The Tenth Bride
The wind carried the scent of burning incense through Windmere Valley, but it did nothing to hide the smell of fear.
Every year, when the Blood Moon rose above Dragon Mountain, the entire village gathered in silence beneath the ancient Stone of Covenant. Men bowed their heads in prayer. Mothers clutched their children tightly. Young women lowered their eyes, silently begging the gods that their names would not be called.
No one questioned the tradition.
Not anymore.
For seven hundred years, the Dragon King had protected Windmere Valley from famine, plague, and the monstrous beasts that prowled the forests beyond the mountains. Crops flourished while neighboring kingdoms withered. Rivers never ran dry. No invading army had ever crossed the valley’s borders.
The price for that protection was steep.
Every year…
Ten virgin brides.
None had ever returned.
Some claimed the Dragon King devoured them before sunrise.
Others whispered he locked them inside a palace of bones where they lived as prisoners until death claimed them.
Whatever the truth was, one thing remained certain.
Once the white bridal robes were placed upon a girl’s shoulders…
She belonged to the Dragon King.
A deep drum echoed across the square.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
The High Elder stepped onto the stone platform, leaning heavily on a carved staff fashioned from black oak. His silver beard swayed in the evening breeze as his weary gaze swept over the anxious crowd.
“The Blood Moon has returned,” he announced solemnly. “The covenant must be honored.”
The villagers knelt as one.
“Our protector must receive his brides.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than stone.
One by one, sealed scrolls were carried forward by temple attendants.
Each contained the name of a chosen maiden.
The first name was read.
A scream shattered the silence.
The second.
More sobbing.
The third.
Another family collapsed into tears.
By the ninth name, the square had become a place of mourning.
Then the elder reached for the final scroll.
His brows furrowed.
He slowly broke the wax seal.
The entire valley held its breath.
“The tenth bride…” His voice echoed across the square.
“…Elara Ashbourne.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
“No…”
“Poor child.”
“I didn’t expect Lord Ashbourne’s daughter.”
“She has always been such a gentle girl.”
Standing near the back of the gathering, Elara felt the world tilt beneath her feet.
For a heartbeat, she heard nothing.
Not the whispers.
Not the drums.
Not even her own breathing.
Only the pounding of her heart.
She stared blankly at the elder as if he had spoken another language.
Her name.
It couldn’t be.
She had spent years believing that if she remained quiet, worked hard, and caused no trouble, perhaps fate would overlook her.
Instead…
Fate had spoken her name.
A rough hand suddenly shoved her forward.
She stumbled.
“Don’t embarrass this family,” her father hissed through clenched teeth.
Cedric Ashbourne’s face showed no grief.
No hesitation.
Only irritation.
“You’ve been chosen.”
Elara searched his eyes desperately, hoping to find even a trace of affection.
There was none.
Her gaze shifted to the elegant woman standing beside him.
Lady Vivienne.
Her stepmother dabbed at perfectly dry eyes with a silk handkerchief.
“What an unfortunate blessing,” she sighed dramatically. “Our family has always honored the covenant.”
Beside her stood Serena, Elara’s younger half-sister.
Beautiful.
Perfectly dressed.
Smiling.
She leaned close enough that only Elara could hear.
“I suppose Father finally found a use for you.”
Elara lowered her eyes.
She had heard crueler words.
Much crueler.
Since her mother’s death nineteen years ago, she had become little more than a servant within the Ashbourne estate.
She woke before dawn.
Cooked meals.
Cleaned rooms.
Tended gardens.
While Serena attended dances, music lessons, and noble gatherings.
Whenever something went missing…
It was Elara’s fault.
Whenever Serena cried…
Elara was punished.
Whenever Lord Ashbourne grew angry…
His disappointment landed squarely on the daughter who looked too much like the wife he had lost.
“You should be grateful,” Vivienne whispered sweetly.
“The Dragon King prefers beautiful girls.”
Serena laughed behind her fan.
“Perhaps he’ll eat quickly.”
Their laughter pierced deeper than any blade.
An attendant approached carrying folded white robes embroidered with silver thread.
The ceremonial bridal garments.
He stopped before Elara.
“Lady Elara Ashbourne.”
With trembling fingers, she accepted the robes.
The silk felt impossibly soft.
Like touching her own funeral shroud.
A bell rang across the valley.
The first of twelve.
At sunrise…
The brides would begin their journey to Dragon Mountain.
⸻
That night, the Ashbourne estate was strangely cheerful.
Servants prepared a lavish dinner.
Wine flowed freely.
Music drifted through the halls.
It felt less like a farewell…
And more like a celebration.
Elara ate alone in the kitchen.
As always.
She quietly tore a piece of bread in half when the old housekeeper, Martha, slipped into the room carrying a small bundle.
The elderly woman’s eyes were red from crying.
“I knitted this for you.”
Inside the bundle lay a soft blue shawl.
“It gets cold in the mountains.”
Elara’s throat tightened.
“You shouldn’t have…”
“I wanted you to know…” Martha cupped Elara’s face with wrinkled hands. “Someone in this house has always loved you.”
A tear escaped before Elara could stop it.
“Thank you.”
The old woman embraced her tightly.
“Never believe what they said about you.”
“You are not cursed.”
“You never were.”
Footsteps echoed outside.
Martha quickly stepped away.
The kitchen door burst open.
Vivienne’s expression darkened immediately.
“What is this?”
She snatched the shawl from Elara’s hands.
“You don’t deserve gifts.”
Without another word…
She tossed it into the fireplace.
Orange flames swallowed the blue wool within seconds.
Elara watched silently.
She did not cry.
Not anymore.
She had learned that tears only entertained people like Vivienne.
“Go to your room,” her stepmother ordered coldly.
“You leave before sunrise.”
As Elara climbed the stairs, she paused beside a narrow window overlooking the valley.
Far beyond the rooftops…
Dragon Mountain pierced the clouds like a black spear.
Lightning flashed around its peak.
Then—
A deafening roar split the heavens.
Every light in the valley flickered.
Children screamed.
Dogs howled.
The clouds twisted violently.
From within the storm emerged an enormous creature with obsidian scales that reflected crimson streaks of lightning.
Its wings stretched wider than the valley itself.
Its golden eyes swept over the village.
Then…
For one impossible moment…
The dragon stopped.
Its gaze settled on a single window in the Ashbourne estate.
On Elara.
She froze.
The world around her seemed to disappear.
Those ancient eyes held neither hunger…
Nor rage.
Only recognition.
The dragon gave a single, earth-shaking roar before disappearing into the storm.
Far away, atop Dragon Mountain, a man stood on the highest balcony of a palace carved from black crystal.
His hand pressed against his chest as an ancient mark burned beneath his skin for the first time in a thousand years.
His crimson eyes narrowed toward Windmere Valley.
“So…”
His voice carried on the wind like a forgotten promise.
“After all these centuries…”
“I have finally found you.”
