Married To The Cursed Dragon Lord

Keeley POV:

The cheap carriage groaned to a halt.

Through the grimy window, the iron gates of the Mccarthy estate loomed. The family's dragon crest was intricately carved into the black metal.

My father's butler was already outside, bowing and scraping to the driver of another carriage. That one was lacquered, gleaming, with golden dragon patterns inlaid on its doors. It cast a harsh, mocking light on my own shabby ride.

I didn't wait for the butler to remember his duties and open my door.

I pushed it open myself, the wood protesting with a squeal. My boots hit the gravel, a faint sting shooting up my ankle as I landed. I ignored it.

"Miss Keeley!" the butler called out, his voice a mixture of surprise and disapproval.

I walked past him, my gaze fixed on the heavy oak doors of the main house. The air that hit me as I pushed them open was a suffocating wave of expensive spices and the cloying sweetness of pastries. A warmth I hadn't felt in years, and one that no longer felt like home.

In the drawing room, my stepmother, Marian, and my stepsister, Clarissa, were taking afternoon tea. Their silk gowns, embroidered with elaborate gold-thread patterns of dragon-flames, shimmered in the sunlight. They were the very picture of high-born ladies with dragon blood.

Clarissa saw me first.

She dramatically covered her nose with a lace handkerchief. "What is that wretched smell? Oh," she said, her voice dripping with venom, "it's you, Keeley. You're back."

Her eyes raked over my travel-worn, rough-spun clothes. A contemptuous sneer twisted her lips. "Look at you. And that cold skin of yours. Truly our family's one and only 'cold-blood'."

The term for the Dragonless. The ultimate insult.

I didn't bother responding. My eyes went past her, to the portrait of my mother, Lady Elara, hanging on the wall. Her smile was gentle in the painting. There was a time this house held warmth.

My silence seemed to embolden Clarissa. She stepped closer, her voice a conspiratorial, gleeful whisper. "But you've returned just in time. Father has arranged a splendid match for you. The one and only Lord Cornelius Stark."

At the mention of his name, a collective gasp went through the servants in the room. Fear flickered across their faces.

Clarissa savored their reaction. "Yes, the Lord Stark," she continued, her grin widening. "Cursed with the Dragon-Scale Blight, of course. Not long for this world, they say, and brutally cruel. But he is a Dragon Lord of the House Stark. It's the highest honor a Dragonless like you could ever hope for."

My gaze finally shifted from my mother's portrait. My ice-blue eyes met Clarissa's. I said nothing.

Stepmother Marian gracefully set down her teacup, which was rimmed with dragon-crystal, a luxury our family could barely afford anymore. "Keeley," she said, her tone oozing false sympathy, "it is the family's decision. The bride price from House Stark will solve our recent financial crisis. You should be proud to contribute."

Her words were like vipers, coiling in my ears. Financial crisis? The vast fortune my mother left was what they had squandered.

A cold laugh built in my chest, but my face remained a mask of calm. "Was my sister, Kamilah, also 'contributing' to the family when she 'accidentally' fell from the castle cliffs?"

The names-Kamilah, the cliffs-hit them. Marian and Clarissa's faces paled. Their eyes darted away.

"Silence!" Marian snapped, her composure cracking. "That was an accident! How dare you speak such nonsense here?"

I took a step forward. The raw, predatory energy I projected made Marian, accustomed to a life of soft luxury, instinctively recoil.

"Was it?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the room's perfumed air. "I've returned to find out exactly what kind of 'accident' it was."

My eyes swept over them both, mother and daughter. "As for the marriage," I said, each word a chip of ice, "my answer is no."

Clarissa shrieked. "You dare refuse? A Dragonless refusing a Dragon Lord? Father will break your legs!"

Marian's face hardened. She stood, drawing herself up to her full height, the lady of the manor. "You don't have a choice. The contract is set. You will marry him, whether you wish to or not."

I looked at her hypocritical face and my patience snapped.

The next second, I moved.

Faster than anyone could react.

A flash of cold steel appeared in my hand. The razor-sharp edge of my dagger was pressed against the soft, powdered skin of Marian's neck.

Her body went rigid. The icy touch of the blade stole the breath from her lungs and the blood from her face.

Clarissa let out a short, strangled scream and stumbled backward, knocking over the tea table. Fine dragon-patterned porcelain shattered on the floor.

I leaned in close to Marian's ear, my voice a low hiss only she could hear. "I will say it one more time. My life is mine to command. If you wish to test whether your order is faster than my blade, I would be happy to oblige."

