He trailed behind the attendants down the stone corridor, each step echoing louder than the last.
His chest tightened the deeper they led him.
'Where the hell were they going?'
The halls twisted downward, spiraling through layers of carved stone lit only by guttering torches.
No grand banners here, no golden ceilings or polished marble. Just damp air, walls sweating with age, and the sound of his own uneasy breathing.
And then—
She was waiting.
The Queen.
Not the towering, commanding dragon monarch he had seen before in her regal gowns and biting authority.
This time she wore something so out of place it nearly made him stumble: a simple white dress, thin fabric that clung loosely against her figure, flowing around her knees.
Sleeveless. Barefoot, even. The kind of thing you'd wear to a summer stroll by the sea, not in these dank tunnels.
She smiled, but this time not the mocking curl of lips he had learned to brace against.
"Did you sleep well?"
Her voice was soft. Too soft.
Arlo froze halfway into the chamber, uncertain if he should bow, nod, or bolt.
His brain tripped over itself, trying to process her casual tone. He managed only a stiff shake of the head.
She tilted her own head, amusement flickering in her eyes like firelight. "I thought as much." She gestured down the sloping tunnel ahead of them. "Come. Let's get this over with, shall we?"
The attendants melted away as if dismissed by her glance.
Suddenly, it was just the two of them, her bare feet whispering across the stone, his heavier steps dragging behind.
Arlo swallowed hard. His instincts screamed. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong.
"…Your Majesty—" he began, but she cut him off with a lazy flick of her hand.
"Charlotte."
He blinked. "What?"
Her smile widened, but it didn't reach her eyes this time. "Call me Charlotte. If you're going to be my husband, best start practicing now, hm?"
The word husband clanged in his ears like iron. He almost tripped on uneven stone. "I… I don't—"
Charlotte didn't wait for his stammering. She simply walked on, light-footed and unbothered, as though dragging a human into the underbelly of her kingdom was the most natural thing in the world.
They walked in silence for a time.
The deeper they went, the heavier the air grew, stale and damp.
The walls widened from carved tunnels into grander archways, etched with strange runes and old murals half-faded by centuries. Arlo's mind turned restless.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"You can ask your questions, you know."
Her tone was almost teasing.
Arlo clenched his fists. "Why underground? Isn't a… wedding supposed to be public?"
Charlotte chuckled. A light, airy laugh that bounced strangely off the stone. "We are heading to where all royals carry out traditional marriage rites. It's custom. Sacred."
Her eyes glinted sideways at him. "And besides… no one knows about this little event of ours."
Arlo blinked. "…How can no one know? You announced it yesterday. To everyone. The whole damn throne room was ready to riot—"
She threw her head back and laughed. A full-bodied laugh this time, rich and melodic, the kind that might have been beautiful if not for the context.
"Oh, Arlo. They panicked, yes. They fumed, yes. But no one actually thinks I'll go through with it. Not seriously."
Her smile twisted sharp. "A dragon monarch marrying a human? The greatest scandal in generations. Even my enemies would think it beneath me. Especially my enemies."
She leaned closer, voice dropping like silk over steel. "And yet, here we are."
Arlo's gut twisted. "If it's so scandalous, then why?"
Charlotte's steps didn't falter. "I told you already." She glanced at him with infuriating calm. "I like humans."
The simplicity of it made him want to scream.
He barked a bitter laugh instead. "And of all humans, you just had to pick the weakest one."
Charlotte didn't flinch.
Her lips curved, but this time there was a flicker—something beneath the smile, unreadable. "Perhaps weakness interests me more than strength. Strength is predictable. Weakness… surprises."
Arlo shook his head, exhaling sharply.
He couldn't tell if she was mocking him, baiting him, or whispering some deeper truth.
The path widened again.
What had once been rough tunnels now yawned into something vast.
Arlo's steps slowed as the chamber opened before them—a cavernous hall, domed ceiling lost in shadow, ancient pillars carved with dragon sigils climbing skyward.
At the center, a circle of obsidian stone gleamed as though polished yesterday, stark against the rough floor around it.
Faint lines of light traced through its grooves, pulsing with an inner glow.
A ceremonial ground.
Arlo's throat dried.
"This is it," Charlotte said simply, stepping toward the circle.
She turned, her eyes locking on him, unblinking. "Come."
He hesitated, then forced his legs to move, each step dragging like lead. He stopped at the edge of the glowing circle, pulse hammering in his ears.
"How… how does this work?" His voice cracked despite his effort to steady it.
Charlotte's expression softened—almost reassuring. "You don't need to do anything."
Her bare foot crossed the circle's edge. The glow flared brighter, rippling outward. She extended a hand toward him. "Just stand there."
Arlo swallowed hard, his body screaming to move, to run, but his feet rooted themselves.
Charlotte's smile lingered as she stepped deeper into the circle. But this time, something began to shift.
Her skin rippled, light flaring beneath her flesh.
The air thickened, pressing against Arlo's chest.
Bones cracked like rolling thunder.
Her limbs stretched, her frame towering higher, shadows spilling outward as wings unfurled in jagged arcs.
Scales tore through the white dress, gleaming in molten shades of crimson and gold. Her eyes blazed—no longer human, but endless pools of draconic fire.
The cavern shook with the weight of her form, every pillar groaning against her presence.
Arlo stumbled back, eyes wide, heart slamming in his ribs.
Charlotte's voice, when it came, reverberated like a storm.
"Just stand there."
The circle blazed brighter, engulfing him in its glow.
And Arlo realized—he wasn't part of a wedding. He was standing in the jaws of something far greater, and far more terrifying.