Thrice Blessed with the Dragon Princes

Chapter 5

Years ago

It was a summer day when I was just sixteen. I had just returned from school when my father did something he had never done before. He bought me a new dress. It was a strange and unsettling gesture, one that filled me with unease rather than gratitude. He had never bought me anything before; all my clothes were hand-me-downs from former servants. I picked up the dress. The fabric was soft, the color a deep crimson, but it felt heavy in my hands, as if it carried the weight of some unspoken expectation. The dress wasn’t to my taste. It was shockingly short, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh, and the neckline dipped lower than anything I had ever worn. It felt more like a costume than clothing, something meant to draw attention in a way that made my skin crawl. I stared at it, my stomach churning, but I knew better than to refuse. When my father gave an order, you obeyed. No questions, no hesitation.

“Put it on,” he ordered, his voice curt, his eyes avoiding mine. There was no warmth in his tone, no fatherly pride. Just a cold, detached command. “It’s time for you to contribute to the clan.”

I didn’t know what he meant, but I obeyed. I changed in silence, my hands trembling as I pulled up the zipper. The dress fit perfectly, clinging to my frame in a way that made me feel exposed, vulnerable. The neckline plunged far too low, revealing more of my chest than I had ever shown before. I didn’t dare look in the mirror. I didn’t want to see what he saw—what he expected me to be.

When I emerged, he glanced at me, his expression darkening. “You look just like your mother,” he said, his voice dripping with disgust. “Let’s go.” He was already turning toward the door, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. It was a mistake. His hand shot out, gripping my arm so tightly I thought the bone might snap.

“Shut your mouth,” he hissed, his breath hot against my ear. “You don’t ask questions. You do as you’re told. Do you understand? If you ruin this for me, you’ll regret it.” His words were a venomous promise, one I knew he would keep.

I bit my lip, swallowing the fear that threatened to choke me. I followed him out of the house, the night air cool against my skin. He drove out of our clan territory. I didn’t know where we were going.

Eventually, we pulled over at a nondescript building, its entrance hidden in the shadows of an alley. My father knocked on the door, and it opened to reveal a dimly lit staircase leading downward. The air was thick with the scent of smoke, alcohol and sweat, and the low murmur of voices drifted up from below.

He led me down the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. The room we entered was unlike anything I had ever seen, looking like a dimly lit underground club, filled with men whose faces were obscured by shadows. They turned to look at me as we entered, their eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t quite place. Appraisal. Hunger. Greed.

My father stepped forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. “Gentlemen,” he said, his tone almost jovial, as if this were some ordinary gathering, “I believe you’ll find this one… exceptional. A virgin.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My blood turned to ice, my breath catching in my throat. This wasn’t a social visit. This wasn’t even about me. This was a transaction. I was a commodity, a piece of property to be bartered and sold to the highest bidder.

The men began to bid, their voices rising over one another, sharp and greedy, as the numbers climbed higher and higher. I stood there, numb, my mind screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something. But my body wouldn’t obey. I was trapped, paralyzed by fear, my feet rooted to the ground.

When the bidding finally ended, the winner was a man whose face I would never forget. He was grotesque, his features twisted into a cruel smile that made my skin crawl. He stepped forward, his eyes raking over me like I was a prize.

“She’s yours, Alpha Rudolf,” my father said, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. He seemed pleased with the price, as if he had just closed a lucrative deal.

“Come with me, little thing,” the man said, his voice oily and smooth, like poison dripping from his lips. I turned to my father, my eyes pleading silently for him to stop this, to save me. But he didn’t even look at me. He just nodded, his expression blank and indifferent, as if this were nothing more than a routine business transaction.

The man grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and dragged me to a small, windowless room. The walls were lined with instruments I didn’t want to understand, their shapes ominous and foreboding. He closed the door behind us, the click of the lock echoing like a death knell. In that moment, I knew there was no escape.

What followed was a nightmare, a blur of pain and humiliation that I could never fully put into words. I fought him, of course I did, clawing and thrashing with every ounce of strength I had. But it was no use. He was much stronger, his hands like iron as he pinned me down, his laughter ringing in my ears as my world shattered into darkness.

When it was over, he left me with a brand, a searing, agonizing mark burned into my skin, just on my abdomen. It was a cross, crude and jagged. I lay there, trembling and broken, as the pain radiated through my body. The room spun around me, and I felt myself slipping into darkness.

Present Day.

I woke up.

The first thing I felt was the pain—a dull, throbbing ache from my neck. My head felt heavy, my thoughts muddled. I tried to open my eyes, but the light was too bright, too harsh.

“She’s awake,” a voice said, soft and soothing.

I felt a hand on my arm, gentle but firm. “Can you hear me?” the voice asked.

I tried to speak, but my throat was dry, my voice barely a whisper. “Where… am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” the voice replied, steady but laced with an undercurrent of relief. “You’ve been in a coma for two days. You lost a lot of blood. The wound on your neck… it was lethal. But luckily, you were brought here in time. You’re going to be okay.”

The words washed over me, their meaning slow to sink in. A coma. Two days. My hand instinctively moved to my neck, my fingers brushing against the bandages that covered the wound. The memory of the dagger flashed in my mind—the cold metal against my skin, the desperation that had driven me to that moment. I had wanted to end it all, to escape the pain and the humiliation.

If I was here, that meant someone had found me. I remember someone broke into my house when I ...

“We need to ask you some questions,” the voice continued. “About your injuries. There are… extensive scars. We reported it to the Dragon Guardian Council. They will need to investigate possible abuse.”

Abuse. The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My heart raced, my mind spinning. If they found out about my father, if they questioned him…

“No,” I croaked, my voice trembling. “Please… don’t.”

“It’s okay,” the voice said, soothing. “You’re safe now. Somebody is hurting you. We’re here to help you. No one can harm you here.”

But I didn’t feel safe. I felt exposed, vulnerable. I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced me back down. My vision was still blurry, the world around me a hazy blur of shapes and colors.

And then, I heard it—voices, low and muffled, coming from somewhere beside me. I couldn’t make out the words, but there was something familiar about them.

“Is she awake, doctor?” one voice asked, its tone calm but edged with something I couldn’t quite place.

“Yes, but she’s still very weak,” the doctor’s voice, clinical yet tinged with concern. “The wound itself isn’t deep, but the weapon was laced with a potent toxin, one that’s particularly harmful to our kind. We’ll need to monitor her condition closely. It’s… unusual. She seems to have lost her ability to heal herself. The scars on her body… they look like they’ve been accumulating for years.”

A heavy silence followed, the weight of the doctor’s words hanging in the air. Then another voice broke in, sharp and laced with anger. “We need to know who did this to her. Who could be capable of something like this?”

“She doesn’t look like she’s in any condition to talk,” a third voice interjected, colder but concerned, though not entirely without empathy. “Give her some time. She’s been through a lot.”

The first voice spoke again, quieter now, but no less urgent. “It might have been her father.”

I couldn’t see them clearly, couldn’t place who they were, but their presence filled me with unease. Why were they here? What did they want?

I tried to speak, to ask who they were, but the words wouldn’t come. My body felt heavy, my mind foggy.