The Dragon Prince's Branded Bride: From Family Shame to Imperial Throne

Elaine POV:

"Keep that pathetic look off your face. Tonight is your sister's wedding, and do not embarrass House McFarland," my father, Ellery, hissed as he halted three paces away from my worn wooden carriage.

As a retired commander of the Dragon Guard, the half-blood gold badge on his chest gleamed brightly, yet he looked at me as if stepping closer would rot his boots.

I had just pushed open the carriage door when a deafening roar split the sky. A freezing wind rushed at me, carrying the royal capital's signature scent-and then a massive red-gold dragon descended, its wings swallowing my shadow in darkness.

Here, the Dragon-born ruled the skies while the Dragonless like me crawled in the dirt, forbidden even to wear scale-patterned silk. I ducked against the scorching gust of its landing, fingers twisted into my coarse skirt to keep my knees from shaking under the bloodline pressure.

At the palace gates, two Dragon Guards in red-gold scale armor crossed their halberds, their eyes raking over my scentless body with open disgust.

Their eyes reminded me of five years ago, when I was drugged by my stepsister Jaye and her friend Brittnie, framed with a forged phantom stone, stripped of my name, and then cast out into the desolate wilderness. To this day, I still have no evidence to prove my innocence.

I just needed to survive tonight and slip away from this man-eating court until I could clear my name.

I sucked in a slow breath and stepped over the glowing dragon-core threshold-the line of absolute power in the court. The glare made my eyes water. Inside the grand hall, nobles draped in gowns woven with dragonfire thread held tall dragon-crystal goblets. The moment my plain boots touched the floor, the chatter died.

Dozens of mocking stares pressed down on my shoulders like heavy iron weights, thick with the suffocating scents of high-ranking dragon breath.

Jaye glided toward me in a dazzling red-gold scale-patterned wedding gown, clinging to her bridesmaids. Her laugh echoed through the quiet hall. "Look who decided to grace us with her presence. The pride of our family."

Beside her, a noble matron waved a feather fan in front of her mouth, raising her voice on purpose. "Is that the Dragonless girl who left those filthy recording stones at the Royal Academy? How does she have the nerve to show her face in the capital after five years of exile?"

I locked my spine straight and dug my fingernails into my palms, refusing to look at their gleeful faces.

Brittnie Moses stepped out from the crowd. As a favored half-blood noblewoman, she wore a heavy white lotus perfume that turned my stomach. She reached out and grabbed my hand warmly. "Elaine, it is wonderful that you could make it to the wedding."

I yanked my hand out of her grip, catching the flash of smugness in her eyes. "Do not touch me. Your perfume is choking me."

Brittnie's face crumpled. Tears welled up instantly, and she stumbled back with a gasp, clutching her chest as if I had struck her.

The murmurs turned into an uproar. Before I could react, a young Dragon Knight lunged forward and seized my shoulder, yanking me back hard. My heel caught on the hem of my gown, and I went down-straight toward the marble corner of the fountain behind me.

I hit the stone floor hard. Pain shot through my hip and elbow. My vision blurred.

"Hold her still," someone snarled. The same knight stepped forward, his hand raised for a second, heavier blow-

"That is enough, ser."

Jaye's voice rang out, sweet and placating. She stepped between the knight and me, her hands raised. "Please, good knight, forgive my sister. She has had too much to drink and does not know what she is saying. I will take care of her-there is no need to trouble yourself further."

The knight hesitated, then bowed and backed off, muttering.

Jaye crouched beside me, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "Do you think you are still the lady of this house? You are worth less than the mud on my shoes now." She smiled sweetly and reached out to help me up. Loud enough for the crowd, she said, "Poor sister. Let me help you up."

I ignored her hand. I had just gotten to my feet when the air in the hall suddenly changed.

The massive bronze doors groaned open, and a wave of pure, suffocating dragon breath flooded the room. The air was thick with sharp cedarwood laced with the scent of raging fire. It hit me like a physical blow, and my chest seized.

