The smell of burnt herbs clung to Althea's fingers as she packed the last of her tinctures into clay vials. Evening crept through the wooden shutters of her cottage, casting long golden streaks across the modest floor. Outside, the village was quiet—eerily so. No sounds of chickens, no chatter of children. Just silence.
She paused, her heart skipping.
Something was wrong.
The knock came like a thunderclap.
Boom. Boom.
Althea flinched, nearly dropping the bottle of valerian root. She wiped her hands on her apron and moved toward the door. Before she could touch the latch, the door burst open.
A soldier. No—not just a soldier. His armor bore the blood-red crest of the royal palace. The moment her eyes met the sigil, her stomach dropped.
"Althea Brayen?" the man barked, voice like gravel.
"...Yes?" she whispered, her throat dry.
"You are summoned by the order of His Majesty, King Kael Vortigan."
The name was enough to chill her bones.
The Bloodthirsty King.
Rumors of his cruelty reached even this far-flung village. That he burned entire towns to ash for the smallest betrayal. That he once executed a nobleman for bowing too slowly. And now… he wanted her?
Althea's lips trembled. "There must be a mistake. I'm no one—just a healer."
The soldier did not blink. "The king does not make mistakes."
Two more men entered, flanking her. She stepped back, but there was nowhere to go. Her humble home, once her sanctuary, now felt like a coffin.
"You have one hour to gather your things."
"For what?"
He looked at her coldly. "You're to become the King's bride."
---
They gave her a royal escort—if one could call it that. The horses were black as midnight, their armor shining with the sigil of the burning crown. They rode through her village, silent witnesses peeking from behind shuttered windows, terrified to speak.
Not one soul came to say goodbye.
Perhaps they thought she was already dead.
---
The capital was nothing like the stories. It was beautiful, yes—towering spires, golden domes—but underneath the shine lay rot. Soldiers with cruel smiles. Servants who avoided her eyes. And above them all, the shadow of the palace: Drakar Keep, the Dragon's Crown, black stone carved into the mountain itself.
They brought her to a chamber of red velvet and silence.
Althea sat alone.
She didn't know how many hours passed before the door opened.
She rose to her feet, the fabric of her travel dress wrinkled and dirty. She should have looked more regal. More presentable. But what did it matter?
He stepped in.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black with crimson lining, a golden clasp shaped like a coiled dragon at his collar. His long dark hair was slicked back, revealing sharp cheekbones, a jaw that looked carved from steel.
But it was his eyes—those golden, piercing eyes—that stole her breath.
Not with beauty.
But with pure, unrelenting cold.
"Althea Brayen," he said, voice like midnight thunder.
She curtsied, wobbly. "Your Majesty…"
He circled her slowly, as if inspecting a piece of meat before a hunt.
"You're smaller than I expected," he said.
"I didn't expect to be here," she snapped, before biting her lip. She had no idea where that courage came from.
Kael stopped. "You have spirit. That's rare."
"I don't want to marry you."
"You think I care what you want?"
He moved closer. She held her breath.
"Do you know why I chose you?" he whispered.
"No."
"Because your village sits on the border of the western nobles' land. And because your father was once the most loyal soldier in my army—before he vanished."
Althea stiffened. "My father died twelve years ago."
"Did he?" The King smiled faintly, cruelly. "We shall see."
She couldn't understand what he was playing at. Politics? Revenge?
"I won't be your puppet," she said, louder this time. "If you wanted a wife to control, choose a noble's daughter."
Kael leaned in, his breath brushing her ear. "A noble woman would poison me in my sleep. You? You still believe in healing."
He pulled back. "We marry at dusk tomorrow. You'll wear red."
And just like that, he left her. No explanation, no warmth.
Only the echo of chains that had not yet been placed.
---
That night, Althea stared at the ceiling of her royal chamber, unable to sleep. The bed was soft, the sheets perfumed, but she would have traded it all for the straw mat back in her cottage.
She wasn't ready for this.
Wasn't ready to be a queen to a man called a monster.
And yet… part of her wanted to see past those golden eyes.
To find out what lay behind the mask of the Bloodthirsty King.
Not for love.
For survival.
Because if she was going to marry a monster…
She needed to learn how to tame one.
Althea pulled the sheets tighter around her, curling into herself as shadows crept along the high stone walls of her chamber. Sleep was elusive.
The silence here was not like home.
Back in the village, the quiet hummed with distant owl calls, the wind brushing through reeds, her mother's lullabies echoing faintly in memory.
Here?
The silence was suffocating. Heavy with secrets. And death.
She sat up, pushing the covers away. The room was too warm, the fire crackling despite her protests earlier. Her thoughts wouldn't stop spinning.
Why her?
What was the king planning?
A soft knock at the door startled her.
She tensed. "Who is it?"
The door creaked open without permission.
A young maid stepped in, bowing quickly. "Your Grace... I mean, Miss Brayen. I'm here to take your measurements. For the wedding gown."
Althea blinked. "Tonight? It's nearly midnight."
"The King gave orders," the girl murmured. "He wants you to wear red. His tailor is waiting."
Althea's lips parted in disbelief. "Red? Isn't that... the color for war?"
The maid's eyes flicked up, fear swimming beneath their surface. "And power."
Of course it was.
---
By the time the measurements were taken and the girl slipped away like a ghost, Althea found herself standing by the high arched window, watching the moon rise above Drakar Keep.
Red banners flapped in the wind below. Soldiers patrolled the outer courtyards like restless wolves.
And somewhere inside that fortress... her future husband slept.
Or maybe he didn't.
Maybe monsters never needed rest.
She touched the cold glass with trembling fingers.
Tomorrow, she would be a queen.
But tonight, she was still a healer. A girl who once believed kindness could fix the world.
She closed her eyes, whispering to herself.
"If I can't escape this fate… then I will rewrite it."
And in the distance, thunder rolled—low and ominous.