The world returned to me in fragments—sound first.
CLUNK. CLUNK.
The jarring rhythm rattled through the floor and into my bones, pulling me from a heavy, dreamless sleep. My eyelids fluttered open with a sharp jolt, and for a moment, I didn't even recognize my own breath filling my lungs.
Gold. Red. Velvet. Silk.
My vision struggled to focus, but the carriage's opulent interior was unmistakable. Every surface gleamed with polished ornamentation—intricate carvings, embroidered cushions, lanterns that swayed slightly with the movement. It was beautiful in a suffocating, gilded way.
My throat tightened.
Where… Where am I?
I pushed myself up, palms sinking into the plush seat. The gown rustled softly—a white dress traced with gold embroidery, unfamiliar and far too extravagant for someone like me. Yesterday—no, the last thing I remembered—I hadn't been wearing anything remotely like this.
A cold prickle crawled up my spine.
CLUNK. CLUNK. CLUNK.
The carriage wheels rolled with mechanical certainty, carrying me deeper into… something. Somewhere. Somewhere I had not chosen.
Before I could piece together more than raw panic, a gravelly voice cut through the forest air outside.
"Your bride has woken up, Your Majesty."
Bride.
The word slammed into me like cold water. A small, involuntary flinch rippled through my body. I sat very still, breath caught somewhere between inhale and exhale.
Bride?
Your Majesty?
I didn't even dare guess what that meant.
Slowly—hesitantly—I leaned closer to the small window. Through it, I caught a glimpse of the man who had spoken. He rode beside the carriage, perched on a towering shadow-black horse. His torso was bare save for a dark sash cutting across his muscled chest. His expression was relaxed… but predatory, as though he were studying prey rather than a person.
And he was smiling. At me.
Not kindly.
He noticed me watching and his lips curled further.
"OH, YOU'RE AWAKE."
The way he said it made my heart jitter uncomfortably.
Before I could retreat, another voice joined the first—this one colder, held with a dangerous elegance. From in front of the carriage, a man cloaked in deep red shifted slightly on his mount. A gleaming polearm rested effortlessly in his grip.
His eyes—dark, piercing—met mine.
He smiled slowly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"DID YOU SLEEP WELL?"
His voice was a low murmur that slithered under my skin. A shiver shot straight down my spine.
If these men were anything to judge by, I did not want to meet the one they called "Your Majesty."
The first rider broke the tension with a more practical tone.
"WE SHOULD STOP TO EAT NOW THAT SHE'S AWAKE."
As if the decision had already been made, the carriage continued deeper along a sunlit forest road, leaves whispering in the breeze above us. The horses' steady CLIP-CLOP seemed to mock me, each step a reminder that I was being taken somewhere—trapped in a luxurious cage on wheels.
My fingers dug into the fabric of the gown.
Kidnapped.
Taken.
A bride to someone I had never seen.
My pulse throbbed in my ears.
Before the reality could settle fully, the whole procession slowed. A sharp NEIGH split the air as the lead horse jerked to a halt.
"Everyone, HALT. We'll set up camp here."
The red-cloaked man issued the command with a deep, near-amused CHUCKLE, swinging down from his horse with the ease of someone stepping off a cloud.
Another soldier echoed immediately, "YES, SIR!"
The authoritative man addressed me next, raising his voice slightly so it reached inside the carriage.
"WE'RE SETTING UP CAMP HERE!"
His tone vibrated with certainty—like the world itself obeyed him.
I froze.
The forest fell quiet except for distant voices and the snorting of horses. The knowledge that we were stopping—that I couldn't hide behind the carriage walls forever—made dread knot tightly in my stomach.
Footsteps. Heavy ones. Approaching.
The door latch clicked.
CREAK.
He stood there in the doorway.
Cloaked in crimson that caught the sunlight, eyes gleaming the same deep shade—dangerous, unreadable, and entirely focused on me. His silhouette filled the space, commanding without effort.
"ARE YOU FEELING A BIT BETTER?"
The softness in his tone didn't fool me; it was the softness of a wild thing before it pounced. My hands began to tremble, shamefully visible. My heart beat so ferociously it hurt.
"You startled me when you fainted suddenly earlier," he added, his eyes narrowing slightly as if assessing my fragility.
I swallowed hard.
