I hadn't seen Hakan at all since that night.
The room felt too bright, too quiet. Sunlight poured through the high window, illuminating the drifting dust motes like tiny spirits dancing in the still air — a stark contrast to the heavy emptiness twisting inside my chest. Where was he?
The whispers crept back in, soft but cutting.
> "That's what Titi said… but the maids said he wasn't there."
I tried to distract myself with the flowers arranged by the window, their pastel petals trembling in the sunlight. But the true rumor — the one that sliced with precision — slithered back into my thoughts.
> "Wasn't there once a rumor that the King had unrequited feelings for his brother's wife when he was younger?"
Snicker.
Giaret.
A beauty carved by the gods themselves. A woman who seemed untouchable, perfect, inevitable. Standing next to her, I felt like a smudge of color on a canvas meant for masterpieces.
What would Hakan see in someone like me?
I sat small and stiff in my pale blue gown, drowning in the crushing weight of insecurity. I was always scared. Always bowing my head. Always flinching first. He must think I'm pathetic.
The memory of that night struck me — sharp, humiliating.
My own voice echoed in my mind, trembling, broken:
> "I-I'm begging you… don't hit me. I'll do… anything you say…"
Shame burned through my skin. Even now, even as the King's consort, I still felt like that same frightened girl trapped in shadows.
Then—
BURST
The heavy double doors crashed open, their force sending a tremble through the chandelier overhead.
A young maid, her dark skin flushed from running, burst into the room. "MA'AM!"
I startled upright. She hurried toward me, relief softening her features.
"The King has returned! Why don't you go and greet him?"
My heart lurched painfully.
Hakan.
He was back.
A flush rose to my cheeks — hopeful, terrified, breathless.
But before I could stand, a silken voice glided across the hall like a blade hidden in velvet.
"OH MY, LOOK WHO IT IS."
I froze.
Framed in the doorway like a divine judgment stood her. The woman who haunted every corner of my insecurity. Her long, flowing white hair shimmered. Her eyes were sharp, amused, cruel.
Giaret.
Her maid lingered behind her — dark-skinned, poised — a shadow echoing her mistress's disdain.
I forced my lips into a polite smile. "I-It's… It's nice to—"
She cut me off with a tilted head and a mocking smile.
"What was that? I don't understand what you're trying to say."
I shrank inward.
Then her words changed. Slid from mocking to vicious.
"If that's how pitiful you sound in the bedroom, it's no wonder the King got angry and left you."
Heat flared across my face — shame burning hot and unforgiving. I looked down, eyes stinging.
She stepped forward, voice low, dripping with cold amusement.
"But you truly are so thin. Even if you had slept with the King, you wouldn't have lasted long. You likely would have died."
My head snapped up.
Died?
She produced a white handkerchief, dabbing her lips with dainty, precise movements — WIPE WIPE — as if discussing the weather.
"Why don't you just run away now? You clearly came here without the resolve to become a Dragon's wife."
A Dragon's wife.
What did that even mean?
She sighed dramatically, eyes glittering with cruelty.
"Huh? Didn't the King tell you?"
She leaned closer, smile razor-thin.
"In all fairness, you were supposed to die that day."
My blood ran cold.
"I suppose there was no need for him to be nice and tell you everything."
A chilling CHUCKLE escaped her.
I stood frozen, the truth — whatever it was — swirling like black ink in water.
Then—
A shadow fell across my shoulder.
A hand reached out from behind me.
REACH
---
I stood frozen, my breath caught in my throat.
Giaret's words echoed in my skull like a death sentence:
"In all fairness, you were supposed to die that day."
Supposed to die?
My thoughts spun violently, colliding with every cold stare Hakan had given me, every confusing silence, every strange rule of this palace that I'd been expected to obey without question.
Giaret's expression remained calm, almost bored, her beauty making her cruelty even sharper.
"I suppose there's no need for him to be nice and tell you everything."
A low, confident CHUCKLE slipped from her lips.
My knees felt weak.
Was Hakan hiding something?
Was my fear of him justified in ways I didn't yet understand?
She went on, voice smooth as silk, explaining the truth of the Tayar Kingdom — that this land was a burial ground for women, that only a tiny handful survived after absorbing a Draconian's energy. Her words carved terror into my bones.
And then—
A dark shadow fell over my shoulder.
A strong, muscled arm slipped forward, passing just beside me, and a deep, resonant voice sliced cleanly through the tension.
"What brings you here, Giaret?"
