Awakening Love: Reborn to Be His Dragon Bride

SERAPHINA POV:

"... to bestow the hand of Miss Seraphina of House Hayes upon the esteemed Crown Prince of our kingdom, His Highness Damien Beaumont-Carlisle..."

The Royal Herald's voice boomed, but the words warped into a dull roar in my ears.

This was no dream. The massive dragon-bone chandelier hanging overhead, casting a soft, pearlescent glow, was real. The air, thick with the scent of wine warmed by dragonfire and the mingled musk of the Dragon-born nobility, was real.

And the memory clawing its way up my throat—the icy chill of the dungeon, the metallic tang of my own blood, Damien's handsome face twisted in a cruel smile as he watched me die—that was real, too.

I was back.

The herald took a breath, preparing to utter the final, binding words of the royal decree.

My gaze sliced through the glittering crowd, locking onto him. Damien. He stood with a few Half-Blood dragon lords, a smirk playing on his lips. The dragonfire patterns on his tunic, embroidered with the golden thread reserved for the Dragon-God Blood alone, seemed to mock me from across the hall. It was a sign of his pure, royal blood.

He felt my stare and his eyes met mine. The smirk widened, full of the same dismissive ownership that he'd worn in my past life, right before he'd ordered the guards to break my fingers.

A cold, sharp hatred, pure and potent, surged from the pit of my stomach.

No. Not again.

"... I now pronounce this betrothal—"

"Wait!"

My voice wasn't loud, but in the suddenly silent hall, it cracked like a whip.

Every head turned. Hundreds of pairs of eyes-shocked, confused, scandalized-fixed on me. A Dragonless girl, an orphan from a fallen house, daring to interrupt a royal announcement at the Dragon King's own feast. It was an unheard-of transgression.

Damien's smile froze, melting into a mask of disbelief and offense.

I ignored the weight of their judgment, the invisible pressure that threatened to crush me. I lifted the hem of my simple gown and walked forward, my steps steady.

I stopped before the dais and sank into a deep curtsy before the throne. "Your Majesty."

King Alaric Beaumont-Carlisle, a formidable monarch of the Dragon-God bloodline, leaned forward on his throne, which was carved from a single, massive piece of dragon-crystal. His brow furrowed. "Miss Hayes," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Do you have any idea what you are doing?"

I kept my head bowed, my voice carefully pitched to sound both timid and utterly resolute. "Forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty. But... my heart already belongs to another."

A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Everyone in the capital knew of my years-long, humiliating "infatuation" with the prince. This was unthinkable.

Damien's face was now a thundercloud of fury. He thought this was a game, a foolish, desperate ploy for his attention. The insult was palpable.

Queen Eleanor Sinclair, seated beside the king, let out a cold, delicate laugh. Her jeweled nails tapped against the armrest of her throne. "Oh? And who is this paragon you've set your heart on, to make you refuse the affections of the Crown Prince?"

I lifted my head, letting tears well in my eyes, but my voice was clear as a bell.

"I admire the Lord of Ironfang Keep," I declared. "Lord Gideon Beaumont-Carlisle."

Dead silence.

The name fell into the hall like a stone into a frozen lake. Gideon. The King's younger brother. The Warlord of the North. A hero who had single-handedly turned the tide of the last great war.

And now, a man who lay in a coma, his Dragon Core dormant after a devastating injury. A living statue.

They were all looking at me like I was insane. To give up the glorious, powerful Crown Prince for a man who might as well be dead?

Damien's expression shifted from anger to sheer, incredulous disbelief. He actually laughed, a harsh, barking sound filled with mockery.

I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the King. "I swore an oath in my heart long ago. I will marry no man but Lord Gideon. I know he is gravely wounded, but I will dedicate my life to caring for him, to being by his side. Until he wakes, or until my own life ends."

My "impassioned" speech, grounded in the sacred tenets of loyalty and oath that dragons held so dear, gave the King pause. He couldn't fault the logic, however insane the choice appeared.

Damien's laughter died in his throat. He was finally realizing it. This wasn't a joke. This wasn't a ploy.

I was actually choosing his broken, useless uncle over him.

A strange, unfamiliar emotion flickered in his golden eyes-not just rage, but a flash of something that looked like panic.

The King exchanged a look with the Queen. I could see the political calculus turning in his mind. The marriage of a minor, Dragonless girl was a small price to pay for a display of "deep affection and loyalty" that would soothe the restless factions still loyal to his war-hero brother. It was a good trade.

Damien started to speak, to object, but a single sharp look from the King silenced him.

Finally, the King spoke, his voice heavy with a complex mix of emotions. "Since your heart is set, and you have sworn it on your life... I will grant your wish."

The massive weight on my chest lifted.

I had done it. I had changed the first move on the board.

I thanked the King again, my voice trembling with relief, and turned to walk away from the dais. As I passed Damien, I didn't even grant him a glance. I could feel the heat of his rage radiating off him, a palpable wave of dragon-fire that promised retribution.

Let it.

I stepped out of the grand hall and into the cool night air. Behind me lay the glittering, venomous pit of my past. Ahead, a future unknown, but finally, blessedly, my own.