I could feel the violent tremor that seized her body, could smell the fear that overpowered her expensive perfume.

I straightened up, sheathing the dagger as if nothing had happened.

My cold gaze swept over the wrecked drawing room, the terrified servants, and finally settled on Marian's ashen face.

"I will speak with my father tomorrow," I said calmly. "Now, prepare a room for me. As far away from you as possible."

Without another look, I turned and walked toward the grand staircase, leaving their shock and disarray behind me.

Keeley POV:

I was given a room in the most remote attic of the estate. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light from the grimy window, and the air was thick with the smell of mildew.

I pushed the window open. In the distance, the black peaks of the mountains marked the border of the Stark territory, Ironwood. Legend said the very trees there had turned to iron-gray under the weight of the curse.

My gaze swept over the gloomy mountain ranges and settled on the distance. Kamilah-my sister, the only one in this family who had ever brought me warmth. Her laughter, her kindness-all had vanished with the wind, leaving behind nothing but an unsolved mystery and endless grief. I had come here, precisely for her.

From my worn satchel, I took out a small metal case. Inside, nestled in velvet, were rows of herbs that shimmered with a faint light, alongside a set of delicate surgical tools. The tools of Pharmacist X.

My mission was to investigate my sister Kamilah's death. House Stark was my primary suspect. Marrying into the family was the only way to get inside the beast's den. But I had to do it on my own terms.

My thoughts were interrupted by the door being shoved open. Marian stood there, flanked by two servants carrying a wooden chest. Her face was still pale, but her eyes burned with a venomous, triumphant hatred.

She gestured for the servants to open the chest. Inside were my mother's things-jewelry, books, and a small, elegant harp. Lady Elara's legacy.

"I admit, Keeley, you have some brute force and a bit of low cunning," Marian said, her hand caressing the harp. "But in this house, you are still nothing."

She picked up a string of pearls, dangling it in front of me. "Your mother's things. Beautiful, aren't they? But if you don't obediently marry the Lord Stark, these items, along with everything else she left you, will be sold off, piece by piece, to fill the family's coffers. You will have nothing."

The threat was a physical blow. I looked at the items, each one a memory, a piece of my past. It was the only leverage she had over me.

My fists clenched. "You wouldn't dare."

Her smile was victorious. "Watch me. Either you marry him, or you watch your mother's last memories be auctioned off to the highest bidder. The choice is yours." She swept out of the room, leaving the open chest in the middle of the floor like a silent ultimatum.

Not long after, there was a knock. My father, Alistair Mccarthy, stood in the doorway. He was impeccably dressed, but his eyes were tired and evasive.

He glanced at the dagger I hadn't bothered to hide. "Put that thing away. Marian told me everything. You've become a savage."

A cold laugh escaped my lips. "If not for this 'savage' tool, I'd likely be gift-wrapped and on my way to the Stark's dragon den by now."

Alistair sighed, stepping into the room. "Keeley, the family business is in serious trouble. We need the capital from the Starks. This is your duty to the family."

"My duty?" I cut him off. "When I was exiled, left to fend for myself, where was the family's duty to me?"

He was speechless, his face flushing.

I looked at him, my voice flat. "I'll marry him. But I have conditions."

Surprise, then suspicion, flickered in his eyes. "What conditions?"

I held up three fingers. "First, my mother's entire inheritance, including the estate south of the city, is to be returned to my name immediately."

His face changed. "Impossible! That estate has been mortgaged!"

My eyes narrowed. "Then find a way to buy it back. Otherwise, you can explain to the Starks why their bride has vanished before the wedding. I don't imagine a cursed Dragon Lord enjoys being embarrassed."

I continued, "Second, my dowry. It will be half of the Mccarthy family's annual income, paid to me in cash. I want to see the money before the wedding."

Alistair stared at me as if I were a stranger. "Are you mad? The family can't afford that!"

"That's your problem," I replied coldly. "Isn't a 'Dragonless' daughter marrying a Dragon Lord worth that much?"

I held up my third finger. "Finally, the family will cooperate fully with my reinvestigation into my sister Kamilah's fall from the cliffs. No obstruction."

Alistair was silent. He looked at me, his eyes a complex mix of shock, anger, and a weary, powerless acceptance. He knew I was no longer the girl he could easily control.

After a long moment, he spoke, his voice hoarse. "The inheritance... I'll see what I can do. The dowry... it's too much. One-third, at most."

"Forty percent," I countered immediately. "Not a penny less. Or the deal is off."