Every noble in the hall froze. Chairs scraped back. One by one, they dropped to one knee, heads bowed.

My movement stalled, my heart pounding violently against my ribs.

Brittnie noticed. She tilted her head, a slow, cruel smile spreading across her lips, and murmured low, "That expression... Do you think a ruined, nameless thing like you still has a chance at rekindling old love?"

She smoothed her gown and lifted her chin.

"Know your place, Elaine."

Elaine POV:

Pressed against the cold stone pillar, I leaned out just enough to look over the bowed heads of the kneeling nobles toward the bronze doors.

Grant Walters strode into the hall. As the Dragon Marshal and crown prince of the realm, he wore a black military uniform stitched with pure gold dragonfire thread, his heavy boots ringing against the floor. Through the collar of his coat, a pure gold dragon core pulsed over his heart-the mark of Dragon-God blood. His cold gaze swept across the crowd without pausing on a single face as he headed toward the high table.

I pulled back into the shadow, my chest heaving under the crushing weight of his pure-blood aura, dragging up memories of the boy I used to watch from afar five years ago.

Before I could catch my breath, Jaye strolled toward my corner clinging to the arm of a tall man. His oily voice slithered through the air. "So this is your exiled sister?"

My head snapped up. The second I saw his face, my blood turned to ice. It was Preston-Brecken Humphrey-the vassal half-blood knight from the recording stone nightmare who had drugged and cornered me in that locked room five years ago.

A sickening grin stretched across his face as his eyes dragged slowly over my damp, plain dress.

My stomach violently twisted. The hall began to spin, and a high-pitched ringing drowned out the music as the old terror seized my throat.

I shoved past a startled servant, hiked up my skirt, and bolted blindly through a small side door leading into the palace gardens.

The wet night wind slapped my face as I stumbled into the unlit courtyard. My boot caught on a mossy stone, and I pitched forward into a wall of solid muscle.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but the thick scent of cedarwood and roaring fire filled my nose, freezing me in place.Grant had clearly slipped out of the hall before the toasts began, retreating to the quiet of the gardens rather than endure the court's flattery.

Grant's hand clamped around my wrist like an iron shackle, hauling me upright before I could hit the ground.

The instant his bare skin touched mine, a jolt of raw electricity shot from his fingertips straight into my chest. A violent tremor shook me down to my bones. I gasped and looked up, crashing straight into a pair of dark gold eyes that had contracted into vertical dragon slits.

The night air around us seemed to catch fire. My skin burned, and my heart hammered wildly against my ribs. I had read the ancient scrolls in the marches-this was the Fated Flame, the one-sided recognition where a Dragon-born's soul locked onto a Dragonless mate.

Grant's throat bobbed hard. The pure gold dragon core beneath his uniform flared with blinding light, illuminating the shock on both our faces.

A low, gravelly growl vibrated from deep in his chest, and he spoke a single word in ancient Dragon Speech. "Mine."

Panic surged through me. I twisted my arm to break free, but his grip tightened until my wrist bones ground together.

He yanked me against his chest, his tall frame caging me in. Lowering his head, his nose brushed along my jaw to the side of my neck, inhaling my scent in deep, ragged breaths. Inside him, I could feel the terrifying roar of his dragon soul demanding total possession, stealing the last bit of air from my lungs.

The side door creaked open, and a group of laughing nobles spilled out onto the garden path.

The wild heat in Grant's golden eyes vanished, replaced by icy disgust. He flung my wrist away as if I were covered in filth and took two long steps back.

"What are you doing out here?" His voice was flat and brutal.

I rubbed my bruised wrist, forcing down the racing pulse in my throat. "It is my stepsister's wedding, Lord Marshal."

He stared down at me, his jaw tight with revulsion. "The First Dragon must have lost his mind to bind a disgraced Dragonless whore to me."

His words felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, killing the strange warmth in my chest.

I lifted my chin and looked straight into his golden eyes. "Rest assured, I consider it a curse too."

From the doorway, Brittnie's sweet voice called out Grant's name.

