CHAPTER 9 #2
Benedict dumps me into a chair, and I nearly slide off.
My limbs feel like jelly. I look down and see for the first time I'm wearing a light blue silk dress.
This must be the one my dragon always said was his favorite.
My head is spinning. And the pain. The pain is still there, a constant, gnawing ache that won't let me think straight.
The king circles me, studying me like I'm a piece of meat. "She's not as pretty as I expected," he muses.
I glare at him, but I don't have the energy to speak.
"Her skin is a bit too... dark. Her hair is an interesting color," Benedict adds, his tone dismissive. "Too blonde. I prefer brunettes."
"Hmm." The king strokes his beard. "Perhaps she can dye it. And if she stays out of the sun, her skin might lighten. At least a little. A small sacrifice for such a profitable arrangement, wouldn't you say?"
Profitable arrangement?
"Indeed," Benedict agrees. "Though I do hope she's more... cooperative than she appears. Her body is decent enough. Good birthing hips. Nice and soft.”
They're talking about me like I'm not even here. Like I'm a doll they can dress up and parade around.
The king claps his hands. "Indeed! Let's discuss terms, shall we?"
He gestures to a table laden with contracts and ledgers. Benedict joins him, and they begin to negotiate.
My fate. Like I'm property.
"The dowry," the king begins, "will include ten thousand gold coins, the eastern provinces, and the mining rights to the northern mountains."
"Generous," Benedict says. "But I'll need more. Capturing the princess was no small feat, your majesty. The dragon nearly killed me."
Liar. The dragon didn't even see him coming.
"What do you propose?" the king asks, scratching his beard.
"An additional five thousand in jewels. And a guarantee of heirs."
The king raises an eyebrow. "Heirs?"
"Eight," Benedict says firmly. "Within ten years. The majority boys, of course."
My stomach lurches. Eight children? In ten years?
"Boys. Of course. And if she fails to deliver?" the king asks.
"Then you compensate me for my suffering. Another ten thousand gold, plus the southern trade routes."
The king considers this, then nods. "Agreed. But she must be married within the month. We can't risk the dragon coming for her."
The dragon.
My dragon.
Is he even alive? I saw him fall, saw the blood pooling beneath him, draining from his neck. If he's alive, he's not coming for me. He can't. And even if he could...
Would I want him to?
He kidnapped me. Kept me asleep for a century. Stole my life.
But he also kept me safe. Loved me. Claimed me. Was gentle with me.
And now I'm here, being sold off to a prince who looks at me like I'm a burden he's willing to bear for the right price.
The pain in my stomach intensifies, and I double over, gasping.
"Is she ill?" the king asks, frowning.
"She's weak," Benedict says dismissively. "A century of sleep will do that. She'll recover."
Will I?
I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.
I black out.
When I come to, I'm in a bed. It's soft, but not as soft as the one my dragon gave me. The sheets are a dark green silk, but they feel wrong against my skin. Too smooth. Too cold.
I'm naked.
Panic flares, and I try to sit up, but my body won't cooperate. I'm too weak, too disoriented.
And then I see him.
Prince Benedict. Lying naked beside me, his pale skin almost glowing in the dim light. He's awake, watching me with a smug expression.
"Good," he says. "You're awake. We need to get started on those heirs."
My stomach churns. "What... what did you do?"
"What do you think I did?" He smirks. "You were asleep. I took advantage of what is owed to me. You owe me for saving you from that... monster." He shivers dramatically. "He was truly repulsive. I'd say you owe me quite largely."
He raped me. While I was unconscious, he raped me.
Rage floods through me, hot and sharp, but I'm too weak to act on it. I try to get up, but the world tilts, and I fall back against the pillows.
Benedict’s hand is on my thigh, and I want to break every one of his fingers.
"We should begin tonight," he says, his voice carrying that particular blend of entitlement and false courtesy that only royalty can perfect. "Your cousin promised me eight heirs. Eight sons, preferably, though I suppose daughters will have to do if that's all your body can manage."
I stare at the tapestry on the opposite wall. Some pastoral scene of shepherds and sheep that's supposed to be calming, I imagine. My face remains perfectly still.
"Adelaide?" The prince's fingers tighten on my leg. "Did you hear me?"
