The Cursed Dragon and His Bride

The Phoenix

The man seemed to notice the disappointment on Lyria’s face. His built was taller and bigger than The King. He fidgeted slightly.

“You’re his henchman? Or his knight, I presume?”

Not answering Lyria the man instead put a glass of champagne on the floor, just a few steps from Lyria. Then he stepped back as far as the curtain would allow him. Weird, thought Lyria.

“Ah, you’re his Joker.”

Of course. It was not enough for the King to humiliate Lyria by standing her up, he had to send his joker to mock Lyria. She could immediately guess what the King had ordered this Joker to do. An eerie laugh escaped her lips, making the cold air shuddered into white fog.

She took the champagne on the floor and gave a slight swirling movement. “So, are you here to poison me or to defile me?”

The man looked taken back with Lyria’s straightforward question. To Lyria, the man’s shock was proof that he did not think Lyria would fight back until the end. The people of Voltaire must have thought so little of Lyria to think that she would crumble down by then. Well, they were half right. Lyria was breaking down. But there was no reason, Lyria mused to herself, for her to bow down to her oppressors. Even a flower crushed to death could still retain its fragrance. If Voltaire would not do the humanitarian act Lyria had so longed for, Lyria did not see the point of following along with their games like a cow waiting to be slaughtered.

If she had to give up her hope, she decided, she would make them experience hell by being deviant until the very end. She had tried being polite, had been the bigger person in all political discussions. That night, she was done trying.

So she drank the champagne in one gulp, licked her red rogue lip then threw the glass over the balcony. A shattering sound was heard underneath the tune of music.

Unexpectedly, the man c****d his head when he saw Lyria’s action. A thin smile appeared on his face.

“You find this amusing, huh?”

Without any warning, Lyria closed the distance between them. The man was startled. He tried to step back behind the curtain but Lyria caught his vest and pulled him with all her strength so that the man toppled toward Lyria instead. He grabbed the balcony railing with his free hand. As Lyria’s back was pressed against the railing, there was no more space left between their bodies. She could feel his heat started to radiate towards her. Funny, she thought. His body felt so hot.

The man towered over her easily. And yet the look on his face … was priceless for Lyria. He was so shocked that his large eyes seemed to almost fall out of their sockets.

Oh, Lyria was not done. Before the man was able to erase his shocked look, she lunged for his lips.

Lyria always thought that a kiss should be romantic. A joint action of two lovers, a seal to symbolize their affection toward each other. When she read romance novels –back in Tollyria, she had fantasized about her first kiss. The stories mentioned sparks and butterflies inside her stomach. But all Lyria could feel then were his rough lips for a brief second.

When she was done, she realized that she practically had to tiptoe to reach his lips. And when she did reach his lips, she lost her balance and had to lean to the man’s body. Perhaps instinctively, the man grabbed Lyria’s back and steadied herself against his own body.

The man lowered his face, his nose touched Lyria’s and she suddenly felt no more of the cold air. “You call that a kiss?” That was his first sentence of the night. His voice was so deep and his hot breath tickled Lyria’s face.

“You can do better?” Lyria asked defiantly.

He smiled broadly.

“I could literally burn you,” he breathed his words.

There was something fascinating about the way he had said it. Was he not sent by the king to mock or as he said ‘burn’ Lyria further? If so, why did Lyria sense a hint of sadness in his tone….

"Do it," she said. "Burn me as best as you can."

Lyria tried so hard to still her voice. Tried so hard to maintain her fierce gaze.

"I will rise again and again and again. Phoenix is in my blood. I am not afraid of fire for being burn will give me a chance to be reborn."

There. She had said her piece.

“If you’re looking for your savior,” he said in a low voice, ‘I am not that person.”

This time Lyria grinned as well. “You’re wrong.”

Of course, Lyria knew he was not her savior. No one had bothered to help her even the tiniest bit except for her uncle. She had stopped looking for saviors long ago.

She took the other glass the man was still holding, then she drank it to the brim.

“I am perfectly capable of saving myself. I told you, I am a phoenix.”

“Two champagne glasses and you’re already drunk?” He chuckled.

Being this close with the man, Lyria noticed that he had topaz as his eye color. It contrasted nicely with his skin and the dragon mask. She also noticed a golden circle in his eyes.

“Your eyes,” she said, “they’re pretty.” Perhaps she indeed had been drunk for saying those words.

Then he lowered his face further until his lips reached Lyria’s. Unlike Lyria’s kiss, his kiss was so deep and felt so hot. He inserted his tongue, and it was like he was tasting every inch of Lyria. One of his hands grabbed the back of Lyria’s neck, making her unable to escape his deep kisses. He started to bit Lyria’s lip several times in between the sucking and licking.

Is this what a proper kiss is supposed to be? Lyria thought to herself. At that moment, she felt her mind melted, and her stomach churned. Her legs grew weak that she had to lean more to the man. She became breathless. The man did not give her any room to even breathe. Because it’s actually nice….

Her lips mimicked his movement. She clumsily sucked and bit his lips as well. She did not even realize she had closed her eyes for quite some time.

When the man pulled away, they were breathless. Both tried to catch up with their breathing.

“Are you having a fever?” Lyria asked spontaneously.

The man only laughed. He shook his head while his eyes still glinted with amusement.

“I know you’re sent here to defile me,” Lyria said matter-of-factly, “Voltaire seemed to enjoy toying with a helpless Tollyria princess. It’s disgusting.”

Lyria could have sworn she saw the man flashed a look of pity to her.

“You, as a subject of your king don’t have a say in this. So,” she continued to say, “I only ask you to make it as loud as possible.”

Even with the mask on, Lyria could tell that he was confused. Or rather, he did not think Lyria would ever say such a thing.

“Embrace me as your king ordered you to. But do it so that this whole goddamn castle finally hears me.”

His face darkened. “Duke Frelie would kill you.”

“He would want to kill me after we got married when he found out I am not a virgin anymore. I don’t see any big difference if he knew instantly I am making love with another man. He would want to kill me right then of course, but he will not. Because a flower serves its purpose better alive. He needs me alive to take over Tollyria when Voltaire does finally deign themselves to help the world from the demons.”

“So it’s true?” he asked, “about the demons?” There was no mockery or malice in his tone. A pleasant change for once. Even if this man was ordered to take away Lyria’s virginity in order to mock her further in this cold country.

“I saw them descend from the Hell Gate themselves. Thousands of them. And every step they took brought forth fire to every city. They were truly bringing hell to this world. I saw with my own eyes how my country burned that night.” She could not stop her voice from shaking a little.

 It was the first time Lyria could tell her story to another person other than her uncle and fellow Tollyrians. 

“It must have been scary then. You're very brave," he said, "I– I wished I could help.”

Lyria’s eyes widened. Tears pooled in her eyes. “Do you really mean that…?”

“Yes.”

A choked laugh escaped her lips. That night had taken a rather interesting turn. It was by far the worst day of her life. And yet, at the darkest moment, she met a soul that finally sympathized with her. She thought there was no more hope for any Voltarians morality. But he proved her wrong.

There was at least one soul who would listen to her.

That night she felt a little less lonely.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, “You are ten times more of a man than your king or Duke Frelie will ever be.”

She took a deep breath. Then without fear, she said, “Now, embrace me.”