The fabric of the tent rustled softly with every breath of night wind, its thick woven walls trapping the scent of smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic—blood, or steel, I wasn't sure. I sat stiffly on the wide bed, my fingers tangled in the heavy cloak wrapped around my shoulders. It was far too warm, far too large, but I held on to it like a lifeline.
A shadow fell across me.
I jerked back as a warm, calloused thumb brushed a tear from the corner of my eye. The King's hand. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but my body recoiled on instinct.
"I wasn't trying to upset you," he said, voice rumbling low like a distant storm.
My throat tightened. "N-no… I'm just scared," I whispered, barely able to keep my voice steady.
He leaned closer, his gaze cutting through the dim torchlight. There was something unsettling in the way he watched me—not cruel, but intense enough that my heart thrashed painfully in my chest.
He studied my face, then asked, "Would you have preferred to marry that old king… instead of me?"
Before I could react, another voice drifted from the shadows of the tent.
"I'm not surprised," the unseen man said. His tone was cool, analytical. "She was taken from her family overnight, brought to a foreign land. Anyone would be terrified."
He continued, his words sharper now—almost an accusation aimed at me. "She likely thinks the King of Tayar is nothing but a barbarian."
The King's jaw tensed. He turned away from me, exposing the broad expanse of his tattooed back beneath the firelight. Even with his back turned, his presence filled every inch of the tent.
He spoke without looking at me. "Don't worry. I won't do anything to you."
Then he strode to the entrance, pulled the flap open, and stepped out into the cold night air.
"Get some rest. I'll sleep outside."
His heavy bootsteps faded—one deliberate thud after another—until all I could hear was the crackle of distant flames and the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Relief washed over me in shaky waves. I had expected force, anger, cruelty. Instead… he left. I was still a captive, still married to a man my kingdom feared, but for tonight, I was alone and unthreatened.
---
Outside the Tent — The Campfire
The night air thinned around the crackling fire as the King approached. He dropped down beside a man with silver-braided hair—one of his commanders, judging by his armor and bearing.
The man looked up sharply. "Your Majesty, why did you leave your wife alone and come outside?"
"I'm going to sleep out here," the King replied, staring into the flames.
The silver-haired man blinked. "I thought you were going to spend your wedding night together according to Brionian customs. I even prepared private quarters for you."
He sounded offended—almost more shocked than I was.
The King only exhaled slowly, embers reflected in his eyes. "Do you really think she would be able to keep it together… if I made her spend the night with me? When she thinks she's been abducted by savages?"
The silver-haired man recoiled, incredulous. "Didn't you say you were going to bury everyone from Velk in Mezaluc not long ago?"
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You were originally going to kill her. Why do you care now, all of a sudden?"
The King cut him a sharp look. "Watch what you say. She's my wife now."
The silver-haired man froze—then stared as if seeing the King for the first time. "What has come over the man who never cared about women?"
He gestured broadly at the fire, at the tents, at the night. "You even spared those humans in the castle because of her."
For the first time, the King's expression softened, almost imperceptibly. "She reminds me of another human I met once."
A faint mumble escaped him—too quiet for anyone to decipher.
Then the memory surfaced clearly: a small girl with white hair, soft eyes, and a gentle smile.
"I spared the people of Velk to repay my debt to her."
The silver-haired commander's eyes widened in understanding. He glanced toward the image in the King's mind—the white-haired child.
"That child probably lives somewhere nearby."
The King didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the fire, his thoughts drifting to that distant memory… and to the strange, frightened woman he had just left alone in the tent.
---
The King of Tayar sat beside the crackling campfire, a white ceramic mug cupped in his massive hands. Amber firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, softening nothing. The night wind stirred the embers, sending sparks spiraling upward toward the starlit dark.
His silver-braided companion watched him with a mixture of disbelief and irritation.
"Your Majesty, why did you leave your wife alone and come outside?" he finally asked, unable to contain himself.
The King settled more fully onto the ground, his heavy body landing with a dull thud.
"I'm going to sleep outside," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The silver-haired man blinked. Then frowned.
"I thought you were going to spend your wedding night together according to Brionian customs. That's why I even prepared private quarters for you."
The King exhaled sharply. "Do you really think she would be able to keep it together if I forced her to stay with me? When she thinks she's been abducted by savages?"
His companion didn't take the hint. His voice rose.
"Didn't you say you were going to bury everyone from Velk in Mezaluc not too long ago?"
A beat of silence.
"You were originally going to kill her," he continued, incredulous. "Why do you care about her now, all of a sudden?"
The King's eyes lifted from the fire, glowing dangerously.
"Watch what you say," he growled. "She's my wife now."
