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 ice-blue 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.

SERAPHINA POV:

The carriage rattled over the cobblestones, the rhythmic clatter a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. The King's permission had been spoken only, a fragile thing that could be rescinded. I needed it in writing, etched into a formal contract, before anyone could change his mind.

I closed my eyes, forcing my breathing to even out, and began to map out my next steps.

The royal messenger arrived at Hayes Manor the very next morning, carrying the official marriage contract. My stepmother, Beatrice, stared at me as if I'd grown a second head, her face a mask of forced smiles as she greeted the King's man.

I signed my name, the ink bleeding slightly on the parchment. Seraphina Hayes. From this moment on, I was the betrothed of Gideon Beaumont-Carlisle.

The moment the messenger was gone, Beatrice's smile vanished. "Are you mad? To throw away the Prince for a cripple?"

"It was my choice," I said simply.

Arguing with her was a waste of breath. I turned and walked to my room, leaving her fuming in the grand entryway. This place had been a prison in two lifetimes. Soon, I would be free of it.

For the next few days, I feigned illness and kept to my room, preparing for the wedding. I needed to be strong for whatever awaited me at Ironfang Keep.

I let my mind drift back to the darkest days of my past life. After Damien had grown bored of me, he'd thrown me in the dungeons. I was starving, broken, waiting to die.

Then Gideon had appeared. He had woken from his coma not long after I became Damien's bride-a miracle I'd only heard of from inside my cell.

He was just passing through on an inspection, a towering figure of quiet authority. He'd seen me huddled in the corner, a pathetic heap of rags. He didn't say a word. He just paused, looked at the guard, and nodded toward me. The guard, terrified of him, had grudgingly pushed a piece of clean bread and a cup of water through the bars.

It was a small kindness, a meaningless gesture to him. But to me, it was the only warmth I had felt in that endless, freezing darkness.

That was why. This life, I would protect him.

A few days later, I "ran into" Damien in the palace gardens. He had regained his usual arrogance, his tone dripping with condescension.

"Have you had enough of this little tantrum? It's not too late to regret it."

I looked at him, truly looked at him, and felt nothing but a distant pity.

I didn't even bother to reply. I simply sank into a perfect, formal curtsy and turned to leave.

My utter dismissal ignited his fury. He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. "Seraphina, do not test my patience."

I met his blazing eyes, my own calm and cold. "Your Highness, I must ask you to unhand me. I am to be your aunt."

His face went pale, then red, then a mottled, ugly purple.

I pulled my arm free, turned my back on him, and walked away. I could feel his murderous gaze burning into my spine.

Back in my room, I took out a pen and paper and wrote a letter to the royal chamberlain, formally requesting that my wedding date be moved up. I couldn't bear to stay in this city, to breathe the same air as Damien, a moment longer.

The request was approved with surprising speed. It seemed the King was also eager to put this embarrassing affair to rest.

The wedding was set for three days' time.

When Damien heard the news, he flew into another rage. He saw it as a challenge, a public declaration of defiance. He was on his way to confront me again when the Queen physically blocked his path, warning him that if he continued this obsession, he would make the entire royal family a laughingstock.

The date was set. My escape was imminent.

DAMIEN POV:

My rage was a physical force, coiling through me until my hands shook with it. I'd shattered the goblet before I even registered reaching for it-the priceless dragon-crystal shattering against the floor, the shards biting into my palm. I watched, almost detached, as drops of my golden blood, pure-blood and bright, soaked into the plush carpet.

I could not accept it.

The woman who had followed me like a shadow for years-who had worshipped the ground I walked on-had publicly humiliated me. And for what?

For him. My uncle. My half-dead, comatose uncle rotting away in that northern fortress.

My attendants knelt on the floor, trembling, too terrified to even breathe. Good. Let them fear me. I wanted to tear the room apart.

The door swept open and my mother entered, her gaze raking over the wreckage with open disapproval. "All this, for a Dragonless nobody?"

"She is not a nobody!" The words tore out of me, raw and ragged. "She is mine!"

I froze even as I said it. Mine. The word had slipped out before I could stop it, and it startled me more than I cared to admit. Since when had I ever felt that way about her?

My mother scoffed, utterly unimpressed. "She is about to become your aunt. Damien, control this ridiculous pride of yours. It's obvious what this is. She's playing games-trying a more dramatic tactic to win your attention."

