Chapter 13 The King
The King
The other girls fall into line, each led by her fairy companion. Their delicate wings shimmer faintly, casting soft, shifting patterns on the stone walls. Even the castle itself seems to move around us—stone groaning, shadows slithering.
I force my breath to steady. In four. Hold four. Out four. For Kat. For Tobias. For the life they’ll build together, far away from this accursed mountain.
“Still breathing?” Mariel murmurs beside me, slipping her arm through mine.
“Barely,” I reply.
Her tall frame moves with effortless grace, her lilac gown trailing behind her like mist. She smells like lavender and smoke.
Vivian walks just ahead of us, twisting a small braid between her fingers. “They say the king is a generous lover,” she whispers. “He gives gifts to the brides who please him.”
“Indeed,” Seraphina says flatly. Her dress shimmers like dusk, and the smug way she lifts her chin makes her look more like a queen than any of us. “He’s had six hundred years of practice. Which is why he needs a real woman. One with experience—not some shy virgin.”
Her gaze drifts, deliberate and cruel, lingering on me for a heartbeat before sliding to Cassy.
Cassy’s hands tremble in her lap.
“I’ve never even kissed a man,” Cassy whispers. “What if we’re expected to… you know… be the king’s—”
“Don’t worry,” Mariel cuts in gently, squeezing her hand. “Even if they take your body, they can’t take your spirit.”
Her words strike something deep in my chest. And while I know Mariel means well, nothing in Cassy’s trembling frame eases. I swallow hard but say nothing. Instead, I lace my fingers through hers. Cassy doesn’t pull away.
“There’s nothing wrong with being inexperienced,” I say quietly. “My mother taught me that it’s important to know your worth—and only give yourself to a man you love. After he commits to you for life. Before God.”
Seraphina snorts. “Oh, please. God? I thought Solmereans believed in a whole pantheon of gods. Sun gods, river gods, tree gods—which one, exactly, is the keeper of maidenhood?” Her eyes gleam. “Or is it just your mother’s own personal made-up god you’re saving yourself for?”
My jaw tightens.
“That belief has kept more girls safe than your pride ever has,” Mariel snaps.
But Seraphina is already circling us like a vulture. “Oh, I don’t blame you, really. In Grathmoor, we don’t shame women for taking what they want. Giving and receiving pleasure is a strength, not a weakness.”
She stops in front of me, eyes gleaming with cruel delight.
“We use men, not the other way around. Of course, I expect innocence from Cassy. She’s, what, fifteen?
But you…” Her smile turns syrupy. “You’re a grown woman, Fire.
A woman with so much… restraint. It’s almost saintly. Maybe even… virginal?”
My jaw clenches. Mariel steps between us, but Seraphina just laughs and saunters back to her place.
“Don’t worry,” she sneers, tossing her locks over her shoulder. “Soon enough, we’ll all see how that purity serves you in the Trials. Or if it gets you killed.” What a bitch.
Cassy squeezes my hand tighter, and I squeeze back.
I’m about to fire back a retort when the groan of iron suddenly fills the air. The ballroom doors swing open.
The hem of my gown whispers against cold stone as we approach the towering entrance. Its ironwork is etched with overlapping dragon scales that gleam in the torchlight like fire captured in metal.
Arther rounds the corner and speaks to Mae in a hushed tone before turning to face us.
“You will bow when presented before the king,” he instructs us, his tone clipped and formal. “You will not speak unless spoken to. You will remain with your assigned fairy at all times.” Then he gives one curt nod before disappearing through the towering doors.
Mae steps forward, her eyes scanning each of us. “Take heart, ladies,” she says. “You were chosen for a reason. Tonight, the rest of your life begins.”
Then she leads us through the double doors, and the ballroom swallows us whole.
Inside, the room is already arranged like a ritual.
The Bound Four take up position in the corners, holding them like sentinels.
Miss Mae takes her place near the musicians, a quiet axis of calm.
Arther watches from a side door. Cassian lounges by the wine, grinning like sin in silk.
Lyra sits beneath a ring of candles, her head lifted as if listening to a song no one else can hear.
The sheer scale and grandeur of the room steal my breath.
Vaulted ceilings stretch high above, painted with frescoes of dragons, stars, and battlefields so vivid that I swear I can almost see them breathe.
Crystal chandeliers drip golden light across a banquet table brimming with roasted meats, sugared fruits, and silken pastries—wealth beyond comprehension.
