LOGINLyra
The carriage stopped.
I did not know how long we had been moving, only that the road had gone smooth enough to mean we were inside the inner walls. I held the necklace through my dress and tried to remember my promise: I was coming back alive.
The dragon-livery man opened the door.
I climbed down on my own. I would not be lifted again. The cobblestones of the courtyard were paler than the cobblestones in our town, and the air smelled of cut stone and hot iron.
There were other girls.
A great many of us, all in pale dresses or traveling cloaks, all standing in a loose half-moon along the wall of a square stone yard. One girl was crying without seeming to notice she was. Another was chewing the inside of her cheek and staring at the closed door at the far end of the yard.
A girl near the front was wearing a sapphire on a long chain.
She was tall, and her hair was the color of polished oak, and she stood with her chin lifted. The sapphire at her throat caught the light with a cold blue flash. She looked sure of herself. The other girls had left a small space around her, the kind of space people make for someone they expect to win.
"He's looking for his bride," I heard a girl beside me whisper. Her voice was thin. "They say the true queen can stand in his fire and not burn.The dragon will kneel for her."
"Hush," another one whispered.
I did not look at them. I looked at my own hands. Half an hour ago I had been a girl who promised to live. Now I was a girl who had no plan, no friends in this place, and a knee that was beginning to throb again under its dirty bandage.
A door opened at the far end of the yard.
The man who came out was small and stooped, with a long, papery face.
"Tributes," he said. "I am the chamberlain of the Dragon Court. The first round of selection begins now."
He let the silence settle.
"You will be admitted, one group at a time, into the chamber behind me. Inside the chamber is the King's pet. The rule is simple. Spend five minutes in his presence. If he favors you, you advance. If he does not — well. You will not."
A few of the girls let out small, uneasy laughs. The sapphire girl smiled.
"What kind of pet?" someone asked.
The chamberlain did not answer.
I felt my shoulders drop. A pet. I pictured a hound, a hunting cat, perhaps one of the great striped lions the King was said to keep. A pet I could survive.
The chamberlain opened the door and stepped aside.
The smell hit me before I had crossed the threshold. Hot iron, and beneath it something wilder, something that made the small hair at the back of my neck stand up. I followed the line of girls into a chamber with a high stone ceiling. Iron rings the size of cartwheels were sunk into the floor. From each ring ran a length of black chain.
The chains were attached to a dragon.
It was huge and the color of wet coal. Its scales caught the light when it breathed. Its eyes were yellow. It lifted its head when we came in, and the chains shifted with a long, slow ringing sound, and one of the girls behind me began to make a noise I had never heard a person make before.
I stepped backward until my shoulder blades touched the stone wall. I would stand here, and I would not move, and I would let the five minutes go by, and I would walk out.
The sapphire girl walked toward the dragon.
She walked the way she had stood in the yard, with her chin up. Two other girls followed her, laughing the high, breathy laugh of people who could not believe the thing in front of them was real.
"Don't," I said, quietly enough that no one heard me.
One of the girls reached out a hand.
The dragon's chest swelled. I saw it happen the way you see lightning before you hear it — the long ribs lifting, the throat coloring orange under the scales, the yellow eyes gone narrow.
It opened its mouth, and fire poured out. I went cold.
Not the cold of fear. The other cold. The cold I had not felt since I was six years old. The cold of a room with no air in it, and a wall of flame at the doorway, and knowing the woman calling your name from inside the flame was about to stop calling.
I could not move. The girls were screaming. Two of them were inside the fire. The sapphire girl had thrown herself sideways and was rolling. The girl who had reached out her hand was standing exactly where she had been standing, frozen, her sleeve already smoking, her mouth open.
She was going to die. Something in my body unstuck.
Crossing the floor was a blur. My arm hooked under hers, her breath was wet against my shoulder, the heat came through the side of my dress. I dragged her sideways into the cleared edge of the chamber and shoved her down behind a low stone trough.
Then the dragon saw me. Its head came up off the floor.
The yellow eyes locked on mine, and for one long second the chamber went still. Even the fire seemed to hold itself in place.
Then the dragon launched. The wings unfolded. A wind I felt in my hair. A long black body uncoiling like a whip across the chamber, straight at me, all teeth and breath and weight. The chains went taut behind it with a ringing crack that shook the stone under my feet. The dragon was yanked short in midair, six feet from my face. Its jaws snapped on nothing.
It hung there. It looked at me.
I could feel cold sweat running between my shoulder blades into the back of my dress.
"Five minutes," said the chamberlain's voice. "Round one is complete."
But the dragon did not look away.
