The Dragon's Claim

I tilt my chin skyward, eyes closed drizzle descends, soaking the village square and everything in it. The dark clouds loom overhead, pressing down on the gathered crowd, a reflection of the dread that lingers in the air.

I stand among the other women, my body stiff beneath the dark cape that barely covers the revealing ceremonial garb underneath. The fabric clings on my skin, drenched and thick with rain. I clutch the edges of the cape, trying to shield from the cold. The swell of my breasts nearly spill out of the thin fabric, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. Anger tightens my throat at the thought. I pull the hood further over my head, letting my tangled, wet hair fall beside my face over my shoulders.

The village elders have arranged us in a line, like offerings waiting to be claimed. I glance at the others. They bow their heads, hoods casting shadows over their faces as they huddle beneath their cloaks, shivering in their soaked, flimsy garments. Disgust surges within me. This is what they expect? For us to stand here, nearly naked, hoping to be chosen?

The rain drums against the cobblestones, a steady beat that only adds to the tension. I fix my gaze on the road, he is coming. The dragon lord, his carriage, and his soldiers are coming to make their choice.

The low rumble of hooves reaches my ears, growing louder as it approaches. My pulse quickens despite myself. The carriage emerges from the mist, a dark, oaken structure drawn by massive black horses. Beside it, soldiers ride in formation, their capes billowing in the rain, armour gleaming dully under the grey sky.

The parade stops at the edge of the square. The horses snort, stamping their hooves in the mud. Steam rising from their coats as it evaporates against the brisk air. The villagers fall silent as the carriage door swings open. My breath catches when he steps out.

The dragon lord.

Tall, with a presence that fills the space around him. The hood of his cloak is pushed back, revealing a face that is both beautiful and cold. His eyes are sharp, piercing as they sweep over us, a mixture of amusement and boredom in their depths. He is here to take what he wants, and he knows no one will stop him.

His advisor follows, a scrawny man with eyes like a hawk. The soldiers dismount, forming a circle around their lord. The dragon lord steps forward, the mud squelching beneath his boots. I feel the heat of his gaze moving closer.

The other women shrink back, their hoods drooping over their faces. I grip the edges of my cape, and water trails down the folds of my hood. I will not look away. I will not cower.

He raises a hand, silencing the murmurs of the villagers. “It is time for your offering once more,” he declares, his voice cutting through the rain. “For centuries, this ritual has been upheld. In exchange for your most exquisite offering, I grant you my protection.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd—fear, relief, and resignation. Some villagers nod, and others clutch their cloaks tighter. They believe his words. They have to. His protection is all that stands between them and the dangers outside.

His gaze sweeps over the crowd, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “You live under my watch, free from the horrors that lurk in the wilds,” he continues, his voice smooth and calm. “You owe your peace to me. And in return, I take what is rightfully mine.”

My teeth clench, and my heart pounds. What gives him the right to claim us? To treat us as mere objects in exchange for his so-called protection?

His eyes narrow and finally settle on us, the line of women. “One of you will be chosen,” he announces, his tone low, almost a growl. “My new consort. The one who will share in my power... and my bed.”

The air grows heavy, pressing down on me. My heart hammers against my ribs as his gaze moves down the line. The other women lower their heads, their hoods hiding their faces. I lift my chin higher. Anger burns hot in my chest.

He moves slowly, taking his time as his eyes assess each of us. His presence is overwhelming, the heat of him cutting through the chill of the rain. I feel his gaze lingering on me, but I refuse to meet it.

Then, he stops in front of me.

Silence stretches, broken only by the sound of rain hitting the ground. His eyes lock with mine, sharp and challenging. He takes his time, letting his gaze travel over me, taking in the curves barely concealed by the soaked fabric of my garb. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I keep my jaw tight, refusing to back down.

“Well,” he drawls, his voice like velvet over steel. “What do we have here?”

He takes a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, until I can feel the warmth radiating from his body despite the chill of the rain. “Tell me,” he murmurs, his gaze piercing through the shadow of my hood. “What is your name?”

“Zara,” I bite back, refusing to break the stare down.

“Zara.” He repeats it slowly, almost savouring the sound. His eyes gleam with something dark and unreadable. “A fitting name for one with such fire.” He turns slightly to his advisor, though his gaze never leaves mine. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice smooth and mocking. “Is she worthy to be taken?”

The advisor nods. “She has spirit, my lord. Perhaps too much.”

“Too much?” The dragon lord laughs, a low sound that sends a chill down my spine. “No. I like her spirit.” He steps closer, his eyes boring into mine. “I will take her.”

My stomach twists. “You will do no such thing,” I spit out, stepping back. “I belong to no one.” My knuckles turn white as I  clench down on the damp fabric of my mantle.

His eyes flash, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. “Is that so?” he murmurs, reaching out to grip my chin. His touch is firm, not painful, but it sends a jolt through me. “Your defiance is... exquisite,” he says softly. “But make no mistake—you will submit to me.”

I wrench my head away, glaring at him. “I will never submit to you.” My heart pounding in my chest.

His eyes flash with amusement. “We shall see.” He turns to his soldiers. “Bring her. She is to be my consort.”

The soldiers move toward me, their hands rough but not cruel as they grasp my arms. Fear has no place here, I won't let him see me break.

As they drag me toward the carriage, I glance back at the crowd. My stomach knots at the sight of my sister, standing stiff as a board. Her hands are clenched into tight fists at her sides, her jaw set. Raindrops streak down her face, mingling with the anger in her eyes. Her gaze meets mine, and for a heartbeat, the world falls away.

I stepped into the selection to protect her. It was me or her. Our father had made that brutally clear. His threat still echoes in my mind: If you don’t go, she will. I had no choice. I couldn’t let him put her up there, exposed and vulnerable.

My father stands behind her, his face set in stone. His jaw is tight, his eyes burning with an unyielding determination that makes my stomach churn. He meets my gaze but doesn’t look away. There’s no regret, just the cold conviction of a man who believes he’s made the right choice. The betrayal claws at my chest, a sharp, cold pain that steals my breath.

Beside him, my mother grips his arm, her knuckles white. Her face is pale, lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes—those eyes sear into him with all the words she doesn’t say. When she looks at me, her expression cracks, just for a second. She mouths something, and though I can't hear the words over the pounding of the rain and my own heartbeat, I know it's a plea. Stay strong.

My best friend stands at the edge of the group, hands covering her mouth. Her shoulders tremble, her eyes red-rimmed, glistening. She shakes her head, a small, desperate motion, as if trying to deny what's happening.

The soldiers yank me forward, and I nearly stumble. I keep my head high, refusing to glance back again. The dragon lord watches me, his eyes glinting under the hood of his cloak, a faint smirk playing at his lips.

He believes he’s already won.

I set my jaw, holding his gaze. He may have chosen me, but I am far from defeaten. He will learn that soon enough.

The carriage door looms before me, its dark wood slick with rain. I’m shoved inside, the world outside blurring as the door slams shut. My heart pounds, each beat a reminder that I will fight him at every turn.

The carriage lurches forward, carrying me into the unknown,