We finally reached an agreement. Alistair drafted a contract on a sheet of parchment bearing the Mccarthy family's dragon crest, a symbol of its binding legal power in the kingdom.

I signed my name, watching as he stamped it with the family seal.

He folded the contract, his gaze heavy. "I hope you don't regret this, Keeley. Cornelius ... he is not a man you can control."

A cold smile touched my lips. I didn't need to control him. I just needed to use him to find the truth. Then he, and everyone who had a hand in Kamilah's death, could go to hell.

After he left, I went to the window, looking toward Ironwood. I pulled out a worn silver bracelet, Kamilah's only memento she'd left me. I traced the patterns on its surface. Wait for me, sister.

I needed the money. I needed to contact my informant in the black market, Rhys Porter. I needed everything there was to know about Cornelius.

To hunt, I first had to arm myself. Money and land were my weapons.

Keeley POV:

The next morning, after the first transfer of funds appeared in my secret account, I changed into a set of dark, practical riding clothes.

I slipped out of the manor unnoticed, a shadow leaving through a back gate.

I'd "borrowed" a swift horse from the stables and was now racing toward the cliffs where Kamilah had died. They marked the jagged border between Mccarthy and Stark lands.

The official story was that she had argued with someone and lost her footing. I didn't believe it.

I reached the cliff's edge and tied my horse, the wind whipping my hair across my face.

I began to search the area like a hound, my years of survival in the wild and my training as Pharmacist X making my eyes sharp to any disturbance.

Soon, I found it. At the base of a thorn bush, a tiny scrap of fabric snagged on a root. It wasn't ordinary cloth. It bore a specific, embroidered crest.

I carefully plucked it with a pair of tweezers and sealed it in an evidence bag. The crest... a snake entwined with a sword. I'd seen it before, but couldn't immediately place it.

As I stood to leave, a powerful, suffocating pressure slammed into me.

It was a presence that originated deep in the blood, the shadow of a great dragon falling over the land. As a Dragonless, it felt like my very blood was turning to ice.

My body went rigid. I spun around, my dagger already in my hand.

A tall figure stood not far behind me, materializing as if from the air itself. He wore black riding gear, his form straight and imposing. A wide hood shadowed most of his face, but it couldn't hide the aura of cold, solitary power.

It was him. Cornelius. I had never seen him, but that unique Dragon's might, a mix of death and power that belonged only to the Lord of Ironwood, was unmistakable.

Why was he here? A coincidence? Or was he here to clean up the scene?

My heart sank. My grip on the dagger tightened as I fell into a defensive stance.

His gaze dropped to the evidence bag in my hand. From beneath the hood, I felt his eyes sharpen like a blade.

Cornelius didn't speak. He simply started walking toward me. Each step was a hammer blow against my heart, the pressure of his Dragon's might making it hard to breathe.

I gritted my teeth, fighting the instinct to flee. Show weakness, and he would tear me apart.

The moment he stepped into my attack range, I did not retreat-I struck.

My dagger flashed, aiming for his wrist and the evidence bag he was trying to seize.

Cornelius seemed startled that a "Dragonless" would dare resist; a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. But he was impossibly fast, twisting his wrist to easily deflect my blade.

His hand clamped onto my wrist like an iron vise, the force overwhelming, and I could not break free.

Sharp pain shot up my arm, and my dagger clattered to the ground. We grappled.

I threw every fighting technique I knew-kicks, knee strikes, elbows-but my attacks were useless against his brute strength.

He did not seem to want to hurt me, only to subdue me and take the evidence.

In the struggle, Cornelius slammed me against a rock by the cliff edge.

His chest pressed flush against my back, his body heat searing through my thin tunic, making my skin tingle.

I could smell his distinctive draconic scent-cedar and sulfur-an overwhelming aggression. I felt his hand reaching for the pouch. In desperation, I snapped my head back, slamming it into his chin.

Cornelius grunted in pain, and his grip loosened for a moment. That was all I needed. I slipped free like an eel and kicked at his knee. We separated and faced each other again. In the struggle, his hood fell back, revealing his face.

It was a face so handsome it was breathtaking, with lines as hard and cold as if carved from ice. But his skin was unnaturally pale, and his deep gray eyes swirled with a controlled pain and the fury of being disturbed.

My heart clenched.

I didn't press the fight. I feinted, snatched my dagger from the ground, and scrambled back to my horse. I leaped onto its back and galloped away without a backward glance.

Behind me, Cornelius didn't follow. He just stood there, his cold gaze a physical weight on my back.