"I–I'm fine…"
The words spilled out thin and shaky. A lie dressed as calm.
He didn't look convinced.
Slowly, deliberately, he extended his hand toward me—a gesture that felt less like an invitation and more like a command wrapped in velvet.
"COME WITH ME. YOU MUST BE HUNGRY AFTER NOT EATING FOR THE WHOLE DAY."
I shrank back instinctively.
"I'm not hungry. I think I'll just stay here—"
My own stomach betrayed me.
GURGLE.
Loud.
Mortifying.
Echoing in the tense silence.
Heat exploded across my cheeks in a fierce blush. I turned away, burying my face from him as if that could hide my embarrassment.
When I dared to glance back, he was watching me with a look I couldn't decipher—some strange mix of amusement, curiosity… and something darker lingering beneath.
It was pointless to protest now.
I needed to step out. I needed to face whatever awaited me beyond this door.
Mustering the faintest courage I had left, I inhaled deeply, raised my chin, and finally—
placed my hand in his.
---
When I finally accepted his invitation, it felt like surrendering to gravity itself. My pale fingers—still trembling, still unsure—lifted slowly and hovered for an agonizing moment before finally resting atop his much larger, darker hand.
A simple REACH, and yet it felt monumental.
A choice I wasn't sure I was allowed to refuse.
His hand wrapped around mine with firm steadiness, guiding me carefully out of the carriage. He didn't yank or drag—he led. And even that gentleness felt dangerous.
My bare feet touched the soft forest ground with two cautious STEP… STEP, the earth cool beneath me. The evening air swept over my exposed skin, sharp with the approaching chill of dusk. I shivered.
"It will get cold inside the carriage once night falls," he said, his voice calm, almost reasonable. "Come outside and warm yourself up by the campfire."
Even when he sounded considerate, the command beneath the words was unmistakable.
I inhaled deeply.
I could smell something warm… savory. Food.
My stomach's earlier traitorous GURGLE replayed in my memory, intensifying the heat in my cheeks.
We took a few more steps.
From the corner of my eye, the man with the long silver braids approached swiftly. He carried a small wooden box reverently in both hands.
"Over here, Your Majesty," he announced, bowing his head slightly and directing us toward the camp.
My captor—my supposed Majesty—accepted the box with a single-handed ease.
"Good work. You may leave us now."
The braided man gave a sharp, precise BOW.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
He retreated, moving to tend the campfire, stirring its flames higher with expert motions.
The camp itself was surprisingly tidy. Simple, but arranged with care. A central fire burned bright and welcoming, the lively orange glow illuminating a sturdy tent and casting tall shadows across the trees.
"This should be comfortable. Sit over there," he instructed, nodding toward a plush blanket spread neatly beside the fire.
A faint SHIVER ran through me—part fear, part cold. But the fire's warmth was irresistible, a silent promise of comfort. I stepped forward and lowered myself onto the blanket with a soft PLOP, pulling my white gown closer around my body.
"
It's so warm…" I breathed, my muscles unconsciously loosening in the heat.
My captor removed his heavy red cloak. Beneath it, armor of shimmering silver scales clung to his torso, reflecting the firelight like liquid metal. He looked even more formidable—like a war deity pausing between battles.
He sat across from me, always watching.
From the box, he withdrew a freshly made sandwich, steam curling gently upward from it. Without ceremony, he slid it across the blanket toward me with deliberate care.
"You should eat it while it's still hot," he said.
A command cloaked in softness.
The aroma reached me instantly—warm bread, smoked fish, fresh vegetables. My mouth watered involuntarily.
"It smells so good…" I murmured, almost to myself.
But hesitation tugged at me. I glanced up.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Do you think I might have poisoned it or something?"
His tone dipped into a low edge of annoyance.
"I would never do something like that."
A wave of embarrassment swept over me.
I shook my head quickly, a heavy BLUSH blooming across my cheeks.
"Thank you for the food…" I whispered.
The moment the sandwich touched my lips, something inside me cracked open.
The bread was soft and warm.
The fish perfectly smoked.
The vegetables crisp and fresh.
I took a huge bite—then another.
NOM. NOM.
My eyes fluttered shut at the taste.
"IT'S DELICIOUS!" I exclaimed, unable to contain the burst of joy. "ALL OF IT TASTES SO GOOD! FROM THE BREAD TO THE SMOKED FISH AND THE VEGETABLES INSIDE!"
