The Price of Peace
The bells began before dawn.
Low.
Heavy.
Funeral bells.
Elara woke to their sound vibrating through the stone walls of the palace like the heartbeat of something dying.
For one disoriented moment, she thought the dragons had breached the city.
Then came the shouting beyond her chamber doors. Running footsteps. The distant metallic thunder of armor.
Not an attack.
Worse.
News.
Elara sat upright in bed, the silk sheets tangling around her legs as cold seeped through the darkened room. Rain battered the tall arched windows overlooking the capital of Aurelian, turning the glass silver beneath flashes of lightning.
The bells rang again.
Seven strikes.
The signal for military defeat.
Her stomach tightened.
No.
No no no.
She shoved out of bed and crossed the room barefoot, snatching the nearest robe from a chair. The palace servants hadn’t arrived yet to dress her, which meant panic had already spread through the castle.
That alone terrified her.
The royal palace worshipped routine. Precision. Appearance.
If even the servants had abandoned schedule, something catastrophic had happened.
She yanked open her chamber doors.
A maid nearly collided with her.
“Princess—”
“What happened?”
The girl looked pale enough to faint. “The northern armies fell at Ravaryn Pass.”
Elara went still.
Ravaryn Pass.
The last human stronghold before the inner kingdoms.
The last barrier protecting Aurelian from the dragon empire.
A cold, creeping horror slid down her spine.
“How many survivors?”
The maid swallowed hard. “Very few.”
Elara closed her eyes.
Gods.
She had warned them.
For months, she had warned her father the dragons were preparing for another offensive. She had sat through council meetings listening to arrogant old men dismiss the threat because the treaty had held for twenty years.
Twenty years of fragile peace bought after thousands burned alive in dragonfire.
Twenty years of pretending monsters had become civilized.
And now the treaty was breaking.
Again.
“Where is the king?” she asked.
“The war council chamber.”
Of course.
The maid hesitated. “Princess…”
Elara was already moving.
The palace corridors were chaos.
Servants rushed carrying scrolls and crates. Nobles whispered in frightened clusters beneath flickering torchlight. Guards moved through the halls in full armor, their faces grim.
Fear hung over the palace like smoke.
Elara walked faster.
The closer she got to the council chamber, the quieter the corridors became.
Nobody wanted to linger near the doors where kingdoms were falling apart.
Two royal guards stood outside the chamber entrance.
They immediately straightened when they saw her.
“Princess Elara,” one said carefully.
She ignored the tension in his voice. “Open the doors.”
Neither moved.
Her pulse slowed dangerously.
“Open them.”
The older guard avoided her eyes. “The king ordered that no one be admitted.”
Something icy unfolded in her chest.
No one.
Not even her.
Especially not her.
Elara stared at the doors.
Then she heard it.
Her father’s voice inside the chamber.
“…no other choice.”
Another voice answered.
Deep.
Unfamiliar.
“And the princess accepts these terms?”
The room fell silent.
Elara’s blood froze.
The princess.
Not princesses.
Not the royal family.
Her.
Slowly, she turned toward the guards.
“Open,” she said softly, “the doors.”
The guards hesitated only a second too long.
Elara shoved past them herself.
The council chamber erupted into stunned silence as the doors slammed open behind her.
Every head turned.
The room smelled of smoke, rainwater, and fear.
Generals surrounded the enormous war table at the center of the chamber, maps spread beneath scattered markers showing fallen cities and broken defenses.
And standing near the far end of the table—
A dragon.
Elara had seen dragon emissaries before as a child, but nothing prepared her for the reality of one fully grown.
He was enormous.
Not in height alone, though he towered over everyone in the room, but in presence. Power seemed to radiate from him like heat from a wildfire.
Black armor wrapped across broad shoulders etched with silver dragon markings. Dark hair fell to his collar. His face was sharp enough to cut stone.
Beautiful.
Inhumanly so.
And his eyes—
Gold.
Not brown touched with gold.
Not amber.
Actual molten gold.
Predatory eyes.
Dragon eyes.
The entire room suddenly felt too small.
The dragon turned toward her slowly.
His expression did not change.
But Elara felt it anyway.
That terrifying moment when a predator notices movement.
Her father rose sharply from his chair. “Elara.”
No warmth.
No relief.
Only warning.
She looked from him to the dragon emissary. “What terms?”
Silence.
Nobody answered.
Elara’s pulse began hammering harder.
“What terms?” she repeated.
The dragon spoke this time.
His voice was smooth. Calm.
Far too calm for a man discussing war.
“The Dragon King has agreed to spare Aurelian from invasion.”
Every person in the room looked relieved hearing those words.
Every person except Elara.
Because dragons never gave mercy freely.
“What does he want?” she asked.
Her father’s jaw tightened.
The dragon’s golden gaze never left her face.
“You.”
The word landed like a blade sliding between her ribs.
The room blurred slightly.
“No,” she said automatically.
Her father stepped forward. “Elara—”
“No.”
She looked at him fully now.
And saw it.
The guilt.
The shame.
The decision already made.
Something inside her began to crack.
“You offered me to them?”
Her father’s expression hardened instantly, retreating behind the face of a king instead of a man.
“I offered peace.”
“You offered your daughter.”
“Aurelian will fall if I do nothing.”
“So you chose me to save yourself.”
A sharp murmur moved through the room.
The dragon emissary watched everything silently.
Her father’s voice turned colder. “Mind your tongue.”