The silver-haired man stared at him, stunned.
"What has come over the man who used to be so indifferent to women?" he demanded. "You even spared all those humans in that castle because of her."
The King took a long drink from his mug, gaze drifting toward the sky as if searching it for memories.
"She reminds me of another human I met once," he murmured.
His companion waited, confused—until the King clarified:
"I spared the people of Velk to repay my debt to her."
His mind wandered to that memory: a small child with soft white hair and gentle eyes.
The silver-haired man nodded as the puzzle clicked into place.
"That child probably lives somewhere in the vicinity."
A brief silence followed—the King lost in old debts, the companion weighing new political realities.
Finally, the silver-braided man sighed.
"Well, I'm glad you have a wife now, even though it all happened so quickly. Your Majesty needs an heir, after all."
He spoke the next words with blunt practicality.
"It's very difficult for Draconians to sire offspring. You should get up close and personal with plenty of women from now on."
The King said nothing—just lifted his mug again, drinking deeply as the fire crackled between them.
A New Morning
I woke slowly, the inside of the tent washed in warm gold from the rising sun. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. Then the memories slammed back: the wedding, the fear, the King's departure, the night spent alone.
My voice rasped out of me. "Is it morning…?"
I pushed up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My face felt stiff. Sticky.
The second I remembered why, my stomach twisted.
Oh no… my makeup… I cried myself to sleep with it on.
I grimaced, covering my face with my hands.
I probably look dreadful.
The fresh wind outside carried the sound of trickling water. I froze.
A stream…?
I slipped out of the tent, blinking at the bright sunlight. The camp was quieter than I expected. No one paid attention to me as I hurried toward the sound.
The stream was breathtaking—clear, sparkling water winding through mossy stones. I knelt quickly and splashed the icy water onto my face, scrubbing away the smudged mascara and tear stains.
But when I lifted my head and saw my reflection, I gasped.
"Oh no… the red spots on my face are even worse now."
Without the makeup, every blotch from last night's crying was painfully obvious.
I raised my hand automatically, a faint, warm glow forming—my healing ability stirring.
Should I fix this?
A memory slammed into me—the King's companion saying, Your Majesty needs an heir.
My blood ran cold.
No… no, I should leave it. If I look ugly, he'll stay away from me.
Frantic, I patted my cheeks to inflame them even more.
N-no, they need to look worse! Much worse!
My heart hammered. My only defense was appearing undesirable.
I drew the cloak up again, ready to return to the camp—
STEP.
I froze.
The shadow fell long and dark over me. Slowly, I lifted my eyes—only to see a pair of large, booted legs inches from where I knelt.
Something lunged.
A rough hand clamped over my mouth.
"MMMPH—!"
The world spun as I was yanked upward, dragged backward by brute force.
"Hurry up," a gruff voice hissed. "That was easier than I thought. How much money did the baroness offer us again?"
My vision blurred. The trees became streaks of color.
The sound of galloping hooves pounded in my ears—CLIP CLOP, CLIP CLOP—as I jolted violently in someone's grip.
"Let's enter the forest so those dragons won't be able to track us from above," another voice ordered.
"The Forest of the Puka is nearby. Let's go that way."
The cold was relentless.
Rain hammered against my skin, seeping through the thin fabric of my clothes, chilling me down to the bone. My whole body trembled uncontrollably with every jolt of the horse beneath us.
I'm… cold…
My wrists were bound so tightly behind me that the ropes rubbed my skin raw. A gag bit painfully into the corners of my mouth. I could do nothing but shiver and listen to the low, frightened muttering of the men who had taken me.
"Why is she trembling so much?" one of them asked nervously, glancing at me over his shoulder.
"She better not be injured," the man holding me snarled. His arm clamped tighter around my waist, pinning me against him as the horse slogged through the mud.
The other captor leaned closer to inspect my face, and I felt his stare like insects crawling over my skin.
"What the hell happened to her face?" he muttered in disgust. "Did she catch some disease from those savages?"
A fresh spike of fear stabbed through my chest.
Disease?
No—my skin was splotchy because I made it that way.
But to them…
"I'm not risking it," the man said sharply. "If she collapses before we get back, we're dead. The Baroness won't pay a coin."
The Baroness.
The name alone sent my heart lurching painfully.
They're taking me back to Velk? Back to her? No—no, please, I don't want to go back—
As if to mock me, the skies darkened even more. A curtain of rain swept across the forest path.
"Is it raining?" one man asked, raising his cloak in irritation.
"Apparently, the Dwarf Fairy Puka makes it rain if you pass through here without offering nuts," the other replied in a hushed tone.
"That's good for us," the first said. "Makes it harder for anyone to track—"
WHOOSH!