And it’s warm—too warm, like the breath of something ancient is stirring beneath the floor.
Guards line the walls, their obsidian lamellae armor catching the firelight in eerie patterns. Farther back, goblin wardens keep to the shadowed arches, their iron spears glinting as dozens of attendants work to serve the guests. Ceremony and threat, side by side.
But it’s the throne that commands reverence. Perched atop a black marble dais, flanked by two towering golden dragon statues, is a massive obsidian throne veined with onyx and blood-red rubies. And in it, poised like a storm waiting to break, is the king.
We approach in pairs, Seraphina and Elena first, then Cassandra and Vivian. Mariel and I take up the rear. Each step tightens the knot in my stomach. We keep our eyes averted and bow low, falling into curtsies at the base of the steps.
“Welcome to Noctyras,” a deep voice says calmly. “You may rise.”
I lift my head.
And for a heartbeat, nothing makes sense.
My mind scrambles, grasping for some other explanation—another face, another lie, another impossible coincidence. It can’t be. It has to be someone else.
Then his gaze meets mine.
Storm-blue eyes, ringed with gold. Dark lashes. A familiar steadiness I’d started to trust.
No.
My breath catches. My pulse stutters.
The gardener.
The word flashes through me first, desperate and foolish. The man in the soil-stained boots. The quiet voice. The patient hands.
And then the truth crashes down, merciless and absolute.
No—the king.
He’s the king.
My thoughts splinter into chaos. Every careless word I threw at him in the garden rushes back in a wave of heat and shame. Every challenge. Every joke. Every moment I thought I was safe.
My pulse thrums wildly, panic tightening my chest until it’s hard to breathe. My muscles lock, as if my body itself understands what my mind is only just catching up to. If my fate wasn’t already sealed, it is now.
And worse yet, he lied. He lied about who he was, lied while I opened up to him, lied while I trusted him, danced with him, almost kissed him.
And he’s not just the king; he’s a monster. A monster who commands the dragon that haunts my dreams.
My breath catches as his eyes lock onto mine. Heat licks up my spine, stealing the air from my lungs.
He stands, firelight catching on the gemmed crown atop his head, obsidian and gold.
The gold-threaded dragons curling along his dark tunic.
Dark waves of hair fall untamed around his face.
The top buttons of his tunic are undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin beneath.
He’s absurdly handsome—broad-shouldered and towering, a cliff unmoved by the tide crashing at its base.
But it’s more than that.
The room shifts around him as if it knows he is the storm, and we are only leaves in his wind.
“I am King Keiren,” he says, his voice carrying like thunder, “and this castle is a prison. For you… and for me.” A hush falls across the room.
Even the thousands of candles illuminating the massive room dare not flicker.
“Long ago, each of your regions made a deal with a dragon. But that’s only one side of the story. ”
Of course he would claim there was more to it. I roll my eyes and swear the king notices because he visibly tenses.
“What they never tell you is what came before,” he continues.
“My father hunted the last great dragon. The creature killed him—and cursed every descendant in his bloodline. I was his sole heir. So it bound me to this place, cursing me to rule from behind stone walls, in shadow, unable to leave. Not until the curse is broken.”
He speaks like a man telling a bedtime story to children. But there’s something simmering beneath the calm words—something ancient and dangerous.
“In exchange for protection,” he continues, “your ancestors agreed to send potential brides each year when the Bloodmoon rises. Candidates strong enough to face the Bloodmoon Trials and prove themselves worthy. Strong enough to break the curse and restore Abrellia to its former glory.
“The dragon believes mankind has strayed,” he adds quietly. “That if we redeem ourselves, it should be by merit, not inheritance. Not conquest. Only someone worthy of bearing both crown and consequence could end it.”
His gaze flicks back to me and lingers. His eyes are so blue they burn—not with the kind of fire that warms. The kind that devours.
“To survive the three Trials is to earn the right to rule.” He pauses, looking back to the others. “To break the curse and become queen.”
The words strike like a hammer against frozen water. I feel the first fracture spread through me.
“But none have succeeded,” he continues, voice steady. “Not yet.”
He exhales slowly.
“The dragon granted this kingdom three hundred Bloodmoons to prove we were worthy of survival.” His eyes lock on mine, unflinching. “You are the last brides he will ever bring here.”
The truth settles heavy in my chest. Either one of us survives the Trials and breaks the curse—or our entire world turns to ash.
The air feels too thick to breathe. His gaze—his challenge—is branded into my skin.