Chapter 20 Esme
ESME
Bells toll through Draethys, bouncing off cave walls and echoing back through winding streets. Each resonant clang makes my stomach twist tighter as I stare at the stranger in the mirror.
“You look so beautiful,” Nyssa whispers beside me.
The gown weighs a ton. Diamond-crusted silk cascades in suffocating layers, my waist practically disappearing beneath a gold filigree belt that could buy a small country. Rubies and opals dig into my bare shoulders, holding the whole monstrosity together.
“I shouldn't even be here,” I mutter.
My reflection stares back with unfamiliar elegance. Nyssa has woven gold thread through my black hair, transforming it into something that belongs in a painting, not on my head. Diamonds swing from my ears with each shallow breath. My pulse hammers against my throat.
“You'll have the king's protection now, not just Lord Daynthazar's,” Nyssa says. “That's worth something.”
“I should be home with my coven fighting clearbloods, not playing dress-up in a cave.” I turn to face her. “This is a farce.”
“Yet you've made a life here.”
“A life? They despise me, Nyssa.” I gesture toward the door where dragons wait. “I'm the darkblood freak who drank fire and lived. They're just deciding whether I'm a weapon or garbage.”
Nyssa steps back, her hands falling away from the last diamond pin in my hair. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“In less than an hour, you'll be Lady Draxion,” she says quietly.
“He promised he'd stop this.” The words taste bitter on my tongue.
“And you think he didn't try?” Nyssa's reflection frowns.
I turn away from my own image, arms crossed tight enough to crush rubies against my skin. “I have no idea what he did or didn’t do. But ‘try’ is never enough.”
“It's your life or your freedom, Esme.” Her voice drops to barely a whisper. “The elders are fracturing. I’m seeing the signs now. Lord Daynthazar is the only thing standing between peace and chaos.”
Something cold slithers down my spine.
The walls of Draethys suddenly feel like a cork in a volcano. An entire underground kingdom of firebreathers, divided and angry. One dragon had been terrifying enough at Heathborne.
“Just survive the ceremony,” Nyssa says, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from my gown. “Tomorrow, you can hate him properly in private.”
“When did you get so damn pragmatic?” I mutter, letting my arms fall to my sides.
“When I started serving the royals,” she replies.
The ceremony hall stretches before me like a cathedral carved from obsidian, every surface gleaming in torchlight.
Hundreds of dragons stand in rigid formation, their black and silver formal attire a stark contrast to my blinding white-and-gold gown.
Nyssa stopped me from darkifying the wedding dress, saying it would only inflame the situation worse.
And right now I don’t need anything to be worse.
The dragons’ expressions range from thinly veiled disgust to cold curiosity, most of them a mixture.
“Breathe, Esme,” Anees murmurs beside me as we proceed down the endless aisle. “Your hands are trembling.”
“Wouldn't yours be?” I mutter back.
Massive brass braziers line the hall, their flames reaching toward the vaulted ceiling.
White ribbons and gold thread adorn black stone pillars.
Drummers positioned against the walls pound out a rhythm that matches my racing pulse.
I can’t help noticing that the colonel's daughter—that Rogon woman—hasn't shown.
Smart girl. If I'd had any choice in the matter, I wouldn't be here either.
At the altar, Bemmar waits with the impassive face of an executioner.
And there's Dayn—my supposed groom—clad in a midnight-dark suit veined with gold, his jaw tight as our eyes lock.
His amber eyes are molten, and for a stupid, traitorous heartbeat, the world narrows to just the two of us.
A jolt, sharp and unwanted, sparks in my veins, and I have to clench my fists to keep from showing it.
He looks away first, his expression unreadable as I reach the altar.
Just get through this farce, I remind myself. This marriage can't possibly be binding in the real world. I'll escape eventually. I have to.
“Who presents this bride?” Bemmar's voice echoes.
Anees straightens. “Lord Anees of House Draxion, my king.”
“Join hands before your kingdom,” Bemmar commands.
The crowd shifts forward slightly, their collective disapproval a palpable force. Yet they remain silent, still bound by a certain loyalty to their traditions and their king. When Dayn's fingers close around mine, my heart stutters in my chest.
His palm burns against mine. Through that touch, I feel a storm raging beneath his composed exterior, matching the hurricane in my chest.
“We’re in this together,” he murmurs. “We’ll get out of it together.”
I glare at him through my lashes. “Forgive me if I don't find comfort in your promises when I'm standing here in a literal wedding gown.”
“And we will find a way forward,” he says.