Of course.

The thought hit me like cold water, and suddenly I could breathe again. That had to be it. That was the only explanation that made sense. She was being clever. She was playing hard to get.

The fury in my chest eased, replaced by a savage satisfaction. I would be magnanimous. I would let her play her little game. And when she came crawling back from that dreary northern fortress, begging for my forgiveness, I would teach her a lesson she would never forget.

SERAPHINA POV:

On the day before the wedding, I had to go to the palace to finalize the ceremonial details with the royal staff. I chose my route carefully, trying to avoid any chance of encountering Damien.

But fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor.

I turned a corner into a long, sunlit corridor and there he was, leaning against a marble pillar as if he'd been waiting for hours. He looked tired, with faint shadows under his eyes, but his gaze was as arrogant as ever.

He pushed off the pillar and blocked my path. The servants in the hall scurried away, bowing their heads.

"You're really going to marry that waste of space?" he asked, his voice laced with scorn.

I looked up at him, my expression freezing over. "Your Highness, I'll thank you to watch your tongue. The 'waste of space' you refer to is your own uncle, a decorated war hero who bled for this kingdom, and my future husband."

He blinked, taken aback. The meek girl who had once trembled at his slightest frown was gone. In her place was this stranger with a spine of steel and a tongue like a razor.

"You..." He was so angry he was sputtering. "Seraphina, do you think this little act of rebellion is impressing me? I'll admit, you have my attention. Now, call off this absurd wedding. Come back to me, and I can pretend none of this ever happened."

I looked at his handsome, self-assured face, and a laugh escaped my lips. It was a soft sound, but it was filled with an undisguised, pitying sort of amusement. How could I have ever loved this foolish, egotistical man?

"Your Highness, you seem to be under a grave misunderstanding." I tilted my head, my voice sweet, the words themselves pure venom. "I love Lord Gideon. It has only ever been him. As for you... I'm sorry, but you have never occupied any place in my heart."

His pupils contracted. The blood drained from his face, leaving it a stark, waxy white. My words, I knew, were a dagger forged of Dragonslayer Gold, aimed directly at his pride. It was the one thing that could truly wound a dragon.

"You're lying!" he hissed, his control snapping. He lunged forward and seized my wrist, his grip so tight I felt the bones grind together.

A sharp pain shot up my arm, but I refused to cry out. I just stared at him, my eyes like chips of ice. "Your Highness, a man and a woman should not have such contact. Especially when you are gripping the arm of your future aunt. It would be detrimental to your reputation."

"Shut up!" His breath came in ragged gasps, his ice-blue eyes burning with a furious, wounded fire.

Just then, a calm voice cut through the tension. "Damien. Let her go."

We both turned. Lord Julian stood a few paces away, his expression gentle but firm. As a member of the royal family and a known friend of Gideon's, his presence carried weight.

Damien reluctantly released my wrist, his jaw tight with resentment.

I rubbed the angry red marks on my skin and gave Julian a small nod of thanks. "Lord Julian."

Julian nodded back, then addressed Damien. "The King is looking for you in the study. Don't disgrace your title as Crown Prince out here."

Damien shot me one last look, a look that promised murder, before spinning on his heel and stalking away.

Watching his retreating back, I felt nothing. This was only the beginning.

"You didn't have to provoke him like that," Julian said with a sigh, his kind eyes filled with concern.

"Sometimes, a clean break is the kindest cut," I replied softly. "I don't want to give him any false hope."

After thanking Julian again, I continued to the Office of Rites. During my meeting with the chamberlain, I made one final, calculated request.

"Traditionally, the bride is escorted to the wedding ceremony by a high-ranking male member of the royal family," the old man explained. "Usually, that would be-"

"I know," I interrupted gently. "May I request a change in the escort?"

The chamberlain looked startled. "Who did you have in mind, my lady?"

I smiled. "I would be honored if Lord Julian would escort me. As Lord Gideon's friend, I'm sure he would be happy to do so."

The news spread through the palace like wildfire. It was the final, public humiliation. I had not only rejected Damien, but I had also stripped him of the last shred of dignity the ceremony would have afforded him as my former betrothed.

I heard later that when the message reached him, he was so overcome with rage that he coughed up blood and collapsed, taking to his bed with a sudden, violent fever.