Lucina
The blistering heat pressed against my skin like a living thing—hungry, feral, unrelenting. Smoke curled into the night sky, turning the world into a hazy swirl of red and black. My home—Brion's sacred cathedral—was collapsing in on itself, flames devouring the last remnants of my past.
And at the center of that fiery ruin… stood him.
The Dragon King.
His presence felt like a shift in the world's axis. Tall, dark, armor forged in a furnace older than our kingdom. His gaze alone was enough to make the air leave my chest—those sharp, molten eyes that saw everything, judged everything, claimed everything.
Then came the words.
"…Do you wish to be buried alive in the sacred tombs of my ancestors…"
It wasn't shouted. It didn't need to be. The quietness made it devastating—like a sentence passed by a god.
My breath froze.
Buried alive. The very thought turned my blood to ice. My body reacted before my mind did; a tremor, then a jolt of pure terror seizing my veins.
"BURIED ALIVE…?!"
My voice cracked, raw with disbelief. This couldn't be real. It couldn't be happening. After years of being treated as less than human by my own stepfamily… after surviving countless indignities, countless silent sufferings… was this how my story ended? In the dirt, suffocated by a stranger's wrath?
No.
No—no—no.
Fear surged, desperate and wild. I couldn't die. Not after everything. Not like this.
"I-I don't want to die!"
The words escaped me before I could stop them. They spilled out—messy, frantic, completely unguarded. His expression didn't change at first, but I felt his attention sharpen, like the flick of a blade.
That tiny shift pushed me into a terrifying decision.
"I-I'll marry you…"
The words trembled, a fragile rope thrown across a chasm. A plea for life. A surrender. A bargain sealed with terror instead of love.
The Dragon King stepped forward—slow, prowling, predatory. His shadow fell over me, eclipsing the fires behind him.
"WHAT…"
The single word rumbled from his chest, deep and unreadable. Then he leaned down, close enough that the heat radiating from his body felt like standing before a forge.
"…IS YOUR NAME?"
Of all things, I hadn't expected that. My name? He had threatened my life, demanded my surrender, forced a marriage proposal—but he didn't even know who I was?
I swallowed, trying to steady my voice.
"Lucina…"
He repeated it.
"LUCINA?"
Something flickered in his eyes—recognition? Amusement? Possession? I couldn't tell. But the corner of his lips lifted, forming a slow, proud smile that should have been beautiful but was instead terrifying in its certainty.
"MY NAME IS HAKAN."
Hakan.
The Dragon King.
His name rolled in my mind like thunder. A scholar's reflex broke through my fear, sparking the faintest whisper of curiosity.
"Doesn't your name signify the moon in Brionian?"
He nodded—slow, deliberate, as if acknowledging something only he understood.
"The moon," I whispered. "It really suits you."
The smile that followed was dangerous—sharp as a blade hidden behind soft velvet. And in that moment, with flames reflected in his eyes and destruction surrounding us…
…I became the Dragon King's bride.
A wife claimed out of vengeance, desperation, and fire.
---
💍 A Marriage of Vengeance — Expanded (Up to the Provided Ending) 💍
Lucina's POV Continues
The burning cathedral crackled around us as he turned from me to the remaining survivors—some groaning, some bound, all terrified. His gaze swept over the wreckage until it halted on a trembling official—perhaps a priest, perhaps a royal clerk, it didn't matter. Hakan pointed at him with the authority of a god delivering decree.
"As I understand it, Brionian weddings require an officiator."
My breath caught.
A wedding.
Now.
Here.
"In the ruins…?" I whispered to myself, numb.
His next words were iron.
"Hey, you over there. I want you to officiate as our priest. I'm going to marry Lucina right now."
The man he addressed flinched as though struck.
"W-what? Right now? All of a sudden?!"
Shock burst through me, raw and unfiltered. A wedding amidst corpses and ash? My life had twisted so sharply I felt dizzy.
Hakan remained unmoved—utterly, terrifyingly unfazed.
"And I want you to serve as a witness once the wedding is complete."
The official stammered, voice paper-thin.
"W-Who would you like me to testify to?"
Hakan's smile sharpened. His voice carried a decade of smothered fury.
"Who do you think? Your King, of course."
He stepped closer—so close the heat of him swallowed me. His voice dropped to a whisper that slid down my spine like a blade.
"I'll take good care of you."
The words should have sounded like comfort.
Instead, they felt like a sentence.
He turned back to the official.
"Once we're done here, hurry along to your King and deliver this message."
Then he spoke the words that sealed my fate—not as a bride, not as a woman, but as a declaration of war.
"Tell him that Hakan of the Tayar Tribe has taken his bride."
Hakan threw his head back and laughed.
"HA HA! After ten long years, I can finally repay him for sending Dragon Slayers to attack our hatchlings!"
The sound was wild, triumphant, echoing over the flames and shattered stone.