My heart leapt painfully.
Hakan.
Giaret's triumphant expression vanished as if wiped clean. She turned sharply, bowing at once, her posture perfect and respectful.
"Welcome back, Your Majesty."
Hakan stepped out of the darkness and into the light — broad shoulders, dark flowing hair, tattoos rippling with each breath. His gaze was sharp, and I felt the air tighten around us.
He had heard her.
All of it.
Giaret straightened, adopting a look of grave seniority.
"I merely gave her a warning as her senior in the palace," she said smoothly.
Hakan's voice dropped, dangerous.
"A warning?"
"That's correct, Your Majesty."
She inhaled slowly, steadying herself. "With your permission, I would also like to offer you a word of warning."
Her gaze flicked toward me, assessing, condemning.
"It is not just anyone who can assume the role of becoming the wife of a Draconian. Asking such a thing of someone who is weak and timid would only result in her losing her life in vain."
Then she raised her chin.
"I hope you will make the right choice for the sake of the entire Tayar Tribe."
Hakan's jaw tightened. His eyes hardened.
Then he answered, each word sharp and final:
"I appreciate your concern, but I will be the one who chooses my bride."
The hall went still.
He turned to me, and as his gaze softened — barely, but undeniably — my breath caught in my chest.
Hakan extended his hand toward me.
"Come here, Lucina."
Heat rushed to my face. I realized with a jolt that I'd been staring at him, motionless, unsure, exposed.
He explained — almost offhand, as though it were obvious —
"I couldn't see you for a few days because I was busy."
My heart squeezed.
Busy? With what?
Why hadn't he said anything?
Why had he left me to drown in rumors and fear?
Questions crashed into me all at once:
Why would I die if I became queen?
Did he ever love Giaret?
Did he think I was weak?
Was there something he wasn't telling me?
Did he… not want to see me anymore?
I stepped forward slowly.
When his fingers wrapped around mine, I flinched — not from fear this time, but from the startling warmth of his skin, firm and steady.
He didn't glance at Giaret, who stood behind us, seething with silent fury.
He simply led me out of the grand hall and toward the palace gardens, where sunlight shimmered across a crystal pool.
As we walked, I heard the thoughts he didn't say aloud, the weight he carried in silence:
"I must have frightened her with what I said the other day."
His steps remained steady.
"You have to be prepared to risk your life if you want to become a Draconian's wife."
A pause.
"And it's only natural that you'd lack that resolve when you were dragged here against your will."
His hand tightened gently around mine.
"Are you getting used to life here?" he asked, genuine concern beneath the question.
My mind was still reeling — from Giaret's taunts, from Hakan's sudden appearance, from the truth about this kingdom, from the crushing mystery of my supposed fate.
I swallowed, my throat tight.
All I could manage was a tiny, hesitant—
NOD.
"…my own family had been preparing to sell me, and the man who currently held me captive seemed to understand that betrayal better than anyone else."
My fingers tightened around his tattooed arm, my pulse frantic beneath my skin. It felt like gripping a lightning bolt—solid, alive, dangerous.
The words burst out of me before I could swallow them back.
"THAT'S… NOT TRUE!"
The sharp CLASP of my hand hitting his bare arm echoed in the stillness between us.
He looked down at me, unblinking, his expression carved from stone. He waited—no anger, no disdain—just a silent, heavy expectation that made my breath catch.
"You were willing… to hear me out!" I managed, voice wobbling.
"You're the first person… to talk to me without getting angry."
My heart thudded with a childlike desperation. In my mind, a small, ridiculous chibi version of myself bounced up and down with frantic enthusiasm—NOD NOD—because that was truly how shocking his patience had been. No one listened to me. No one ever had.
He continued staring, and I could almost feel the whirl of thoughts storming behind his dark eyes.
I must have frightened her with what I said the other day.
His voice in his own mind was rough, pained.
You have to be prepared to risk your life if you want to become a Draconian's wife… It's only natural she'd lack the resolve when she was dragged here against her will.
He had said all that to push me away. To harden me. Or maybe to protect himself.
His jaw tightened, a flicker of self-directed anger darkening his face.
I messed up!
The thought was almost a snarl inside him.
B-because… I can't talk properly! So…
He looked genuinely frustrated with himself, and I felt my grip melt a little.
But then he turned back to me with a new expression—more perplexed than annoyed, and faintly offended.
"Aren't you Baron Velk's only daughter?" he asked, voice cut roughly from gravel.