The air split with the sharp whistle of something deadly.
Before the second man could even turn his head, an arrow came flying through the sheets of rain, its trajectory clean and merciless. It hit one of the riders square in the chest.
SLUMP!
The man toppled from his horse, his limp body swallowed by the mud below.
A deep, terrifying RUUUMBLE followed—thunder rolling through the earth itself.
But it wasn't only thunder.
It was hooves.
A massive horse, galloping with frightening power.
Through the rain, a figure emerged—a man carved from muscle and iron resolve. His long silver braid swung behind him, his bare shoulders glistening with rainwater. He was a warrior, unmistakably so, seated upon a beast of a horse and advancing with purpose.
My captor let out a strangled noise, gripping me so tightly I could barely breathe.
"D-DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!" he screamed, voice cracking. "IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER, THEN I'M GOING TO KILL HER—!"
The rider didn't slow.
His horse's hooves pounded the ground—
CLIP CLOP. CLIP CLOP. CLIP CLOP.
Each step louder than the last.
The man's presence swallowed the space around us, radiating dominance and deathly calm. Rain streaked down the sharp planes of his face, but his expression didn't waver.
Then—
His deep voice rumbled above me.
"Close your eyes, I."
I obeyed instantly, squeezing my eyes shut. A small, frightened wince escaped me as I braced for whatever came next.
SLASH!
The air split with a brutal, wet sound.
Then—
SPURT!
Warm fluid splattered across my cheek, neck, the front of my cloak. The coppery smell hit me a moment later.
The arm around my waist went slack.
The man holding me collapsed.
But before gravity could take me with him, strong arms scooped me up with terrifying speed. I was lifted, pulled tightly against a broad, armored chest. The warrior secured me in one powerful motion, locking me against his body with a commanding SQUEEZE.
The horse beneath us let out a loud, startled WNEIGH, stamping the ground as rain poured down in heavy sheets.
And just like that—
The nightmare of my captors was over.
But I found myself in the arms of someone far more formidable.
The rain fell like glass—thin, cold needles pricking my skin as I stood there, bound and helpless. My wrists were tied so tightly that the rope bit into my flesh, each twitch sending a dull, burning sting up my arms. The wet fibers were rough, cutting into already tender skin.
I could barely breathe.
Not because of the ropes.
But because he was standing right beside me.
The monstrous man—my captor, my jailer—towered over me like a shadow given life. His presence pressed against the edges of my senses, heavy and suffocating, as though the very air bent around him. His broad frame, the strange scale-like texture on parts of his skin, and that blood-soaked aura should have made me faint with terror.
Yet, I stood rooted there, unable to look away.
A shiver ran down my spine.
TREMBLE.
I didn't know if I was shivering from the cold rain…
or from everything happening around me.
Slowly, as if sensing the waves of fear rolling off me, he turned toward me. The movement was fluid, deliberate—almost too graceful for someone so terrifying.
My gaze lifted to his face.
And my breath simply stopped.
HIS FACE IS COVERED IN BLOOD... JUST LIKE THE FIRST TIME I MET HIM…
The crimson streaks clung to his jawline, dripped along the angle of his cheekbone, stained the edge of his lips. It was fresh, vivid—too vivid—its metallic scent mixing with the damp smell of rain and earth.
He looked like a nightmare carved into a man.
But when his eyes met mine…
that nightmare cracked at the edges.
Inside his dark, storm-like eyes, there was something I didn't expect.
Not cruelty.
Not indifference.
But a flicker—brief, almost hidden—of worry.
His brows drew together. Rain slid down the sharp line of his temple as he leaned slightly closer.
"ARE YOU OKAY? YOU'RE TREMBLING."
His deep voice cut through the pounding rain, vibrating through my chest. It shouldn't have warmed me—but it did, faintly, like an ember in a cold hearth.
Then his hand moved.
REACH.
A large, calloused hand—still damp with rain, still stained faintly with someone else's blood—lifted toward my cheek. I should have recoiled. I should have flinched away, horrified, terrified.
But my body betrayed me.
I leaned into his palm without thinking, seeking warmth, seeking something human in the chaos around me.
The heat of his hand contrasted sharply with the freezing air. It grounded me, steadied me, even though everything about him should have been terrifying.
I was tied.
I was captured.
I was standing beside a blood-soaked beast who had shown overwhelming violence only moments before.
And yet…
A strange calm washed over me, gentle and unexplainable.
My heart still pounded, but not out of fear.
More like… recognition.
Or safety.
I swallowed hard, my breath catching as a thought—an impossible, illogical thought—rose inside me:
…BUT FOR SOME STRANGE REASON, I FEEL SAFE INSTEAD OF SCARED.