And all I could think was—
He's nothing but a savage who wants war.
The golden wreath atop my head suddenly felt like shackles.
A symbol not of marriage, but of captivity.
My life had been spared—but the cost of it was only beginning.
---
Hakan's laughter echoed like a beast's roar inside the ruined cathedral.
"HA HA! After ten long years, I can finally repay him for sending Dragon Slayers to attack our hatchlings!"
The sound thundered against the stone walls, vibrating through the collapsed pews and shattered stained glass. It wasn't merely laughter—it was a victory cry drenched in blood and smoke, the exultation of a man who lived for conquest.
In that moment, the truth crystallized inside me.
He wasn't my savior.
He wasn't my husband.
He was a warlord taking a trophy.
My life—my wedding, my future—was nothing more than an elaborate message carved in fire and bone, sent straight to the King of Brion. I felt the cold weight of that realization curl around my heart.
I was a symbol.
A weapon.
A provocation wrapped in silk and soot.
Hakan's triumphant grin slowly faded as he surveyed the scene—the trembling priest, the smoking altar, the wounded soldiers strewn like broken dolls across the floor. A frown creased his brow, as if something about this battlefield wedding offended his sense of ceremony.
"The atmosphere feels too somber for a wedding. Go and bring me some flowers."
The command was absurd. Flowers? Now?
But none of his warriors questioned him. One immediately strode off, disappearing through a broken archway.
Moments later, he returned—blood splattered across his armor, soot staining his skin, yet cradling a small, delicate cluster of flowers. Blue, white, and violet petals trembled in his hands, impossibly alive amidst the chaos.
He held them out respectfully.
Hakan took them with a surprising gentleness, as though the flowers were more breakable than human lives. He adjusted a few petals, brushing dirt from the stems with the same hands that moments ago had destroyed my world.
Then he turned to me.
"These are for you."
My breath caught. The bouquet felt surreal, a soft vision in a landscape of death. His voice carried a formal gravity, almost ceremonial.
"I'm aware that in your country, it's customary for the bride to carry flowers at her wedding."
My fingers trembled as I accepted them. The petals brushed my skin like whispers—fragile, innocent, mocking. The scent was sweet, foreign against the backdrop of scorched stone and blood.
In that moment, holding the bouquet with shaking hands, I felt unbearably exposed. I stood in a torn white dress, crowned in gold leaves now dulled by ash, my eyes swollen from fear and smoke. I was no longer a daughter, no longer a forgotten girl.
I was a prize.
A message.
A queen by force.
And now… a bride.
Hakan watched me with a flicker of satisfaction.
"That's much better."
The officiator—shaking so hard his chains rattled—lifted his eyes toward us.
"W-we are gathered here today… t-to witness the sacred union between this couple…"
His voice wavered, swallowed by the crackle of dying flames. The words felt detached from reality, like lines spoken in a fever dream. I stood motionless, bouquet clutched to my chest, as ash drifted like black snow around us.
Hakan suddenly gripped my arm.
His touch was firm. Possessive. A declaration. I stiffened, my breath catching as his fingers pressed into my skin. When I lifted my gaze, he was already looking down at me—dark eyes unwavering, expression unreadable beneath battle-worn features.
Then, the officiator's voice quivered:
"Y-you… may now… kiss the bride."
A chill shot through me. A kiss—here, now—felt less like a union and more like the sealing of chains.
The officiator tried desperately to divert the ritual.
"I-in that case… please seal your marriage vows with a kiss."
Before he could finish, Hakan dismissed the holy rite with cold disdain.
"Forget about the prayer. I don't believe in your god anyway."
His words clanged louder than steel.
The priest, panicked, attempted one final plea.
"W-we can skip the kiss… and go straight to the prayer—"
But Hakan wasn't listening.
He was already moving.
The air thickened as he stepped closer. His shadow engulfed me; the scent of battle—iron, fire, smoke—clung to him like a second skin. His cheek, marked with an old scar, came level with mine. His armor brushed my dress, leaving a streak of soot.
I tightened my hold on the bouquet until the stems dug painfully into my palms.
What?!
My mind screamed, but my body stayed frozen, locked in place by fear and disbelief.
He leaned down.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin.
Then—
The kiss.
Not tender.
Not cruel.
But firm.
Absolute.
A seal. A proclamation.
Ownership.
When he pulled away, the world spun. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the crackle of the flames and the terrified breaths around us.
He straightened, towering over me, expression unreadable but undeniably satisfied—as if this moment tied together ten years of fury and vengeance.
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
I was no longer Lucina, the overlooked daughter.
I was Lucina, the bride of the Moon.
Bound to Hakan, the Dragon King.
The wedding was complete.
I was the Dragon King's Bride.
"Let's begin," Hakan commanded, his voice cutting through the smoky air like a blade.
The terrified priest jerked upright, clutching his trembling hands together as though prayer alone could protect him. His voice cracked, wobbled, and finally stumbled into the ritual.
