FANGS OF THE THRONE

The Dress of War

Seraphine stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at the wedding dress Celeste had insisted she wear. The gown was everything a royal bride could expect—elegant, shimmering with gold thread, and pure white silk. But as she looked at it, she couldn’t help but think of her mother’s words: You will give him an heir, but it may be our downfall. The fabric in front of her seemed too pristine, too perfect. It was a symbol of the future she had been forced into—one where her true intentions, hidden behind the mask she wore, remained buried.

Her fingers brushed lightly over the gown’s intricate details, but all she could see was the vision that had haunted her—the dragon and the blood-soaked beast, the future that loomed darker than any wedding could signify.

The door creaked open, and her mother, Vyreth, stepped into the room with a smile on her face. "You look beautiful, my dear," she said, her voice full of pride. The coldness in her eyes, however, did not match her words. Vyreth’s gaze flickered over the gown Seraphine wore, lingering for a moment before turning to meet her daughter’s.

Seraphine nodded, her lips forming a tight smile. "Thank you, Mother."

Vyreth raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp. "This is the dress Celeste wants you to wear, isn't it? It’s very royal, very royal indeed. But you don’t want to wear it, do you?"

Seraphine sighed, the weight of the dress becoming even more suffocating. "No. It’s too... perfect, too pristine. I have no desire to wear it."

Vyreth’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Then what color do you want to wear, Seraphine?"

Seraphine’s eyes flickered as she stared at her reflection. "My motto is hidden patience. I’ll wait and let them see what I want to wear when the time comes."

Her mother said nothing more, her sharp eyes gleaming with a knowing look, as if the game had already begun. Vyreth left the room, and Seraphine was left alone to face her fate.

The Wedding Day

The day of the wedding arrived, and the entire kingdom seemed to come to a standstill. The air was thick with anticipation, the streets lined with noblemen, ladies, and all manner of dignitaries who had traveled from far and wide to witness the royal union. The great hall was adorned with tapestries that shimmered with the royal crest, while dragons of gold and silver soared in intricate designs above the wedding altar. The atmosphere was grand, the perfect setting for a royal dragon wedding—where fire, power, and dominance were symbolized in every detail.

Seraphine stood in the corridor, ready to make her entrance. The silence of the moment was broken only by the distant sound of the musicians tuning their instruments, the low murmur of whispers among the guests, and the faint rustle of the silk gown she was about to wear. Everything looked perfect, down to the smallest detail.

The golden candles flickered in the light, casting shadows of dragons across the walls. Guests wore their finest silks and velvets, and the scent of roses and incense hung in the air, mingling with the crisp chill of the morning. She could hear the guests murmuring in anticipation, their eyes eagerly waiting for the bride to appear.

But Seraphine, despite the beautiful surroundings, felt only dread settling deep within her.

The doors of the hall creaked open, and the orchestra began playing the ceremonial music as the attendants, dressed in black and gold, stepped forward in their procession. The royal guests fell silent. Everyone turned to see the bride.

But when Seraphine entered, the room was struck silent once again—not with admiration, but with shock. Instead of the gown chosen by Celeste—an immaculate white silk dress—the gown she wore was of a deep crimson red, laced with gold, a stark contrast to the expected purity of royal white. It was a dress that spoke of war, of bloodshed, and justice—everything the dragons embodied, but twisted into something darker.

The gasps were immediate, ripples of disbelief sweeping through the crowd. Seraphine’s eyes were steady, her face unreadable as she walked down the aisle, feeling the eyes of every guest upon her. The fabric of the dress seemed to pulse with power, and yet, it felt like an unspoken challenge to the kingdom.

Celeste, whose cold, regal features had once been serene, was visibly angry. Her eyes narrowed as she rose to her feet, her voice cutting through the tension in the room. “What is she wearing?” she demanded, her gaze fixed on Seraphine.

Vyreth, who stood beside her daughter, answered with calm precision. “Her wedding dress.”

Celeste took a step forward, her fury apparent. “That is not the dress I chose! How dare she wear this color? This is a mockery of our tradition!”

Seraphine’s lips parted slightly, but she held her composure. "It’s not a mockery, Your Grace. It’s my choice. This color represents war, justice... and the power of the dragons. I will wear what I choose."

Her mother stepped forward, her voice quiet yet firm. “You will not ruin my son’s wedding with this display.”

Seraphine’s gaze remained unfaltering as she turned toward Celeste, her eyes burning with an unspoken challenge. "No one will ruin this day. This is my favorite color. And besides, who would dare ruin a wedding so special?"

The room remained tense, the atmosphere thick with an unspoken rivalry. Yet, despite the fury in the air, the wedding ceremony continued. The vows were exchanged, the rings placed, and Alaric, still unaware of the true game being played, kissed his bride. The crowd cheered, and the music swelled, but Seraphine’s thoughts were elsewhere—on the future she had yet to fully control, on the heir she was carrying, and on the dangers that would come with it.

The Wedding Night

The night wore on, and Alaric led Seraphine to their chambers. The air felt thick with anticipation, but Seraphine could sense the weight of the king’s curiosity. He had been distant since the ceremony, though the words of the vows were still fresh in his mind.

Once inside their chambers, Alaric turned to her, his expression unreadable. “You did well today. The wedding went off without a hitch. But now… it’s time.”

Seraphine’s heart raced as he moved toward her. In his hand, he held a small blade—a jagged thing, silver, and deadly in its simplicity. His eyes met hers, a strange hunger in his gaze.

Seraphine stiffened, her gaze flickering to the blade in his hand. “What is this?” she asked, her voice cool, though her mind raced.

Alaric’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Don’t be scared, my bride. This is a small gesture—necessary to ensure the purity of our union. You see, my family has always done this. It’s an old tradition.”

Seraphine’s eyes narrowed as she realized what he was referring to. He wasn’t just marking her as his bride—he was ensuring she would not be seen as a bstrd, that their child would be a true heir to the throne.

With a swift motion, Alaric brought the blade to her neck, a soft whisper of danger as he spoke. “It’s only a small cut, just to prove that you are truly mine. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

Before she could respond, he pressed the blade against her fang, cutting through the sharp bone with ease. A single drop of blood dripped down her lip, but Seraphine remained calm, her eyes meeting his as she fought the urge to recoil.

This was part of the game. This was the price she had to pay.

Alaric stepped back, satisfied. “Goodnight, my bride,” he said, a strange warmth in his voice as he turned to leave the room.

As the door closed behind him, Seraphine stared at the blood on her lip, the coldness of the room creeping over her once more. She knew the true game had only just begun. The power she had to wield was far greater than what was visible to the naked eye. And she was determined to wear her mask until the very end.