‘Manipulating this… That’s some old magic,’ he trailed furiously, quickly coming face-to-face with me as he violently grabbed my shirt collar and lifted me off the ground. The seams strained, then split, unable to withstand the wild force of his grasp. ‘Have you been performing magic on me, witch?!’
Though I wanted to, I could not answer. I stared while my feet still touched the grass and midsection dangled in the air. I prayed for it to be over; I didn’t have the mental strength to continue getting abused any longer.
‘Just look at yourself. Do you want to die?’ he seethed, so close that his breath felt like steam.
There wasn’t a drop of kindness in that man. Only evil.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ A raven-haired, tall woman sent him stumbling at least ten feet away from me. ‘Howdare you?’
A blast of vengeful, living flame—so like mine in hue—struck him, sending him crashing to the ground. He stayed kneeling far away as she rushed to my side. The king never attacked her back; his hardened glare locked on me. Whilst he stayed away, the violent intent still shone in his eyes.
‘Hey, hey… It’s okay. I mean, are you okay?’ Nervousness showed on her pale face as she rubbed her hands down my shoulders.
Oh. I was shivering.
The newly met woman must have assumed it was caused by anxiety; however, I had a suspicion it was actually related to the dangerously slow pace of my heart.
Not because of the king. It was because my time had run out. I would not plead with them anymore. Holding on to the last shreds of dignity was all I had. At that stage, I did not think going back home would help; it had gone too far.
‘I would like to go to my room, I think,’ I said, palming the torn collar.
‘Of course, I will walk you.’ She helped me get up and readied herself to walk me back.
‘No, thank you. I will manage.’ Shrugging her hands off, I rushed to the castle.
Dying young was bad enough, but having them there to witness and gloat as the king inevitably classed me as stupid enough to perish to prove a point—that felt like a different curse altogether. And I did not want the new, nice stranger to see me struggle on the stairs either. It was shameful, and I had been embarrassed enough in my short lifetime.
Witnessing the king’s savage ways, I couldn’t believe I considered teaching him how to conjure. That cruel beast could never be allowed to bond a dragon.
And I missed my dragon. Anya might never forgive me, but I clung to the hope that one day she would understand.
By the time I reached my room, my chest burned again. My body was shutting down, slowly and unquestionably.
A couple of hours had passed, and I knew it was coming. My vision had long since blurred, leaving me able to recognise only vague shapes.
Soon after, weakness took me. My limbs stopped listening. I couldn’t even lift my head. Through my veiled sight, I could still make out the tendrils of my mother’s magic tightly wrapping around my chest and squeezing relentlessly.
The small black mark of the curse left on my sternum glowed red through the fabric of my shirt, as if branding me from within. Heat spread through my nervous system, setting every vein, artery, and capillary ablaze until they felt like ash beneath my skin. Even my lungs smouldered, and when I coughed, it was as though ash spilt out.
‘Fight it!’ Anya roared.
I didn’t care about the assault of pain, only that she felt it with me. Once bonded, the dragons would feel their bonds dying, even when the connection was closed. It felt like a part of their souls was dying with the bond. That’s what she said soon after we found each other.
Although new bonds could be forged, most dragons treasured the sanctity of the first too deeply to risk tainting it. And now because I had failed even a simple escape, my dragon would be condemned to eternal solitude.
Ash seared holes through my lungs with every breath, while the evil magic raced through my vital organs. Icrumpled to the ground, a soft whimper escaping as I realised my monstrous mother wouldn’t grant me even the mercy of a swift death.
Torture was the preference. If I’d had the breath, I might have laughed.
A shiver took me as my heart slowed dangerously, each beat fainter, yet resounding in my ears in the calming silence of the room, I started to enjoy a little.
A sharp bang shook the wall. I was almost certain it had cracked, but I hadn’t the strength to turn my head and see what caused it. Opening my eyelids felt like an impossible task, and I probably would not see much anyway, considering it felt like my eyeballs had been charred.
A stray tear slid down my cheek as I assured myself that a comfortable life wasn’t meant for me anyway. Soon I was floating, or rather, somebody had lifted me off the ground. Perhaps the staff had me moved to avoid damage to the pristine burgundy rugs, though they would probably hide my blood stains well.
I didn’t care where I died anymore. The end was here. This weakness was foreign to me; I had never experienced anything like it, and I was dying when I bonded my dragon, too.
It was nothing like this, this curse that my mother put on me used one of the few things I cherished in life—fire—to snuff it out of me. The cruel queen would find it funny how it destroyed a fire-breather.
