The Cursed Dragon and His Bride

A Dim Light

Duke Frelie was not kidding. When he said they would have the wedding next week, he really meant it. Not a day had passed since Lyria’s meeting with the duke, but already her room in Marquis Bollein’s mansion was crowded by servants organizing dresses over dresses.

A middle-aged woman stood in the center of the room. Her dark hair was donned up and her clothes were made of the finest purple silk, the most expensive fabric combined with the most luxurious dye. Her eyes glinted dominance. In this room, at that time, she was the captain.

“No, no, no,” she said to a servant holding a mannequin with an overflowing huge blue dress. “That dress goes there.”

The servant grumbled a little, for the place she pointed was on the other end of the room. The dress must have been heavy. Lyria could see sheer sweat on the servant’s forehead.

“Be careful when carrying the dresses!” The woman shouted, “They are all my blood and sweat! If any of them is not as perfect as it came, Duke Frelie would hold you responsible!”

At the mention of Duke Frelie, the servants halted slightly. A look of fear and anxiousness spread on their faces. Duke Frelie was known to be very strict on the subject of punishing servants and slaves… even for the tiniest mistakes.

“How many dresses have you brought, Madam Gina?” Asked Lyria in an attempt to break off Gina’s scrutinizing stare from the servants.

The dark-haired woman turned to Lyria. Her eyes narrowed as if she was sizing up Lyria’s body. Gina clicked her tongue as she opened her fan wide to hide half of her face. Her movement was slow so that Lyria could still see the smirk she had before the fan covered her mouth.

“I was not sure of what kind of dress would fit a Tollyrian. So, I brought as many dresses as I have on my boutique.” There was a mocking tone in her voice. “Duke Frelie asked me to make you the best–looking woman in the kingdom.”

Generally, Tollyrians have fairer skin than Voltaire. The royals of Tollyria, especially, have white-milked skins. Voltaire was known to be proud of their tanned skins shared by both the nobles and commoners. They believed that tan skin is proof of one’s hard work and is considered more beautiful also healthier than fair skin. This is so because they correlate tan skin with more hours under the sun, which they argued as the sole determination of a healthy, beautiful, and someone with great working ethos.

Prejudice. That was all there is to their illogical reasoning.

Voltaire used to hold fair-skinned people as inferior. Even calling them a genetic disease of laziness and discriminate against them. But around two centuries ago when the Kingdom of Mardune sought to expand their land in order to become an empire, Voltaire was cornered. Tollyria was one of the kingdoms that helped Voltaire defeat Mardune. As the tan-skinned men battled alongside fair-skinned men, a brotherhood between the two kingdoms was formed. That was the start of their supposedly good relation.

But some prejudice stayed. Especially in old noble families where the belief was deep-rooted. Madam Gina from the House of Croix was one of those families.

“I could hardly believe that the duke cares about my appearance. He is the one who wants this wedding to be done as soon as possible.”

Madam Gina batted her dark eyelashes. “You will be one of the most prestigious ladies in the kingdom. Even if the wedding is a week away, you need to dress as your status.”

Ah, status.

Yet another thing that was different from Tollyria. In Voltaire, one’s status is important to the point that it was their lifestyle. Where you stand in the societal hierarchy influenced how you live, what jobs and power you could have. Tollyria did have a societal hierarchy, but it did not influence people’s lifestyles as much. Commoners have the same chance to be palace officials and knights as well as nobles. Nobles, in Tollyria, was just a term used to honor the families that had helped the first king of Tollyria in establishing the country. But in Voltaire, nobles meant families of power.

The rest of the day went in a blur. Madam Gina had Lyria try on so many dresses. She acted as if Lyria was not suited to any dress that she brought. As if nothing fitted Lyria.

“The color does not match your hair.”

“The fabric looks cheap on her.”

“Your skin tone is too pale.”

Lyria held back her tongue. She put on an impassive face, acting as if Madam Gina’s insulting remarks did not bother her a bit.

Pia, one of Lyria’s handmaidens who was also a Tollyrian, winced at every remark. Every now and then she glanced at Lyria, making sure that her princess was okay.

The simple gesture touched Lyria. It gave her strength throughout the day. When their eyes met, Lyria gave a small smile. It was her way of saying thank you from the bottom of her heart. Pia returned the smile with glimmering eyes.

Madam Gina finally decided on what kind of wedding dress would suit Lyria. Honestly, Lyria could not care less. She had no intention of dressing up to satisfy Voltaire’s nor Duke Frelie’s standard of beauty.

“Alright, that’s settled! Now, you will wear this dress for the Independence Ball,” Madam Gina suddenly announced. She pointed to a cream-colored dress with sequences on the bodice. The skirt was made of layers of chiffon. It was a beautiful dress. One that Lyria thought would go well with her honey-colored hair. But that was not what caught Lyria’s attention.

“Well, you will have to make do with this dress. Since Duke Frelie asked me to give you a dress for the ball so suddenly–“

“What did you say?”

Madam Gina clicked her tongue in annoyance. “You will have to make do wit–“

“No,” Lyria cut her off, “You said something about the Independence Ball?”

“Yes. The Independence Ball. Every year we hold a huge festival and a masquerade ball for the nobles, you know.” Madam Gina’s tone was as if she was belittling Lyria for forgetting about the most celebrated day of Voltaire. Lyria did not care.

How could she forget? The Independence Ball is the only time that the king of Voltaire would show himself.

This could be a chance for Lyria. She did not know yet what she could offer to the king in exchange for Voltaire’s help. But anything would be better than her being in Duke Frelie’s clutches. Lyria hoped that as the King of Voltaire, he would have more room to act even though it was evident that he had been gravely influenced by Duke Frelie.

It was a faint hope.

But in the darkest night, a dim light is considered bright.

Lyria decided that she must talk to the King of Voltaire, no matter what.