The Dragon King's Blind Mate

My name

A mountain of desiccated corpses lay piled at Xalvador’s boots. It was a horrific sight, far more bodies than he had ever taken in a single night. Yet inside his mind, the great dragon spirit was unhinged.

“More,” Yves roared furiously, his ancient voice a maddened beast clawing at the walls of Xalvador's consciousness. “We need more energy. The vacuum is not full!”

"Quiet, beast," Xalvador hissed aloud, his voice cracking in the damp cell.

His arm moved almost against his will, reaching out for the final prisoner trembling in the corner. His large hand clamped tightly around the man's throat. Instantly, the brutal, automatic pull ripped open. The prisoner’s skin began to wither, his hair turning white in a matter of seconds.

The man looked up into Xalvador’s pitch-black eyes, gasping for his final breath. "You're... a monster," he murmured with frightened eyes.

Xalvador didn't say a word. He let the shriveled corpse drop to the stone floor with a dry, hollow thud. He stood alone among the dead, entirely unaware that his gloved hand was violently trembling.

He turned on his heel, intending to leave the blood-soaked cells, when a faint, scratching sound vibrated through the deep stone. It was a low, raspy whisper echoing through the obsidian brickwork.

"King..."

The King stopped dead in his tracks. He walked forward a bit, tracing the sound toward the darkest corner of the subterranean corridor. He stared at the solid masonry, his jaw clenching. After a tense heartbeat, he shook his head in frustration, turned back, and left the dungeon behind.

---

Meanwhile, in the warmth of the western pavilion, Lyra stood firmly in front of the double doors, blocking the only exit.

"I am not letting you leave this room, Mina," Lyra said, her voice raspy but unyielding. "You admitted you were here before the sun vanished. I want the truth about what happened in the past."

Mina wrung her hands, glancing frantically toward the windows. "Lady Lyra, please. It is forbidden to speak of the old court. If the King finds out, my life is forfeit."

"The King is occupied with the council," Lyra pressed, taking a determined step closer. "Tell me, Mina. Why is this kingdom trapped in perpetual darkness? What caused the curse?"

Mina let out a defeated, trembling sigh, her shoulders dropping. "Very well. If you must know... it began with a witch. She was corrupted and th—"

The heavy oak doors abruptly burst open, cutting the maid off. Xalvador strode into the bedchamber, his dark cloak billowing behind him like a shadow. The freezing draft of the hallway rushed into the room.

"Leave us," Xalvador commanded, his tone flat and Brook no argument. He didn't even look at the servant.

"Yes, Your Grace," Mina squeaked. She bowed instantly and scrambled out of the room, shutting the doors tightly behind her.

Lyra stood perfectly frozen near the center of the rug, her muscles locking up in immediate terror. The heavy, suffocating pressure of his presence filled the space, making it hard to draw a full breath. She listened to the heavy, rhythmic click of his leather boots getting closer and closer until he stopped right in front of her.

He reached out, his thick fingers pinching her pale cheek with uncharacteristic force. "You have grown fatter," he commented, his voice rough.

"Your Majesty—" Lyra started.

Before she could form a reply, his hand slid to the back of her neck, tilting her head up as he violently slammed his mouth onto hers.

Lyra’s breath caught sharply in her throat. As his lips pressed against hers, a faint, metallic, rotten scent rolled off his skin, smelling faintly of decay and dried blood. A jolt of panic shot through her stomach, but the sheer, overwhelming heat of his lips on hers instantly blurred her thoughts, making her forget the strange smell entirely. She melted against him, completely overwhelmed.

When he finally pulled back, he dragged her over to the large armchair, sitting down and pulling her effortlessly onto his lap. His large hand slid into her long dark hair, idly twisting the strands between his fingers.

"What is this?" Xalvador asked suddenly, his grip tightening on her arm. He traced his thumb over her skin. "Why do you have red spots on your arms?"

Lyra shifted uncomfortably on his leg. "A particular flower in the garden gave me an allergy, Your Majesty. But it has already been taken out. It does not hurt anymore."