Bemmar gives me a bored look. “Are you done lamenting, Miss Salem?”
“Soon to be Mrs. Draxion,” Byzu jabs with a smirk.
I can feel his eyes on me like a physical weight against my skin.
His gaze slides over the silk and diamonds of my gown with a possessive heat that makes my stomach clench uncomfortably.
“In Draethys, even the greatest treasures can be… claimed by another. Remember that.” I lock my jaw at the memory of his words and ignore him utterly.
Yeah, because what I really need is another Draxion male in my life.
All of Dayn's brothers flank him, while I stand with only Nyssa, whose smile seems genuine enough to make me nauseous. My fingers twitch, longing for the blade I should have hidden beneath these suffocating layers of silk.
“Today marks unprecedented history in Draethys,” Bemmar announces to the assembly. “A dragon and a darkblood, bound together. Though many disapprove, the prince has spoken. Lord Daynthazar and Esme Salem shall unite through fire and blood until death.”
Fantastic.
“Before all gods, ancient and new, they join their destinies,” the king continues.
“Join is generous terminology,” I mutter.
“Trust me, I'm equally thrilled,” Dayn replies, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Bemmar's glare could melt stone as he presses on. “Marriage binds you to rise and fall as one.”
“Hard pass,” I breathe, hoping the king can't hear. “I lack wings and have zero intention of following you into the abyss.”
“Considering Draethys's location,” Dayn whispers, “I'd say you've already arrived.”
“Screw you.”
“Let’s save that for the wedding night. A couple more hours. Though I appreciate the enthusiasm.”
“Marriage!” Bemmar almost shouts, not bothering to hold back his frustration with us. “It is a sacred union of bodies and souls, where two become one across time itself. Together you shall forge an empire that only death may sever.”
“Or a tragic accident,” I whisper through clenched teeth.
Dayn's jaw tightens. “Don't tempt me.”
“Face each other,” Bemmar commands, leaning forward with a dangerous glint in his reptilian eyes. “Before I solve this problem permanently.”
We pivot toward one another like reluctant dancers.
Hundreds of dragon gazes burn into my back, a sea of disapproval.
My chest tightens. My palms dampen. The rational part of me screams this is all wrong, while my treacherous heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
Heat flushes my cheeks. Oxygen deprivation, I decide. Too long underground.
When Dayn's fingers tighten around mine, electricity shoots up my arms. My breath catches. Something primal stirs beneath my skin—a ravenous hunger that makes my mouth go dry.
“Your vows,” Bemmar prompts. “You do remember them?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Dayn answers smoothly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Ladies first.”
My mind empties completely. The carefully constructed words Nyssa drilled into me vanish like smoke. “Shit,” I breathe. “I, uh... one second.”
“By all means,” Dayn replies dryly.
I can hear Byzu and Arrynth snickering around us.
“Blessed by sun fire,” Nyssa hisses somewhere behind me.
Right.
“Blessed by sun fire, I welcome you into my body and my heart,” I tell Dayn, fighting a gag reflex with every syllable.
“I take you as my husband, my partner, my warrior of light. I vow loyalty, love, and everlasting companionship. As fire consumes all, melting and destroying, so will I defend our union. May my womb bear fruit. May my heart remain true. May our love transcend earth and sky: the fire that never dies.”
“The fire that never dies,” Dayn echoes, sliding a delicate gold band onto my index finger.
His hand covers mine, skin glowing with internal heat. Pain lances through my finger as the metal softens, flowing like liquid around my skin. When he finally pulls away, I stare at what remains.
The ring hasn't just been placed—it's been melded into me, dragon magic and spellwork fusing gold with flesh.
“What the hell,” I hiss. Of course dragons would never settle for simple wedding bands. No, they need stylish mutilation.
“Blessed by sun fire, I take you in my body and my soul,” Dayn intones, his masculine version of the vow resonating through the chamber.
“I claim your heart and your flesh, sworn to loyalty, love, and everlasting companionship. I am your guardian, your mate, your protector. While my wings extend, you shall dwell in light and bliss. If you fall, I will catch you. If you falter, I will stand beside you. United, our strength multiplies. We become one. We become eternal. Together, we embody the fire that never dies.”
“The fire that never dies,” I echo hoarsely.
I gingerly slide the gold band onto his finger and Nyssa helps me complete the ritual. Dayn inhales but maintains his composure, eyes narrowed fractionally while the gold liquefies around his finger, flowing into the very lines of his flesh until metal and man become one.