"W-WE ARE GATHERED HERE TODAY… T-TO WITNESS THE SACRED UNION BETWEEN THIS COUPLE…"
Each word seemed dragged out of his throat, weighed down by fear. Ash drifted from the rafters like dead snow, settling on his robes. His gaze flickered between us—between the savage conqueror and the girl forced into a wedding—before dropping again to his script, his voice tightening as he reached the final, dreaded line.
"Y-YOU… MAY NOW… KISS THE BRIDE."
My whole body locked.
A cold shock shot down my spine.
What?!
I stared at him, wide-eyed, bouquet trembling in my hands. My breath hitched in my chest, the ruined church spinning for a moment.
The priest, desperate to save himself from Hakan's temper, blurted out hastily:
"I-IN THAT CASE… PLEASE SEAL YOUR MARRIAGE VOWS WITH A KISS!"
He swallowed hard, then added in a shaky whisper:
"W-we can skip the kiss… and go straight to the prayer."
It was a lifeline thrown out in panic, one even he didn't believe Hakan would take.
He was right.
Hakan's lip curled.
"FORGET ABOUT THE PRAYER. I DON'T BELIEVE IN YOUR GOD ANYWAY."
The finality in his voice snuffed out any remaining hope. The priest flinched as though struck.
Before I could recoil, Hakan's hand—large, calloused, impossibly steady—closed around my arm. He rotated me with controlled force, turning my body until I was pressed before him. His grip was not cruel, but absolute.
I trembled.
My knees weakened.
His presence overwhelmed me, his shadow swallowing mine as he pulled me closer. The clang of his armor scraped softly against my torn wedding dress, the chill of metal shocking against bare skin.
He lowered his head until his breath warmed my cheek.
"You look like you're going to faint," he murmured, as if amused, as if daring me to break.
The hint of challenge in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.
"CLOSE YOUR EYES."
His command was quiet. But it was absolute.
My lashes fluttered, then fell shut. I braced myself, bouquet crushed between my hands. My heart pounded so violently it hurt.
And then—
His lips touched mine.
Not gently.
Not lovingly.
A firm, rough, unyielding press—a conqueror's seal, claiming what he had taken.
The kiss tasted of heat and ash.
His breath carried the metallic tang of battle.
The scent of blood and sweat clung to him, raw and primal, filling my lungs and my thoughts.
I felt small beneath him, like a candle swallowed by a storm.
When he finally pulled away, the world tilted.
Lightheaded.
Dizzy.
Unable to breathe.
The vow had been sealed.
The Dragon King had taken his bride.
My new life had begun.
As he kissed I fainted in his arms as I felt dizzy .
" King kissing the bride shouldnt be like letting them faint " i heard a noise and a sigh left through the king's lips.
Step mother pov
The night reeked of smoke, charred stone, and the bitter stench of failure. The castle—my castle—was collapsing in flames, each falling ember a reminder of the future that had just slipped through my fingers.
Lucina.
The useless girl, the timid little mouse I had raised under my heel, had been my greatest asset. My masterpiece of manipulation. My key to elevating my son to a station he barely deserved.
And now the Dragon King had taken her. Stolen her like a shiny trinket plucked from a merchant's stall.
My son's voice—thin and trembling—cut through the crackle of the burning ruins.
"We have to get Lucina back," he had insisted earlier, as if he'd suddenly grown a spine now that everything was lost. He stood wringing his hands, staring after the distant silhouette of that monstrous rider vanishing into the night.
I rounded on him, fury blazing like the firelight reflecting off my gown.
"Huh? Why?!" I snapped, my voice rising into a shrill, uncontrolled SHOUT. My heart was a boiling pit, and my son's stupidity poured gasoline onto it. "I was able to secure your future by offering Lucina to the King of Brion! I won't let him ruin my plans!"
My plans—years in the making—shattered in an instant. Just like the broken stones of the courtyard beneath our feet.
My son SHUFFLED beside me, the sound timid, hesitant—a child's noise, not a future ruler's.
"But we've lost almost all our knights…" he whined, his voice cracking with fear. He looked like he might cry.
Useless boy.
Knights could be replaced.
Plans could be remade.
Fortunes could be rebuilt.
Lucina, however—the precious piece I needed for my gambit with Brion—had to be reclaimed. No matter the cost.
I inhaled sharply, straightening my posture. My fury cooled, condensed into sharp, calculating resolve. My red gown fluttered around my ankles as I turned away, the color blazing like fresh blood against the smoke-filled air.
The castle was ruined.
The Dragon King had humiliated us.
But I—I—was not finished.
I would claw my plans back from the jaws of a dragon if I had to.
My eyes narrowed, glinting with a cold new determination.
"We'll have to hire some mercenaries," I said finally, my voice low, steady, and deadly.
The first step of the hunt.
The first move in my new game.
To be continued...