Xalvador’s eyes narrowed. "This court is full of poison. I will not have you compromised." He raised his voice, shouting toward the corridor. "Guards! Have the royal healer summoned to this room immediately!"

"It is truly not necessary," Lyra murmured, trying to calm his sudden anger.

"Be quiet," Xalvador snapped, though his fingers remained surprisingly gentle as they stroked her hair. "You will be examined."

While they waited for the healer to arrive, Xalvador reached for a silver bowl of peeled fruits resting on the side table. He picked up a sweet, juicy slice. "Open your mouth," he ordered softly.

"I can feed myself, Your Grace," she whispered, her face heating up.

"I said open it."

Lyra obeyed, leaning forward slightly. As he guided the fruit into her mouth, his bare fingers brushed against her lower lip.

The moment his skin touched hers, a violent, blinding shockwave exploded inside Lyra’s head.

Her head jerked back with a sharp gasp, her body tensing as countless vivid images flashed through her mind like a tearing storm. The entire, intricate layout of the castle’s subterranean dungeon mapped itself clearly in her brain. She saw the winding stairs, the iron gates, and the thick puddles of dark blood staining the stone floor. Then, the vision shifted deeper, plunging into a cell hidden behind a solid masonry wall.

Bound in heavy, glowing iron chains, a woman sat on the damp floor. The chained woman tilted her matted head up, her hollow eyes staring directly into Lyra's soul.

"Lyra..." the woman muttered, her voice a cracked, desperate plea. "He..lp."

"Lyra? What is wrong with you?"

Xalvador’s sharp, demanding voice snapped her back to reality. Lyra gasped for air, her chest heaving as she clutched at her temple. Only a single minute had passed in the physical world, but inside her mind, the vision had felt like an entire, agonizing day.

"I... I am fine," she stammered, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. "Just a sudden dizziness. The room felt hot."

Xalvador stared at her, his black eyes assessing her pale face. "You look as though you have seen a ghost."

"It was nothing, truly," she insisted, swallowing hard.

A sharp knock sounded at the door, and the royal healer hurried inside, carrying a small leather satchel. She quickly examined the red spots on Lyra’s arms, nodding to herself.

"It is a simple reaction to the night lilies, Your Grace," the healer explained, pulling out a small glass vial filled with a dark liquid. "This medicine will soothe the blood. Give her a couple of drops before she sleeps."

Xalvador took the vial and handed it directly to Mina, who had quietly re-entered the room. "Make sure she takes it every night until it clears."

"Right away, Your Grace," Mina replied, bowing low.

Xalvador stood up, setting Lyra gently back onto the edge of the mattress. He smoothed down his dark tunic, his expression returning to its usual cold, distant mask. "I must attend to urgent political matters with the inner rim lords. Do not leave this bed."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Lyra whispered.

The heavy doors clicked shut behind him, leaving the room entirely quiet. Lyra sat completely still on the mattress, the horrific images from the vision refusing to leave her head. The layout of the dungeon was practically burned into her memory. She knew exactly how many corridors to pass, how many stairs to descend, and which iron gates to avoid.

She knows my name, Lyra thought, her hands trembling violently against the silk sheets. But why?

But the sheer thought of it brought a wave of absolute dread. The dungeon was a labyrinth filled with monsters, guards, and executioners. Going there was dangerous, especially with the fact that she had no eyes to see the threats coming. If she was caught, Xalvador might kill her himself.

"Are you ready for your tea, my lady?" Mina asked softly from the corner.

"No, Mina," Lyra said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I am very tired. I think I would like to sleep early tonight."

"Of course, my lady. I will dim the lights."

Lyra lay down, pulling the heavy blankets up to her chin. She stayed perfectly still for hours, counting the rhythm of her own breathing as the sunless twilight outside deepened into total midnight. She listened with strained ears until the heavy footsteps of the hallway guards grew sparse, and the soft, rhythmic snoring from the antechamber confirmed that Mina was fast asleep.

The palace was finally quiet.

Slowly, carefully, Lyra slid her feet out from under the blankets and touched the cool floorboards. She reached out into the dark, her fingers locking tightly around the familiar wood of her walking stick.