Thrice Blessed with the Dragon Princes

Chapter 1

I stood in front of the cracked mirror, my fingers trembling as they traced the fresh bruise on my neck. The purplish mark stood out against my pale skin, a cruel reminder of last night's “lesson” from my father. I pulled the collar of my tunic higher, trying to hide it, but no amount of fabric could erase the pain. When I was younger, the wounds from his beatings would heal quickly, almost as if my body could mend itself overnight. But now, after so many years of frequent blows, it felt like my body had lost its ability to heal.

My reflection stared back at me—red hair, hollow eyes, chapped lips, and a face that had forgotten how to smile. I was a princess, they said. A princess of the fallen Dragon Clan. But I had never felt like one. Not once.

My mother was a witch, which made me a hybrid, a mix of dragon and witch, the lowest of the low in this world. It was said that my mother possessed immense magical power, but unfortunately, I inherited none of it.

My father was the alpha of our clan, a man whose cruelty was matched only by his incompetence. He had driven our once-proud clan into ruin, yet he blamed everyone but himself, especially me. I was a girl, a disappointment, a burden. He once sneered, “You’re just like your dead mother. "You’re useless, a disgrace to our family.” He wanted a son, someone to carry on his legacy and restore the clan he had brought to its knees. But all he got was me. And he never let me forget it.

After he killed my mother—claiming it was an accident, though I knew better—his abuse turned toward me. The beatings became routine, the insults a daily ritual. He sold me like a piece of livestock, forcing me to entertain the whims of other tribal leaders in exchange for favors. I was raped... I was nothing more than a bargaining chip, a tool for his survival. And yet, I endured. Because what choice did I have?

I carefully applied foundation to the bruises on my neck, blending it until the marks were nearly invisible. Then, I turned up my collar, making sure it perfectly hid the traces I didn’t want anyone to see. My makeup served only this purpose because I wasn’t allowed to wear it unless my father sent me to entertain the clan leaders. He forbade me from wearing it to school. If I dared to put on even the slightest bit of makeup, he would call me a “slut” and wouldn’t hesitate to hit me.

I slipped into my jeans and headed downstairs, ready for school. As I walked into the living room, I saw my father sitting there, a cigarette in hand, his face dark and stern. He shot me a cold glare and warned, “Keep your mouth shut at school. Don’t you dare embarrass me.”

I didn’t respond. I simply lowered my head and walked out the door. But deep down, beneath the scars and the sorrow, a spark of defiance still burned. One day, I told myself, one day I would escape. One day, I would be free.

School was no escape. If anything, it was worse. At home, I knew what to expect. But at Dragon Stone Academy, the cruelty was unpredictable. Tiffany, daughter of the powerful Dragon Wing Clan, and her gang of sycophants made sure of that. They mocked my tattered clothes, my quiet demeanor, my very existence. They called me “the beggar princess,” a title that stung more than any slap. I learned to keep my head down, to stay invisible. But no matter how hard I tried, they always found me.

I had tried to fight back before, but my strength was no match for theirs. I wasn’t a pure-blooded dragon. I was a hybrid, a mix of witch and dragon, and that made me weaker, an easy target. Every time I tried to stand up for myself, I ended up beaten worse than before. I even went to the principal once, hoping for some kind of justice, but it was useless. He just brushed it off, offering empty words and no action. There was nothing he could do, or would do. Tiffany’s family was powerful, and I was no one.

This morning, though, felt different. As I walked to school, the air seemed lighter, the sun warmer. Maybe it was the start of a new term, the faint hope that things could change. Or maybe it was the sight of him—Justin. My childhood friend, the only person who had ever shown me kindness. He had been gone for years, sent away to some distant land for training. But now he was back.

I saw him step out of a sleek, luxurious car, and there was no mistaking it—it was him. His golden hair, his sharp nose, the way he carried himself with confidence. He had grown so tall, his frame now muscular and commanding, his presence undeniably handsome. My heart leapt at the sight of him. For the first time in years, I felt something other than fear.

I wanted to run towards him, my mouth opening to call his name. But before I could speak, a pair of hands grabbed me from behind. I was lifted off the ground, my books scattering across the dirt, and then I was thrown. My body hit the ground with a sickening thud, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. I looked up to see Tiffany smirking down at me, her friends laughing in the background.

“Watch where you’re going, beggar princess,” she sneered. “You’re blocking the path.”

Pain shot through my side, sharp and unrelenting. I was certain at least one of my ribs was broken. Gritting my teeth, I tried to push myself up.