LyraMy rest is peaceful. It is like I am resting on a cloud, with cool sheets that caresses my skin and keep me comfortable all night. I don’t have any nightmares, nor am I startled awake. There are no sounds, or snores of other tributes, no fear of being picked on or pushed.The only reason I ever wake up is from the ravenous pang in my stomach; so crippling my eyes snap open as it growls noisily. I blink, my gaze finding Maren who stands with a bundle of linens, gaping at stomach. “Goodness me, Lady Lyra. Is there a bear in there?”I laugh, “It certainly feels like it. I am starving.”Maren sets the linens down and comes to my side, handing me a set of shoes and laying out clothes for today. They are simple, but colorful and well made. Nothing like the rags I am so used to wearing. “Your meal was supposed to be here already; the King had requested the kitchen staff assign someone specifically to make your food. Shall I go ask about it?”“Do you mind if I join you?”Maren smiles, “N
A cold sweat blooms along my skin like an allergic reaction. The mere size of him is intimidating; nothing like a human man. I struggle in his hold, trying to step away, yet I am yanked from my room. The door slammed shut behind me before I was pushed against it. I swallow, shifting against his cock; my movement causing him to groan.This is bad. Worse than his size is the legend that comes with coupling with a dragon. From all the ancient warnings and history books, it has been described as having sex with molten lava. I can already feel his heat overwhelming me. I struggle again, “I apologize, your Majesty.”His grip becomes iron and he presses into me; pinning me to the door. “Hold still.”I swallow, unable to stop the final twitch that shifts my hips away from him. Yet he only chases me, lips coming to my ear to growl, “Hold. Still.”Butterflies burst in my stomach, their ravenous wings sending shivers to my core. His breath is hot against my neck, the smell of him overwhelming my
LyraI lie atop this cloud like bed, staring at the crystal chandelier hanging high above my head. I am beyond overwhelmed. Maren rushes about the room, procuring a night gown and linens to dress me; which in itself is just... odd. I’ve always dressed myself.I can’t seem to find the words to properly express how poorly my plans have gone. I shouldnt be here. I should've been passed over as queen. I should have snagged that procurement job and looked for the right chance to flee. Revenge on my father seems so unattainable, now. His betrayal of me, of mother, burns in my gut like hot coals.Yet I am stuck here entertaining this asinine idea of being a “true queen.” Insanity, all of it. Maren clears her throat, holding up a simple white gown that will stop at my knees. “come, my lady, let us get you suited for the night.”A sigh escapes my lips as I force myself to rise, trudging over to stop before her feet. I catch a frown gracing her pretty mouth and I can already hear how grateful I
LyraMy sleep is restless. It is filled with the red glow of fire. I dream of my mother, her hand around mine as she pulls me through town. Flames roar all around me, consuming buildings and businesses, uncaring of the homes or the people within them. I dream of her death—of the fire that rained upon her from above, like a divine retribution against her very existence. I dream of her screams, of her flesh bubbling and boiling before falling off her bones. This dream reveals more to me now, however. The other shouting around me, the fire that streams from above in relentless arches, claiming the townspeople below just as they claimed mother.A disater I had forgotten. But here it is, reeling behind my eyes like a bad movie, reminding me even as I sleep that her death was bizarre. Random and unnatural.My eyes snap open, hair sticking to my damp face as my chest heaves with deep breaths. I hate that dream's appearance, but it often comes once a month. Only this time, it revealed so much
ZarekI frown as I miss the button hole for the fifth time. It has been quite awhile since I dressed myself. I dismissed all my maids to assist with preparing for the banquet, yet I never imagined I would struggle with such a simple task so. My hands shake; something animalistic twitching beneath my skin. As if wondering why I bother with clothes at all.Cinching my eyes shut, I stave off a wave of nausea. I don’t plan to linger tonight, just long enough to perform some simple tests and hopefully filter out who is most likely to be the true queen. I’ve racked my brain for hours trying to decide how to go about such a task. At first, I thought of a trial by fire—something safe, like holding a match to their hand. But then I remembered the Prophets' words, that The True Queen would merely be able to bear him an heir. There is no such assumption that she will be immune to the flame—She could very well burn to death.That was enough to toss that idea quickly. The only sure way to know is
LyraThe work is grueling; continuing on far into the night as I scrub and press and wash everything in sight. Eventually we do make out way to the main hall, where guests will enter and be guided to the ballroom. The head maid is relentless, nit-picking my work to the point that I wonder if I ever truly knew how to clean.I can’t blame her for her sour attitude, however. No matter how much my joints ache as I begin sweeping the entryway rug. I deal with it silently, not willing to cause her more trouble. When I think about the pain she’s in, my heart tightens to the point that I can’t breathe. My mother experienced that pain for more than a minute. But the maid? She experiences it every day. Grueling aches that I can see disturb her as she grabs an ointment and rubs it beneath her mask. From the smell, it’s a numbing agent.So, I bear my burdens quietly. Changing tasks with ease, redoing my work without protest—just to help however I can. During my time, however, I catch bits of info







