes narrowing as a lowly growl rumbles from him.

“Leave the human,” he orders his men, who release me at once as they bow to their king. He doesn’t stop flicking his stern gaze between the two men, a glint of something unusual flashing past his eyes.

Is that… jealousy?

The confusion leaves me breathless, standing a few meters from the king as I suddenly forget all about my vendetta. His radiant aura is almost tangible around his grand, magnificent form. Dressed in a navy blue royal mantle, he reeks of the power he possesses as he takes one step forward. My breath hitches in my throat when his eyes return to mine, glowing with sadistic sobriety as he ogles my body.

I am just an object for him, I remind myself as I keep my chin up, once again spurring the obedience I’m meant to show. He opens his mouth, and I know it’s to scold me, but to my surprise, he doesn’t breathe a word and instead presses his lips into a firm line.

He turns his face to the figure on the opposite side of the Stonehenge, prompting her to turn and reveal herself as the Queen Mother, Mana. As soon as her eyes land on me, I bow instinctively, the natural reaction occurring every time I’m in her presence.

“Come…” she calls to me, one arm lifting as she reaches manicured, green fingertips that beckon me forward. Moving for the first time in the king’s presence. I don’t give him a second glance, keeping my eyes on his mother.

She’s the only other person present for the ritual ceremony, and I’d rather keep my eyes on her than on her son as I approach them. Both round the corners of the Stonehenge, stopping in front of a shorter stone that serves as a table, bearing two crowns and a white crystal ball.

The powerful witch picks hers up—a polished silver ornate headpiece embellished with emerald stones on the arched front. She places it on her head with her eyes closed, and when she opens her eyes, the gems light up in a lively shade of glowing jade, matching her sparkling eyes as if drawing power from her being.

She turns to the king and nods, and he proceeds to lift his turreted golden crown onto his head. There isn’t a magical transformation in the solid gold or the crystal diamonds adorning the crown when he places it on his head, but there’s something invisibly magical about the king wearing his crown and standing tall and mighty in his mantle.

Wow… I think, only retracting the unruly thought when he snaps his fingers at me to call me forward.

Making my way right up to the stonehenge in my bland robe, I feel highly out of place between the two powerful creatures who rule over the Nayara Dynasty. Queen Mana, who ruled the three kingdoms while her sons grew up to become the ruthless kings they are today, places a hand on the crystal ball.

“Now, Haid?n,” she instructs her son with a nod, removing her hand from the crystal ball that has white smoke forming all around it.

Mesmerized by the magic taking place right before my eyes, I’m fixated on the crystal ball as the king steps in front of it, holding his arms out on either side of him. Through his sleeves, dragon claws distend from his fingers like menacing talons.

Queen Mana turns to me, her eyes still glowing in swirling jets of green and gold, and she nods to the other side of the stone table. I follow her wordless command, taking to the opposite side of the king, who, to my relief, has his eyes closed.

The process seems rehearsed between the monarchal mother and son since no words are exchanged between the two. The silence that stretches is eerie, yet I feel captivated and unable to make a move unless instructed by the witch.

The silence seems to be a part of the ritual, so I keep my breathing low as if I’ll interrupt something important. Perhaps it’s the Queen’s presence here tonight that forces me into obedience, but even the possibility of running away is futile now that she’s here.

She might curse me even more than I’ve been destined for in the past. Besides, where will I go, unless it’s my death I wish to accomplish by running away?

At least this way, I can complete my mission to get revenge on the king for what he did to ruin my life. I only appear compliant through this strange ritual because it’s a means to an end.

Just as I am for the king.

The Queen Mother nods toward the crystal ball, gesturing with both hands that prompts me to follow the action and place both my hands on the ball. It feels icy cold beneath my palms, a tingling sensation growing from my fingertips as if the ball is drawing my energy. I’m no witch, just an ordinary human, yet it feels like I’m wielding power with my hands.

King Haid?n’s eyes snap open, and this time, the dark orbs are lighter, a fiery shade of solid gold with thick, forbidding swirls of white spiraling through. His pupils and irises are undistinguishable, and he appears otherworldly as he turns his attention to the crystal ball.