My voice was too loud, too excited, too honest.
Heat rose again in my cheeks.
Then, without warning, a soft ache tightened my chest.
I sniffed—quiet, but impossible to hide. SNIFF.
The contrast hit too hard.
I was only ever given moldy or stale bread at the Baron's residence…
I took another determined bite, clinging to the warmth of the moment, to the taste of something real and kind—even if its giver terrified me.
Across the fire, he watched silently, eyes unreadable, as I devoured the very last of the sandwich.
The man with the dark hair—this imposing figure who radiated both danger and an unexpected warmth—watched me with that same unreadable mix of concern and stern authority. His voice cut through the soft crackling of the fire.
"You'll get an upset stomach if you eat it that quickly."
His tone wasn't harsh, but firm—like someone scolding a child for swallowing their food whole. I froze mid-bite, cheeks puffed from overeager chewing, and slowly forced myself to swallow. Heat crept up my neck.
Before I could fully recover, he reached toward me again, offering a simple wooden mug. Steam curled gently from its surface.
"This is sheep's milk," he said. Then, with a wry, almost dark smirk: "I haven't poisoned this either."
The comment made my breath catch. A strange blend of reassurance and unsettling humor.
Still, I took the mug carefully and brought it to my lips.
Warmth spilled down my throat, spreading across my chest like a soft blanket.
My fingers wrapped around the mug tighter.
It had been so long.
So long since anything warm touched my stomach.
So long since I ate without fear or shame.
Chores all day…
Scraps thrown at my feet…
A constant ache in my belly…
I never thought I would eat warm food again.
And certainly not for free.
My eyes pricked, and I blinked the feeling away just as his voice broke through my thoughts.
"How old are you?"
The question made me stiffen. His gaze was direct—sharp enough to cut.
"I–twenty…" I whispered, still nibbling a small remaining crumb between my fingers.
His brows drew together immediately, his expression darkening.
"You're twenty years old?" he repeated.
Then, with a cold bite:
"You're far too young to become that senile king's bride."
At once, his entire demeanor shifted.
The air around us warped.
Thickened.
Like the forest itself was holding its breath.
The firelight flared, reflecting a blazing fury in his eyes.
"That bastard is a tyrant," he growled. The word rumbled from deep in his chest, followed by a harsh GRIT—his teeth clenching with hatred so visceral it almost vibrated in the air.
I stiffened, my heart thudding as he continued.
"He sent dragon slayers to our lands and slaughtered innocent hatchlings."
His voice turned raw.
Pain.
Rage.
Loss.
All tangled in every word.
"I lost my brother, the Great King, in that battle."
A vivid image slammed into my thoughts—unbidden and horrifying.
Him, kneeling in scorched rubble, arms wrapped around the fallen body of a powerful warrior.
Smoke rising.
Arrows embedded in the earth.
Fire devouring everything in the background.
His next words were quieter, yet far more chilling.
"If it hadn't been up to me to quickly claim the throne and bring stability to my country,"
he said slowly, each syllable like a knife dragging across stone,
"I would've hunted down and killed him. Even if I had to do it alone."
The word alone hung in the air, heavy as iron.
The fire crackled loudly, the only sound brave enough to exist in the space between us.
This man… this ruler of the Tayar Kingdom… was terrifying.
And yet he kept looking at me—as if expecting something, waiting for a response.
Instead, he scoffed lightly, his gaze flicking away.
"Are you upset that you couldn't become the old man's concubine?" he asked, tone mocking but eyes sharp.
I shook my head immediately, silently.
I couldn't bring myself to look directly at him.
He sighed—soft, almost tired.
But then again, I'm not in a position to say anything since I threatened to kill all of those innocent people…
His thought flickered across his face, a fleeting shadow.
She's surprisingly calm. I expected her to scream, to demand to return to her family…
He muttered to himself, voice low:
"In her eyes, I must be no different to the King of Brion."
The truth of that stung.
Yes—he had fed me.
Yes—he had shown a strange, gentle concern.
But I was still a prisoner.
I steadied my breathing, then gathered my courage—thin as it was.
"Um… I've been wondering…"
My voice wavered.
"…what is the Tayar Kingdom like?"
He looked at me, eyes narrowing in thought. Then he tore a piece from the sandwich in his hand with a slow, deliberate motion.
