The Dragon King's Blind Mate

Strike One

Lyra sat by the tall window, her fingers tracing the edge of her teacup. A bright, genuine smile lingered on her lips long after Vivian had left. "She is so nice, Mina. I finally have a friend."

Mina stood by the door, her hands tightly folded in front of her apron. "Forgive me, Lady Lyra, but you should be careful around her. The human maidens sent here as tributes are usually desperate. They are not to be trusted."

"Why not?" Lyra asked softly, turning her head toward the maid. "Vivian has nothing to gain from harming me. I am blind, Mina. I cannot challenge her for anything in this court."

"Desperation makes people do terrible things, my lady," Mina warned. "And you are the one the King claimed before the council. That makes you a target."

Lyra shook her head slightly, waving off the concern. "You worry too much. Vivian was crying. She is just as lonely as I am." She set her teacup down on the small table. "Besides, you are here to protect me, aren't you?"

"Always, my lady," Mina replied, her voice softening.

"Speaking of which," Lyra continued, shifting on the settee. "How long have you been working in the obsidian palace? You know so much about the court politics."

"A very long time, Lady Lyra. I have served the royal family since the grandfather of the present King sat on the throne."

Lyra’s eyebrows raised behind her silk blindfold. "His grandfather? But Mina, your voice sounds so young. You do not sound much older than me."

A soft, melodic chuckle escaped Mina’s lips. "I am a shadow sprite, my lady. We do not age the way humans do. I look exactly as I did the day I entered service. I was here long before the sun disappeared."

Lyra leaned forward, instantly intrigued. "Before the darkness? You were here when the curse was first cast upon the kingdom?"

Mina went perfectly still. The relaxed atmosphere in the room vanished in an instant. "I... yes, my lady."

"What happened, Mina?" Lyra pressed, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Everyone says the King is cursed, but no one explains why. Who cast it? Why was he targeted?"

"I think your tea is getting cold," Mina said hastily, her voice tight with sudden panic. She quickly grabbed the silver teapot from the tray. "Let me fetch a fresh pot from the kitchens."

"Mina, wait—"

"I will return shortly, my lady!" the maid called out, rushing toward the heavy double doors. The doors clicked shut sharply, leaving Lyra alone in the quiet room.

---

Deep in the subterranean interrogation cells beneath the palace, the air smelled heavily of rusted iron and dried blood.

Xalvador stood in the center of the damp room, his black leather gloves pulled tightly over his large hands. A single, flickering torch cast long, wavering shadows against the stone walls.

Kneeling on the floor before him was a vampire. The spy's pale face was bruised, his hands bound tightly behind his back with enchanted chains that hissed every time he moved.

"I will ask you one final time," Xalvador said, his voice flat and terrifyingly calm. "Who sent you into the inner rim?"

The vampire spat a mouthful of dark blood onto the stone floor. He looked up at the King, a wide, bloody smile stretching across his face, exposing his fangs. "You are already a dead man, Xalvador. We are simply waiting for you to burn."

Xalvador’s eyes narrowed into pitch-black slits. "Who is pulling your strings?"

"The dark queen rises," the vampire whispered, his smile growing wider. He suddenly bit down hard, his jaw clenching violently.

Xalvador recognized the movement instantly. The cyanide pill.

"No!" Xalvador snapped, lunging forward. He grabbed the vampire by the jaw, his gloved fingers digging into the pale skin, attempting to force the spy's mouth open before the poison could enter his bloodstream.

The moment Xalvador’s hands clamped around the spy’s face, a violent, sickening pull erupted from the center of his chest.

It wasn't his usual Jagan power. This was different. A brutal, uncontrollable vacuum ripped open inside Xalvador’s core.

The vampire's eyes blew wide in sudden, absolute terror. He didn't choke on the poison. Instead, a thick, radiant mist of life force violently tore its way out of the vampire’s skin, swirling directly into Xalvador’s hands.

"Stop!" the vampire tried to scream, but the word died in a dry, rattling gasp.

Xalvador tried to pull his hands away, but his muscles completely locked up. The invisible tether held him in place, gorging on the spy's energy. He watched in horror as the vampire’s pale skin turned grey, then cracked like dry parchment. Within seconds, the vampire's body shriveled into a completely desiccated, mummified husk.

The vacuum violently snapped shut.

Xalvador stumbled backward, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps as the mummified corpse hit the floor with a hollow thud. He stared at the drained body, his chest heaving.

“Yves!” Xalvador roared into his own mind, panic bleeding into his mental voice. “Did you do that? Did you trigger the drain?”

Deep inside his consciousness, the massive dragon spirit shifted uneasily. “I did nothing, King. That was not my fire. That was you.”

“I tried to stop it!” Xalvador yelled, pacing frantically around the small cell. “I tried to let him go, but I couldn't move. The core pulled it automatically!”

“Why couldn't you stop it?” Yves demanded, his ancient voice laced with a sudden, dark dread. “Your Jagan abilities have never functioned like that. You have never drained a life without conscious command.”

Xalvador didn't answer. The chaotic hum of stolen energy buzzed furiously under his skin. He slowly raised his hands, staring blankly at the black leather of his gloves. His mind was racing, trying to understand the catastrophic malfunction in his own power.

He was entirely unaware of the thick, ink-like black lines slithering up the back of his neck beneath his dark hair. They were no longer thin threads; they were thick, pulsing veins of dark magic, embedding themselves deeper into his spine.

---

Miles beneath the palace, in a dungeon so deep that no light had touched it in twenty years, a heavy iron chain rattled softly in the darkness.

A woman sat on the damp, freezing floor. Her long, matted hair covered her face, but a slow, chilling smile spread across her cracked lips. She tilted her head back, feeling the sudden pulse of dark magic hum through the foundation of the earth.

"Strike one," She whispered into the void.