His mother walks behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, which prompts him to open his mouth. The breath he lets out is reminiscent of the fire he breathed over my head the day he flew me to the sky. He breathes fire directed at his side of the crystal ball, but it ignites the entire sphere with gold heat that spreads through my fingertips and palms.

I gasp, feeling pulled to the crystal ball when it’s livened by King Haid?n’s fire-breath. He closes his mouth, and the tether of fire between his lips and the crystal ball is cut, but the heat permeating off the ball is stronger than ever.

Without a word, King Haid?n places his palms on his side of the crystal ball, his eyes remaining hypnotized as he turns his attention to the glittering mass beneath both our palms. His mother simply touches the top of the ball with a single fingertip, and somehow, it elicits a series of groans from the dragon king.

It starts as a small, anguished cry that ripples from his chest, then escalates into louder croaks and groans while he keels over the ball, his chest heaving with rapid thrusts. There’s something primal about the sounds the king makes, something insanely magnetic, that has me watching him intently while keeping my hands on my side of the crystal ball, my eyes fixated on the king who seems to be in a trance.

Despite the scorching feeling beneath my palms, I can’t get my hands off the crystal ball. I’m stuck to it, just as my ears are fixed on listening to the king’s groans as the only sound filling the air out here tonight under the full moon.

My pulse races, and I wonder if he’s in some kind of pain with the way his face pulls and contorts with every harrowed groan. Eventually, the sound smooths out and turns into something like a moan as he lifts his head toward the moon. He howls then, and it sounds more beastly and carnal than anything I’ve ever heard before.

Like a mating cry falling from his lips, he doesn’t stop until his mother removes her hand from his shoulder. He stops groaning, peeling his head down and settling his glittering eyes on the crystal ball. The fiery gold dies, and his eyes return to their normal shade of dark brown, his breath coming in hot pants while a bead of sweat rolls from his brow and down his cheek.

Only when he’s calmer and the deafening silence returns do I notice his gleaming neck of sweat, veins pulsing and prominent with hot blood that’s probably as hot as the crystal ball.

“It is done,” Queen Mana speaks at last, breaking the silence and snapping me out of my daze. The king is prompted to remove his hands from the crystal ball. I do the same, snatching my hands back and relishing in the coolness of the air just as thunder cracks through the sky.

I look up to see that the eeriness cast over the clearing is no longer from the ritual ceremony, but from a dark gray cloud in the navy sky that hides the moon as if to signify the completion of the ritual. When I look forward again, I notice that the Queen Mother, Mana, has already left, and the absence of parting footsteps makes me wonder if she magically disappeared.

A startled gasp escapes my lips when I meet the dragon king’s eyes. Fiery pits of obsidian orbs stare into my soul, casting me to the deepest, darkest fantasies that suddenly cross my mind.

Did the ritual unleash a different power in the king? Or am I just highly aware of the hunger in his eyes? The hunger that reflects my sudden wanton need for the dragon king has slick gathering between my thighs without the crotch of a panty to catch it.

I don’t know much about the ritual ceremony—actually, I know nothing about it since no one could have cared to inform me about the logistics. I am only the human breeding slave, after all.

But right now, the way the king stares at me with intensely hungry eyes, I no longer feel like a measly human.

I am the king’s prey, and he makes it known that he’s the cruel dragon king predator when he keeps his eyes on mine even as he rounds the stone and makes his way toward me. My pulse ignites, my chest heaving uncontrollably as I fear not my death, my impending doom, as he closes in on me.

It must be my downfall on the horizon because I was wrong if I thought I could dodge the attraction I felt for him. The ritual must have made it impossible to deny the pleasures my body desperately craves.

Pleasures only King Haid?n can administer, like when he devoured my being with one kiss in the changing room. Out here, in the open, there’s nowhere to escape.

It’s not that I want to escape, I realize grimly. My body wants nothing more than to feel the enemy’s touch.

I should hate the dragon king, but instead, I want him.