"Why wouldn't they listen to you?"
In an instant, all the blood drained from my body.
My stomach dropped.
My fingers went numb on his arm.
Oh no.
He couldn't find out.
He couldn't know I was illegitimate—born in the shadows, never acknowledged except as an inconvenience. If he did… everything could collapse.
He saw the terror flicker across my face.
His eyes narrowed.
And then his expression transformed, not because he knew the truth—
but because he had reached a conclusion far more devastating.
His voice dropped low, filled with a heavy, bitter certainty shaped by his own wounds.
"Did they despise their daughter?"
A humorless, hollow laugh escaped him.
"Well… they were planning to send her to become a concubine to that old king."
My breath hitched.
The words hung between us like a blade, unavoidable and merciless.
He wasn't wrong.
He had just spoken aloud the truth I had been too terrified to admit:
My own family had been preparing to sell me.
And in that moment, as I stared up at him—this terrifying Draconian warrior who had stolen me away—I realized something even more painful:
He, a stranger with blood on his hands and fire in his veins,
understood that betrayal better than anyone else ever had.
"THAT'S… NOT TRUE!"
The words tore out of me before I could stop them, raw and trembling. My fingers instinctively CLASPED his arm, more for stability than courage. The heat of his skin seeped through my palm, grounding me and terrifying me all at once.
All the resentment and fear I had swallowed for years surged upward, ripping through the cracks in my composure.
"You were willing… to hear me out!" My voice wavered. "You're the first person… to talk to me without getting angry."
As soon as the confession left my lips, panic spiraled in my chest. I had said too much. I had exposed too much. I squeezed his arm tighter, wishing I could pull the words back into my throat.
I messed up!
B-because… I can't talk properly! So…
He stared at me—first confused, then outraged, but not at me. A storm of fury darkened his features, the kind that made the ground feel unsteady beneath my feet.
"Did they despise their daughter?" he growled. "Well, they were planning to send her to become a concubine to that old king."
The truth in his voice struck me harder than the words themselves. The old king. A concubine.
The future I had been forced to march toward.
My shoulders sank, a quiet acknowledgment of the life I had barely escaped.
And then—without warning—the frightening king did something that knocked the breath from my lungs.
His hand, heavy and adorned in tattoos, lifted toward me. I instinctively flinched.
But instead of harshness, there was only… gentleness.
His rough fingertips grazed my scalp, then slowly, tenderly, he STROKED my silver hair. The sensation was so foreign I almost forgot how to breathe. He lifted a single lock, letting it glide through his fingers like something precious, something fragile.
We held a silent, electrified STARE.
"I really don't understand them," he murmured, voice low and rough. "If I had such a beautiful daughter, I would have treasured her… adorned her in gold… and doted on her every word."
My heart reacted before my mind could.
BA-BUMP. BA-BUMP. BA-BUMP.
A frantic rhythm of disbelief.
Treasure… me?
The child they hid in the shadows?
The girl they bartered away?
A burning BLUSH rushed up my neck and cheeks. My chest tightened. I didn't know whether to speak, run, or melt into the earth.
Why are you being so kind?
Why are you saying things no one ever has?
He held my gaze with an unexpected softness—an emotion that looked almost… vulnerable.
"Because you're so adorable," he said simply, as if the truth required no ornament.
The world tilted slightly. My breath caught. Something warm and fragile stirred in the hollow of my chest.
For some strange reason…
those words mean more to me…
…than the prospect of dying.
Before I could respond, before I could even fully feel the moment, the peace shattered.
DASH—hurried footsteps crashed through the quiet.
A servant stumbled forward, panting. "It's an emergency, Your Majesty!"
The King's expression transformed instantly. The gentle warmth vanished, replaced by cold, lethal authority.
"DU DUN."
The air itself seemed to throb with tension.
"ADAR HAS DISAPPEARED!" the servant exclaimed.
The King's jaw tightened, fury sharpening every line of his face.
"We believe she must've slipped out when you stopped by Korseek for a moment," the servant continued, voice wavering.
He turned to me briefly, his stern expression softening just enough to be human. "I'm sorry, Lucina. Some urgent business has come up."
Then, to the servant: "I'll start looking for her immediately. She'll come back once she hears my voice."
And just like that—he was gone.
A blur of power, urgency, and the heavy crown he carried.
I stood frozen in place, cheeks still flushed from his earlier touch, heart fluttering from words I had never heard before—words I didn't know how to hold.