Elaine POV:

Before I could smooth down my wrinkled skirt beside the balustrade, a crowd of nobles searching for the crown prince poured through the garden archway.

Brittnie spotted me standing in the dim light, then looked at Grant's rigid back. A vicious glint flashed in her eyes.

She threw a hand over her mouth and raised her voice. "Good heavens, Lord Marshal, why were you alone in the dark with this... unclean woman?"

Every head in the courtyard whipped toward me, and a wave of nasty whispers rose over the hedges.

Grant halted and turned around, his golden eyes narrowing with cold disdain as he looked at me.

I straightened my back and stepped into the torchlight, staring Brittnie down. "I was merely passing through. Keep your filthy imagination to yourself."

The Grand Elder of the Elder Council stepped forward, leaning heavily on his dragon-bone staff. His sharp eyes locked onto the golden glow still fading beneath Grant's collar. "Lord Marshal, that light from your dragon core just now... was it the Fated Flame?"

Dead silence fell over the garden. Not a single noble dared to breathe.

Grant's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. Keeping his eyes fixed on my face, he raised his right hand. Pure white, sacred dragonfire erupted across his palm.

Speaking in ancient Dragon Speech, his voice rang out over the courtyard. "I, Grant Walters, swear by the dragonfire to reject you, Elaine Mcfarland, as my fated mate!"

Even without a dragon soul, the broken bond tore through my chest like a giant invisible fist crushing my heart. A muffled groan escaped my lips, and my knees buckled, slamming hard onto the freezing paving stones.

Cruel laughter burst from the crowd. Jaye's shrill voice cut above the rest. "Did you hear that? Even the Crown Prince refuses to touch dirty trash!"

I bit down on my lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, refusing to let them hear me cry out.

Just as Grant curled his fingers to close the white flame, a booming voice carrying absolute royal authority thundered from the upper terrace. "Halt!"

King Reginald descended the broad stone steps, flanked by Royal Guards restraining eight snorting gray-scaled drakes. Upon the king's brow sat the Dragon Crown, forged from the First Dragon's core. It flared with blinding golden fire, its ancient pressure slamming down on the courtyard until every single person-including Grant-was forced to their knees.

Reginald stopped in front of his son and looked down. "Take back your oath, Grant."

Fighting the crushing weight of the Dragon Crown, Grant forced his head up through gritted teeth. "Father, she is a ruined Dragonless outcast! She is not worthy of the Dragon Queen's seat!"

Reginald let out a cold laugh and slammed the butt of his scepter against the flagstones. "The will of the First Dragon is law! If you complete this rejection tonight..."

The king leaned down, dropping his voice so only the three of us could hear. "You will never wear this Dragon Crown."

Grant's slit pupils shrank to pinpricks. His hands balled into white-knuckled fists against the stone floor as he stared at his father.

For the throne he had bled for his entire life, Grant squeezed his eyes shut and crushed the white dragonfire in his bare palm.

Breaking the rejection ritual mid-oath triggered an immediate backlash. Grant's shoulders jerked, and he coughed up a mouthful of bright golden blood onto the stones.

The surrounding nobles stared in stunned silence. None of them had expected the supreme Dragon King to force a royal marriage with a disgraced commoner.

Reginald turned his cold, calculating gaze down to me. "Prepare yourself. Three months from now, on the Night of the Sacred Flame, you two will be wed."

Kneeling on the cold stone, I stared at the burning golden crown above me. A suffocating wave of dread washed over me. I could not marry a tyrant who hated my guts and would gladly strangle me in my sleep.

Bracing my hand against the stone balustrade, I hauled myself to my feet and bowed my head to hide the defiance in my eyes.

Grant wiped the golden blood from his chin with the back of his glove and stepped close to me. "You won," he whispered, his voice dripping with murder. "But I will make your life a living hell."

I raised my head and met his murderous glare with a mocking smile. "Then I will see you in hell, Your Highness."

Across the courtyard, Preston raised his crystal goblet toward me with a slow, hungry smile.