The Dragon King’s Chosen Tribute

Tonight might be my last supper.

My father told me I'd been chosen for the Dragon King's Selection, and everyone knew that no one ever came back from it alive.

The great Dragon King wanted an heir. Every year, he demanded that families hand over their daughters. But how could any human woman bear a dragon's child?

I was terrified of dying. But if I didn't go, the next name on that list might be my best friend's. I couldn't live with that. If someone had to be sacrificed, better it be me than someone I loved.

"It is an opportunity to finally bring honor to our family name," Father said, patting his chin with a cloth napkin. "Be thankful, Lyra. You won't be a complete waste in the end."

The dinner table went still. His words hung in the air like a verdict.

My stepsister didn't look the least bit sorry that I was about to die. If anything, her pink lips curled smugly, pale green eyes narrowing over her brand-new matching green gown.

"Oh, Father," she said, glancing at me sideways, "I just can't bear the thought of losing my dear sister." Her voice dripped with mock sweetness.

I dug my nails into my palms beneath the table.

She wasn't even blood, yet "Father" rolled off her tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. My stepmother had brought her into this house ten years ago, not long after my mother died in the fire. The memory still cut deep.

I couldn't sit here and take another second of this. Maybe I shouldn't be spending my last day with family at all. I should be with my friends, the only people, besides my late mother, who had ever truly loved me.

"Don't take it personally, Delilah. You and your sister are nothing alike. You have no shortage of suitors. She may be my blood, but she is worthless as a daughter." Father turned to me then, his tone shifting to the cold, indifferent drawl he reserved only for me, nothing like the warmth he gave Delilah. "Your mother, at least, was beautiful and skilled. You couldn't even inherit half of that."

Delilah pressed a hand demurely over her mouth as if in shock. I could see the smile creeping around the edges.

She was beautiful, that much was true. I couldn't hold a candle to her. My hair hung limp and ashy brown, my eyes the same dull shade, my skin a middling tone that couldn't seem to commit to anything. Delilah had piercing eyes and vibrant red hair and charm to spare.

"The lowest merchant wouldn't want you," Father said, dismissing me with a wave. He chuckled. "Even if I paid him. Your mother would be ashamed."

"Father!" I shoved back from the table and stood. I had reached my limit. "The one thing I know for certain is that my mother loved me. She never once made me feel like I wasn't enough. I used to believe you could love me too. I thought if I worked hard enough at my painting, you might finally see me. But I understand now. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for you."

I wrapped my hand around the locket at my chest, the one my mother had left me.

"You are a disgraced nobleman, Father. Arrogant and selfish, living off the income from my mother's paintings while refusing to admit it. All you have ever seen is what you can gain. You have never once seen me."

"I am choosing to enter the Selection for the people I love, not for your precious family honor!"

My eyes burned. I refused to cry at that table.

I held my head high as I walked down the hallway, keeping my composure until I reached my room and shut the bedroom door behind me. Then I let myself fall apart, collapsing onto the bed.

It didn't matter that my heart was breaking, or that my soul was being crushed beneath the weight of this death sentence. The one man who should have cared whether I lived or died simply didn't.

I cried until the tears ran dry and I could only lie there, hollow, all that fear with nowhere left to go. Even now, the only things that were truly mine were the oil paints tucked beneath my bed. My mother's tools. The ones she had used to create masterpieces that outlasted her.

None of this was fair. All I had ever dreamed of was becoming a painter like my mother. Now I never would.

I lay on my back, staring at the candle chandelier flickering above me, and clutched my mother's locket in both hands. The last piece of her that was truly mine.

"Mom, I'm so scared."

I imagined her beside me. I ached to hear her voice one more time. Eventually I drifted off holding onto that image, and when I woke again, the dried tracks of tears were still on my face.

The bedroom door swung open. Delilah stepped inside, three guards visible in the hallway behind her.

"The carriage is here. From the palace," she said. "This is our last moment together."

"At least that much is a blessing," I shot back.

Her eyes blazed. She grabbed my face and leaned in close, her minty perfume thick around me. "Dear sister. Don't you want to know the truth?"

"Coming from someone whose greatest talent is looking pretty, I'll pass." I said, pulling back.

She held a finger to her lips and wrapped her arms around me, not like an embrace but like a snare drawing tight. "Lyra, you're not Father's only biological daughter."

I went still.

"Father had an affair. With the woman he really loved. My mother."

The nausea hit me fast. She couldn't be my real sister. And yet, as the words settled, so much suddenly made sense. Richard's constant doting on Delilah, as if she truly were his. The way her mother had moved in barely a week after mine was gone, sweeping through every room my mother had ever walked. I had always thought it was grief that made the timeline feel wrong. It wasn't grief. It was guilt.

Delilah laughed softly at whatever she saw cross my face. "Oh yes. You're starting to figure it out." She pressed her lips to my temple and said the last thing I would ever need to hear from her. "Your poor mother spent her last night locked in a room, too."

The world went very quiet.

They killed her. They took her home, her wealth, her art, and then buried what they had done beneath years of ordinary cruelty and sent me away so I could never ask questions.

"And one more thing — you weren't the first choice for the Selection. I was. But Father decided to send you in my place."

The guards seized my arms before I had fully risen to my feet. They dragged me out into the grey morning and threw me into a carriage already crowded with other girls, and I let them, because there was nothing left to do in that house. Nothing left to say.

I watched Delilah through the small barred window as the carriage lurched forward, her hand raised in a little wave, her smile sharp as a blade. She mouthed the words slowly, making sure I could read them.

Farewell, my dearest sister.

I made myself hold her gaze until she disappeared from view.

I couldn't die in the Selection. I had to survive. I had to.

I would come back. And when I did, I would take everything they had stolen, dismantle the comfortable life they had built on my mother's grave, and make Richard answer for what he had done.

I gripped the locket with everything I had and made a silent vow to my mother.

"I will survive."