Elara laughed once in disbelief.
Mind your tongue.
As if she were a child throwing a tantrum instead of a woman being traded like livestock.
“You cannot seriously expect me to go willingly.”
“A princess serves her kingdom.”
“No,” Elara snapped. “A king protects his family.”
His face darkened.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Rain battered the windows behind them.
The war table sat between father and daughter like a battlefield already lost.
Finally, the king said quietly, “You know what the dragons do to conquered cities.”
Elara did know.
Everyone did.
Burned villages.
Mountains of ash.
Entire bloodlines erased in dragonfire.
The Dragon King was not merely feared.
He was legendary.
Kaelith Ashdrake.
The immortal ruler of Varethis.
The king who ended wars by annihilating everyone foolish enough to continue them.
Stories claimed he once burned an army alive in under an hour.
Others claimed he drank blood during negotiations.
Most people whispered his name like a curse.
And now her father intended to hand her over to him.
Elara looked back toward the dragon emissary. “What exactly are the terms?”
“You will travel to Varethis,” he said. “You will remain under the Dragon King’s protection as royal consort until the treaty is secured.”
Royal consort.
Not wife.
Not queen.
Something colder.
Possession disguised as diplomacy.
“And if I refuse?”
The dragon tilted his head slightly.
“Aurelian burns.”
The chamber fell silent again.
Elara stared at him.
Not because of the threat.
Because of how casually he delivered it.
As if cities burning alive meant nothing.
Perhaps to dragons, it didn’t.
Her father stepped closer. “Elara, listen to me carefully. Thousands of lives depend on this decision.”
“And what happens to mine?”
“You survive.”
A bitter laugh escaped her.
“That is not the same thing.”
Pain flickered across his face then vanished.
Good.
Let him feel it.
Let him feel even a fraction of what she felt standing here.
Used.
Discarded.
Sold.
“I am your daughter,” she whispered.
“And you are a princess.”
The answer shattered something final inside her.
Not daughter.
Not Elara.
Only princess.
Only useful.
Only expendable.
The dragon emissary watched her with unnerving stillness.
Almost like curiosity.
Elara straightened slowly.
If she cried now, they would mistake it for weakness.
She would rather die first.
“When do I leave?” she asked.
Her father exhaled once in visible relief.
“At dawn tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
Gods.
She looked around the room.
Not one council member could meet her eyes.
Cowards.
All of them.
They would sacrifice her and call it noble because it made them feel less monstrous.
The dragon emissary finally moved.
He stepped toward her with terrifying grace.
Every instinct in her body screamed to step back.
She refused.
Up close, he was even worse.
More dangerous.
More beautiful.
There was something ancient in his face. Something utterly detached from humanity.
“You are brave,” he said.
Elara stared directly into his golden eyes.
“No,” she replied softly. “I’m furious.”
Something flickered across his expression then.
Brief.
Interested.
Then gone.
He inclined his head slightly.
“Prepare yourself, Princess.”
Elara wanted to slap him.
Instead, she said, “Tell your king I hope he enjoys keeping unwilling women in cages.”
A dangerous silence followed.
Several generals looked horrified.
But the dragon only smiled faintly.
It was somehow more threatening than anger.
“Careful,” he murmured. “Our king likes creatures with teeth.”
Then he turned and walked from the chamber.
The doors shut behind him with a heavy boom.
Elara stood frozen.
Her father dismissed the council quickly after that, avoiding her gaze entirely while generals rushed from the room.
Cowards.
Every last one.
Soon only the two of them remained.
Father and daughter.
King and sacrifice.
“You should rest,” he said quietly.
Elara stared at him in disbelief.
“Rest?”
His exhaustion suddenly showed all at once. “You think this was easy for me?”
“Yes,” she said immediately.
That hit him.
Good.
He walked toward the windows, staring out at the storm swallowing the city.
“When your mother died,” he said quietly, “I swore I would protect this kingdom.”
Elara’s throat tightened painfully at the mention of her mother.
“By handing me to monsters?”
“By saving lives.”
She shook her head slowly.
“You could have fought.”
“We would lose.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
He finally turned toward her then, and for the first time she saw fear in his eyes.
Real fear.
“They are not human, Elara. Their armies cannot be stopped. Kaelith Ashdrake cannot be reasoned with once war begins.”
The name sent a chill through her.
Kaelith.
The Dragon King.
The monster waiting for her.
“What happens to me there?” she asked quietly.
Her father hesitated.
And that hesitation terrified her more than anything else.
“I don’t know.”
The honesty nearly broke her.
She laughed shakily and looked away before he could see the sudden sting in her eyes.
All her life, she had known duty came before love in royal families.
But some childish part of her had still believed her father loved her enough not to do this.
How stupid.
“Elara—”
“Don’t.”
Her voice cracked slightly.
She hated that.
“I don’t want comfort from you now.”
Pain flashed across his face again.
But he said nothing.
Because there was nothing to say.
The choice had already been made.
Tomorrow she would be sent across the sea to a kingdom of dragons.
To a king whispered about in nightmares.
To a man who would own her fate completely.
A sacrifice wrapped in silk and gold.
Elara walked toward the chamber doors.
Just before leaving, she stopped.
Without turning around, she asked softly,
“If Mother were alive… would you still do this?”
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
Then finally—
“No.”
The answer destroyed her.
Elara opened the doors and walked out before he could see her cry.
