The Dragon Emperor's Slave Bride

“I don’t want to see your face ever again!” The streak of lightening against the dark sky and the fierce rustling of leaves against the howling winds sounds as dreary as she feels. The carriage is hurtling down the deserted streets, towards a destination she had never imagined she would be returning to. They are now so far away from the capital city of Agnion, passing several towns and villages on the way, the forests growing thicker and darker with each next turn of the wheels. “Get lost!” She should have known better than to get attached. Good things in life were not meant for her. Or maybe the exact words were, “You are not meant for happiness, you miserable poor little girl.” Her stepmother had warned her a long time ago and she had chosen to ignore those words. She wanted to be happy. She wanted good things in life for herself. And for those few precious moments, she believed she had those few things she longed for desperately in her grasp. Now that she had a taste of what happiness really felt like, it felt the loneliness was choking her off life. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes to prevent tears from leaking down her cheeks. The window panes now had large drops of rain striking against it, the sky looking a shade darker than before. The faint smell of petrichor wafted towards her nose. Once upon a time when she had associated the peculiar smell with gentle comfort, now smelled like doom. The winds raged harder and she wanted to laugh bitterly at how the entire world was standing against her.  Where did I go wrong? She wanted to scream at the world, listen to anyone willing to answer. Any whisper, any prayer, any curse, any promise. Her fingers periodically rubbed the edge of the shawl draped over her shoulders between her fingers, hoping it would warm her like it had always done before. But then she remembers hatred burning in the eyes of the person who had gifted this to her and the shawl feels like a sheet of ice. Did I really bring this upon myself? She really did not know what was true and what was false anymore. She remembers the blood splattered on the table and the floor. The dress that had stains all over. The writhing body desperate to breathe. The scream of the man she loved for the woman she detested. The moment he picked that woman up in his arms and glared at her with so much anger and rage that it made her tremble in terror. Her eyes glaze over the blue-black bruise circling her wrist, and the claw marks surrounding it. She feels the throb of her back where he had slammed her into the wall screaming. “You almost killed her! Almost killed her!” There was a sudden sharp knock at the door and she sprang up, her heart thudding in her chest. Then she noticed the carriage had stopped moving already. “…Yes?” She spoke after a moment to collect herself and maintain any semblance to dignity she had left. The carriage door opened to reveal a man of strong build, with chestnut colored hair and eyes. “Your Highness, the storm is worsening so we have decided to spend the night in the village. There is an inn right here and your servants are making arrangements for your stay. I’m am here to escort you to it.” She nods and stands up to exit the carriage. He offers her a hand like any dutiful Knight would but tears away his gaze from her as disappointment settles inside her chest. She can read anger, disdain and pity on his face. Directed at whom? She knows. As he positions the makeshift umbrella above her head and guides her to the gate of inn, the realizations hit her like a ton of bricks – her life is falling apart, once again. “Thank you, Sir Darren.” He gives her a curt nod but does not reply. Her maids are waiting for her guide her upstairs in the best and largest room they had prepared in haste for her. They help her change into comfortable and warm sleeping clothes and then present her a meal the best that could be prepared in such a short time. But she is barely able to stomach two bites of the dinner that her maids had brought up for her. The rain and wind is still raging outside with thunderstorm rolling.  The servants exit her room and she lays on the bed, staring out of the window that is rattling. Then she falls asleep with tears rolling down her face. She does not know long she stays sleeping but sounds of struggle and scuffle wake her up. And then it gets ominously quiet. She waits for a moment before picking up the lantern on her bedside, draping a thinner shawl on her shoulders and walking towards the door of the room. She opens it gently and inwardly groans when it makes a creaking sound and then carefully walks down the stairs. The scene and the person who greets her is something she had never wanted to see. Even in her nightmares. The entire place was trashed. Fallen tables and chairs. Broken plates and glasses. The entire bar section looked as if a particularly destructive storm has passed through. The utter demolition of the place made her breath stutter. The owners of the of inn were on their knees, some soldiers digging the heel of their boots on their backs. The woman let out a whimper.  That is when she noticed the blood splattered on the ground in front of her. The trail reached to a fallen, bloody body. "Sir Darren!" She screamed. He was not alone. His partner lay bleeding near the entrance. Her sensitive hearing could pick a lot of movement outside. It sounded like a small army. Her throat lurched.  She whispers, horrified.   “You….”