The Cursed Dragon and His Bride

Alone

The words kept on repeating inside Lyria’s mind as she stood in front of Duke Frelie for the first time since she agreed to marry him. The cool afternoon breeze swayed her emerald dress silently. She closed her eyes and relished how the wind felt on her skin. It reminded her of her father.

And her heart felt like bleeding yet again.

“The White Witch was burnt to death,” Duke Frelie said nonchalantly. He was never one to consider the other’s feelings. Rather, he wanted to say those words… to hurt her. A man like Duke Frelie would be excited to see someone crushed in front of him.

That day, she became his prey. Caught in between his claws, he waited for her to whimper… to show yet again her desperation.

“Your father killed her.”

She heard the sound of glass shattering in her head as the words reached her ears. But she kept her mouth shut even though bile had risen up to her throat. She steadied her raging breath. Her clenched fists showed her determination to not appear weak in front of this man. At least not that day.

Duke Frelie finally looked up from her study desk. Finally, he regarded Lyria who had stood for half an hour at his summon. A coy smile was clear on his face.

“Why do you think your father killed her?”

“He is not my father anymore,” Lyria answered for the thousandth time. She held back the scream in her throat. Instead, her voice was calm.

“Yes, yes, yes. He was possessed by the Demon King.” Duke Frelie waved his hand in a mocking manner. “I don’t care about that.”

Of course, all you care about is money and power. You don’t even care that the world is ending soon, Lyria thought to herself.

“What I want to know is why he killed his right-hand general?”

“You know well the reason,” Lyria managed to answer calmly. Yet Duke Frelie knew immediately that those words laced a challenge underneath it. A challenge to admit that Lyria, after all this time, had been right. That perhaps the White Witch was acting as an inside man after all. Until Rob –or the Demon King, as Lyria insisted, found out the witch’s true identity and erased her trace from the earth.

For the first time since Lyria set foot in Voltaire, Duke Frelie saw the spark of fire in her eyes. A glowing ember underneath her hazel eyes. The way her eyes looked straight to Duke Frelie… it was as if she had pinned him with an unseen force. Duke Frelie had heard tales of how royals from Tollyria had magic in their blood. But for five years, the princess in front of him has never shown any sign of magical ability. Surely, if she had magic whatsoever she could use it as a bargaining chip to save her country. Yet she had not done that. She even confessed herself to the whole council committee the day she arrived.

Duke Frelie, of course, did not believe her at face value. He had sent spies to monitor her daily activities and to discover any secrets she would hide. The reports had always been normal.

So, that day Duke Frelie was perplexed. Was it his imagination only? The way Lyria gazed at him… Duke Frelie could feel something faintly crushing him. Suddenly he felt hotter, it was harder for him to breathe. He coughed to neutralize his expression. Lyria was his prey, he was the hunter. It should not have been the other way around. He had to act accordingly.

He rose from his seat. A smile growing bigger on his face. He knew how Lyria hated that mocking smile of his. He would assert his dominance in front of this damn of a princess. He was the man to be feared, the man to toy with Lyria. Not the other way around.

“After the death of the White Witch, the other two generals were nowhere to be found.”

Lyria’s statue face broke down at the mention of her other two stepsisters.

Got her. Duke Frelie smirked as he hit the jackpot.

“Her death did not make your sister a spy, it did not validate your belief in the slightest, Princess.” Duke Frelie stopped smiling. “It is possible that your sister did side with the demons, and perhaps she made a mistake. A mistake so grave that she and her Tollyrian army were burnt to nothingness.”

“Your sisters did destroy Arkais and Grudeim –not the most strategic places to obtain, in my opinion. Well, who can know how demons think? Bottom line is, your sisters have sinned to this world and there are witnesses. If they were actual spies, why had they never given any information to us? Or even to you?”

This was the first time Duke Frelie talked extensively on the prospect of Lyria’s sisters being spies. Usually, he would brush aside Lyria’s word or even not letting her speak at all during council meetings. Every attempt Lyria did to spread the news that her sisters were still loyal to Tollyria was washed away with countless toxic rumors originating from this vile man. Even the few Tollyrians that were taking asylum in Voltaire with Lyria grew to be skeptical towards her sisters.

“Did they really consider you as the princess of Tollyria? As a sister?”

Lyria clenched his fists tight. Her strong façade had melted quite easily with only a few words.

“After all, they shipped you to another country… alone, and helpless.” Duke Frelie sat on his own desk. His crinkled eyes are now at the same level as Lyria. “At least they could lead demon armies. You?”

He put an emphasis on the question. One of his hands combed the mustache he was so proud of.

“What can you do alone, Princess?”

Lyria had the urge to spit to his face right then. She gritted her teeth hard that she could hear the sound of her jaw locking in. She racked her brain for something witty to answer. Something that would shut this disgusting man up. Something that would prove her resilience.

She could found no words.

What can she do alone? Nothing. She could not even found words to retaliate.

There was nothing she could do.

Duke Frelie saw the conflict on Lyria’s face. It brought a huge smile to his face once again. He was still the hunter in this game and he was satisfied with it.

“I summoned you here today not to talk about your sister’s demise actually.” His voice had become so irritating for Lyria to hear. “I called to let you know that our wedding is in a week.”

Lyria felt like vomiting.

She could not hide the shock from her face.

“Why are you so surprised?” Asked Duke Frelie. “You are the one who wants Voltaire to help Tollyria. Isn’t the faster the better?”

Lyria’s lips trembled and her pupils shook. Her legs felt weak.

“Of course, Voltaire could not start planning on marching to Tollyria before we got married.”

Bile had risen up to her throat once again. This time, however, she almost could not control the urge to let it out. She was afraid that if she was to see Duke Frelie’s face for one more second, she would do something she would later regret. So she averted her eyes to her feet that were covered by her dress. The fabric was green… the color of bile–

She gagged.

With all her might, she tried to suppress the feeling by shutting her eyes tight. It was hard to gulp down the feeling, as her throat felt extremely dry. It was painful, but she forced herself to stand still. She waited until Duke Frelie would comment on her gagging in front of him. But the man did not say anything. He did not see it.

Lyria sent prayers to the Gods for not letting Duke Frelie saw yet another weak side of her.

“I– I understand…,” she finally said with difficulty. The words felt bitter on her tongue.

Satisfied with her answer, the duke dismissed her.

She ran straight out the door and when the door closed, she puked out her guts to the nearest bushes. She felt gaunt afterward. As if the life itself had gone out of her, living only a shell to be wed by the duke.