"You Brionians probably think the Tayar Kingdom is a savage place inhabited by monsters…"
A faint smile ghosted across his lips.
"But that isn't the case."
He extended the piece of food toward me.
"You'll understand once you see it for yourself."
I hesitated, then took it.
His words echoed strangely in my mind.
I'm not sure why…
but I feel like living with him—this volatile, dangerous king—might still be better than returning to Velk Castle…
He smiled again, softer this time, and something inside me loosened just a little.
"You'll be able to eat some proper food once you reach the palace," he said. "Just wait a bit longer."
My thoughts drifted, unbidden, and I suddenly imagined it—
a massive red dragon, scales gleaming like rubies, roaring amid a storm of arrows and flames.
A creature of unimaginable power, wings slicing through smoke-filled skies.
And I would have succeeded if I hadn't been injured and crash-landed in that forest that day.
The image burned through my mind—terrifying, awe-striking—and yet undeniably real.
He looked at me with a teasing glint in his eyes, the firelight catching in them like molten gold.
"Are you upset that you couldn't become the old man's concubine?"
The words hit me like a cold splash of water.
I froze mid-chew, then swiftly shook my head—small, timid, silent.
I couldn't bear to meet his gaze.
His expression shifted just slightly, a flicker of thought darkening his eyes.
But then again, I'm not really in a position to say anything since I threatened to kill all of those innocent people…
His internal remorse—twisted with pride—seemed to flicker faintly across his face.
He studied me again, more closely this time.
She's surprisingly calm. I expected her to kick up a fuss about wanting to be reunited with her family.
In her eyes, I must be no different to the King of Brion.
I kept munching my sandwich, savoring every warm bite, thinking blissfully:
This is plenty delicious…
Meanwhile, he continued observing me, silently analyzing.
I thought she would be much colder toward me, considering she is the daughter of a Brionian noble… but she's surprisingly easygoing.
And she has quite the appetite.
She's probably still too scared to say anything though.
I swallowed, mustering courage that trembled like a leaf.
"Um… I've been wondering…"
My fingers twisted nervously in the blanket.
"…what is the Tayar Kingdom like?"
He paused, then tore a piece of sandwich from his hand with an almost gentle motion.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You Brionians probably think that the Tayar Kingdom is a savage place inhabited by monsters…"
He extended the torn piece toward me.
"But that isn't the case. You'll understand once you see it for yourself."
A small, warm feeling squeezed inside my chest—hope, shaky but real.
I'm not exactly sure why, but I have this feeling that living with him will be better than my life at Velk Castle…
He smiled again, softer, warmer.
"You'll be able to eat some proper food once you reach the palace. Just wait a bit longer."
The fire crackled, sparks drifting upward like floating embers, and in that glow something darker flickered in his mind—
And I would have succeeded if I hadn't been injured and crash-landed in that forest that day.
A vivid memory passed through him—dragon wings torn, flames consuming treetops, blood on scales.
I swallowed.
He straightened, his voice reshaping itself into command.
"If you've finished eating, then you should lie down and get some rest."
I blinked as he began unbuckling the heavy armor on his torso.
The metallic CLINK of plates separating made my stomach plummet.
My eyes widened in pure panic.
WHY IS HE TAKING HIS CLOTHES OFF?!
He continued calmly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
"I should get undressed as well."
My breath hitched when he slid his garment down, revealing a broad, muscular torso adorned with faint scars and intricate markings.
The firelight traced over every line, making the sight somehow even more intimidating.
Heat flooded my cheeks.
In a flustered scramble, I slid backward on the blanket, stammering,
"Um… I-I'll wait outside…"
He laughed—low, amused—then reached out, his arm stretching toward me like a steel trap.
"Is that really necessary?"
Before I could react, he lifted me with effortless strength, my feet leaving the ground as if I weighed nothing at all.
His smile brightened—far too confident, far too calm for the situation.
"We're going to be sleeping together from now on," he declared, almost cheerfully.
"We are now husband and wife."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
ARE WE…?!
He looked down at me, eyes glimmering with mischief.
"Come to think of it…" he murmured, as if remembering something amusing.
"I heard that Brionians spend their wedding night together."
I froze in his arms, cheeks blazing like wildfire.
H-he wants to… spend the night with me?!