The Dragon King’s Chosen Mate

*** The only thing I could remember when I came around was the pain. White hot, it seared through every corner of my being, and the pounding in my head intensified as I slowly opened my eyes. All I could see was darkness. A foul odour hung in the air, and I struggled to remember where I was. Thick chains dug into my wrists and ankles, and I struggled to keep my eyes from closing once again. How did I end up in this situation? "She's awake," a guttural voice thundered above me. "Would you like me to continue the whipping?" Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I saw the hideous monster standing before me, a gigantic troll with large, beady eyes and sharp tusks jutting out from his mouth. "Hello, little princess," he chuckled. "Shall we continue your punishment?" Cold, clammy stone pressed against my back, a harsh contrast to the searing pain radiating from my wrists. The dank air in the dungeon seemed to mould itself around me. The troll's whip cracked through the silence, leaving my skin ablaze with each merciless strike. That was when I remembered what happened. It was all just a blur, and it took a while before I could remember how I ended up here. It started with a dinner party, with my uncle inviting some of the highest ranking Lords of the Realm to celebrate the anniversary of the Black War. My instructions were clear, to stay in my room and not step outside for any reason. I was not to let any of them know that I existed, as the revelation would be catastrophic. But everything went downhill the moment I tried to fall asleep. "P-please, Uncle," I choked out as the whip landed on my back once again, my voice trembling with both fear and pain. My tear-streaked eyes sought mercy from the man who had once been a beacon of familial warmth. He was watching me from the balcony which overlooked the dungeons, his regal robes clashing with the dirt and decay of his surroundings. His scowl, however, was a manifestation of disappointment and anger. "You will learn your lesson, Seraphina," he said quietly. "I asked you for one simple thing, and you couldn't do it. Now look what you've made me do." "It wasn't my fault," I begged. "I didn't know it was going to happen. Please." "Silence!" he thundered. "I have told you time and time again to keep that disgusting side of you away. I have raised you in my home, fed you, clothed you and given you everything you could possibly want. And all I ask in return is that you keep your disease hidden." Another c***k of the whip, and this time I screamed out as it caught across my face and slashed my cheek open. "What would the king say if he discovered this disease in his kingdom?" Uncle Vermont asked. "Your affliction is not a matter that can be taken lightly. We must cleanse you of this ailment, Seraphina." The troll, a grotesque henchman to my uncle's tyranny, reveled in his role as the enforcer with a sadistic smirk. With each flick of the whip, my resolve wavered, yet I clung to the shreds of my dignity. I wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of knowing that he was succeeding. I tried to bite my lip and stop myself from crying, but it was just too much to bear. "Seraphina," my uncle's voice sliced through the air, carrying the weight of authority. "You stepped out of line. A lesson must be learned." The chains that bound me seemed to tighten with every word he uttered. This was not just a physical punishment; it was a calculated effort to break my spirit. I could feel the weight of his disappointment, a burden heavier than the cold iron encasing my wrists. As the whip cracked again, I closed my eyes, attempting to find solace within the recesses of my mind. The dungeon's shadows clung to me like a second skin, and in the midst of the torment, a spark of defiance ignited. I wouldn't let them witness my surrender. The troll's cruel laughter mingled with my stifled sobs, echoing through the desolate chamber. The pain was unbearable, but a flicker of resilience danced within me. I refused to let them extinguish the flame of my spirit, even as my uncle's scowl etched itself into the fabric of my nightmares. After what felt like an eternity, my uncle clapped his hands once, signalling for the punishment to stop. "That will be enough for today. I'm sure she has learned her lesson." When the final lash fell, leaving a tangible echo of torment, I felt like a marionette with severed strings—helpless and hanging in the oppressive silence. My whole body trembled as I laid on the cold, wet floor, bleeding out profusely. "Get someone to take care of her wounds," Uncle Vermont said before walking away. A maid stepped forward immediately, her eyes soft with sympathy as she approached to free me from the chains that bound me to the unforgiving stone wall. The ascent back to my room was a precarious journey, each step a reminder of the brutality I had endured. The pain, both physical and emotional, clung to me like a shadow. Once within the refuge of my room, the maid's hands worked with practiced gentleness. Bandages and ointments were rubbed all over my battered skin, their smells causing my head to spin. It stung, a relentless reminder of the harsh discipline imposed upon me, but I gritted my teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of witnessing my vulnerability. As tears streaked down my cheeks, the maid's tender touch offered a semblance of peace. In those moments of painful respite, my mind wandered back to the reason I ended up here, the unfortunate incident which caused me to receive this brutal punishment. I'd been trying to keep myself hidden when I fell asleep, but my dreams had other plans. In the sanctuary of sleep, I remembered a vivid memory which stood out so prominently—a fiery dragon, majestic and untamed, soaring through the velvety night sky. It was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen, and I stared up in awe at the magical creature with its powerful wings and smoking eyes. Even now, I could still feel the heat coming from the beast. But then, the creature suddenly dived and lunged at me, fire exploding from its mouth. That terrifying sight had inadvertently triggered something within me—a surge of latent magical power. Unbeknownst to me, the dream had set off an explosion of energy, a magical force that had torn a hole through the manor's wall. The unexpected consequence of my own subconscious rebellion. And that was how my uncle found me, in a pile of rubble with the magic coursing through my fingertips. The terror in my heart remained even before I passed out, knowing that I was deeply screwed. Thankfully, Uncle Vermont had been quick to action, making sure none of the lords in attendance had come up to see the explosion. The consequences would have been disastrous, as magic was strictly forbidden throughout the realm of Djakar. It was seen as an abomination, and the people who possessed it—such as me—were called Witchlings. "I'm sorry, miss," the maid said when I flinched as she rubbed an ointment over the cut across my face. I was reminded once again of my cursed nature, the stain on the noble house of Thorne. Maybe things would be better if I had never been born. While the maid tended to my wounds, I clung to the memory of that dragon, my accidental companion in defiance. In the midst of suffering, I couldn't fathom the significance of that magical outburst. Little did I realize that this unbridled magic would be a catalyst for change, steering the course of my destiny into uncharted territories. Funny how the whims of fate play out, even in the midst of the most brutal trials. ***