"I heard you." My voice comes out flat, emotionless. Good. Let him think the century has hollowed me out, made me pliant. Let him think I'm grateful.
He smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes. Nothing about him reaches anywhere meaningful. "Good. I know this must be overwhelming for you. One hundred years is a long time. But you're safe now. Free."
Free. The word tastes like ash in my mouth.
"You're still recovering, I see. But we can't waste time. We need to start working on those babies."
"No," I rasp. "I don't—"
"It's not a choice, Adelaide." His voice hardens. "You're my wife now. Or you will be, once the ceremony happens in a few days. And wives obey their husbands."
He climbs on top of me, and I want to fight, want to scream, but I can't. My body won't respond. My head is too foggy, my limbs too heavy.
I nod slowly, demurely, and begin calculating how long it will take to kill him.
Not tonight… I need information first. I need to understand the layout of this castle, the guard rotations.
Decide where I’ll go once I leave. The arrows…
I saw them pierce his scales, saw him fall to the ground.
But dragons don't die easily do they? He's alive.
He has to be alive, because the alternative is a chasm I cannot look into without losing myself entirely.
"Shall we?" He puts his hands on my breasts. His palm is soft, uncallused. He's never held a sword for longer than ceremony requires, never worked for anything in his pampered life. He’s probably had everything handed to him. He thinks he's rescued me. He thinks he's a hero from the songs.
I will enjoy watching him bleed.
But not yet. Not yet.
"You're not as beautiful as I would have liked, but your body…
" the prince says while he gently paws at my breast. “Your breasts are so heavy. So full. Mother says breasts like this are perfect for nursing our children.” He sucks one of my nipples into his mouth and suckles on it.
I am instantly repulsed. His mouth feels nothing like my dragons.
"I've dreamed of this moment since I first heard the tale of the captive princess when I was a boy." He says the words against my breast.
I say nothing. I look down and notice my body is the same as it was a century ago, unchanged by time in ways that should be impossible. Another gift from my dragon, though no one here understands that. They think it's a curse, that I've been frozen, preserved like a butterfly in amber.
They don't understand that I've been cherished.
The prince's eyes roam over me with an expression I recognize. Hunger mixed with possession. He sees an object. A prize. A womb he has conquered and will now fill with his legacy.
I let him look. I've learned patience.
He kisses me, and it's wet and graceless, his tongue pushing into my mouth like he's trying to prove something. I endure it. I've endured worse.
I suppose this isn’t much different than the first few years I spent with the dragon if I’m honest with myself. The conflicting thoughts war in my head as I lie here silently.
Benedict is already breathing hard, already fumbling around with where to touch me.
I feel something hard being ground on my stomach.
His cock. I look down to see what it looks like.
I was a virgin when the dragon took me, so I’ve never seen what a cock looks like.
Small. Painfully, almost comically small compared to what I remember feeling from my dragon.
My dragon's smallest finger has more girth.
But I need to survive this. I need to play the part.
After he kisses me for a minute, he straightens on top of me.
There's no preamble, no preparation. He simply grabs his dick and pushes it inside, and I'm not ready.
Not wet, not open, not anything. It hurts in a way that's purely mechanical, purely unpleasant.
Nothing like the burn of being stretched around dragon cock, that exquisite edge between pain and pleasure that makes my whole body sing.
He thrusts, graceless and quick, grunting with each movement. His eyes are closed tight. He's not even looking at me.
"Talk to me," I say, trying to salvage something from this disaster. "Tell me what you want to do to me."
He opens his eyes, looking confused. "What?"
"Dirty talk. Tell me—"
"That's inappropriate," he says, actually sounding offended. He doesn't stop thrusting, though. "Ladies don't... you shouldn't want that." He sounds a little out of breath, even though he’s only just started.
A century of my dragon's filthy mouth, his detailed descriptions of exactly how he was going to take me, where he was going to put his tongue, how many times he was going to make me come before he allowed himself release… all of that, and now this. This idiot telling me what I should want.
"Then choke me," I say, desperate for something, anything to make this bearable. "Put your hand on my throat." I go to grab his arm to place his hand where I need it.
He recoils like I've suggested he murder his mother. "Absolutely not! What kind of depraved—" He's still inside me, still moving, but now he's looking at me with disgust. "That dragon corrupted you. I should have known."
"Then spank me. Grab my hair. Do… something."