The Ruthless King's Possession:Fated To The Untamed Beast

The carriage rattled slowly over the cracked stones of Kallistar’s oldest roads, each turn of the wheel echoing like a countdown. Inside, Elianna sat perfectly still, back straight, eyes forward. To any passerby, she looked composed—elegant, even. A porcelain figure of royal resolve. A princess heading toward duty.

But inside… she was splintering.

Tears slid silently down her cheeks, hot and steady. She didn’t sob. Her shoulders didn’t shake. She just cried—quietly, like someone who had already accepted the pain, tucked it away, and sealed it behind her ribs. Her fingers clutched the edge of her dress so tightly, her knuckles blanched. As if she could hold herself together through sheer force of will.

You’re doing this for them, she reminded herself. For Mama. For Papa. For Elliot. For Kallistar.

Still, her chest ached with a kind of sorrow she couldn’t name. She had never left home before—never woken up without the smell of her mother’s bread or her brother’s quiet footsteps down the hall. Now she was being sent to a kingdom that saw humans as ornamental at best—disposable at worst. Where she would be bartered like coin in a game she barely understood.

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, though her voice trembled and her heart knew better.

When the tears threatened to betray her strength, she wiped her face with quick, precise fingers and sat straighter. No one could see her like this. No one must know how scared she was—how alone she felt inside her silence.

The carriage rattled over the uneven stone path, every jolt echoing through the hollow space like a warning. It was an ornate thing, cloaked in black, drawn by armored steeds that barely snorted with the effort of their pace. The emblem of Qombinia—a dragon coiled around a dying sun—gleamed from the carriage’s frame like a silent threat.

Inside, Elianna sat motionless, her legs crossed neatly, hands folded in her lap. Her cloak was drawn close, her head high. To an observer, she would appear like a noblewoman on her way to a palace, but Elianna felt nothing of the sort. She wasn’t being escorted—she was being delivered.

And she knew it.

Outside the carriage, the world passed in streaks of gray-green. Mist swallowed trees, shadows shifted behind brambles. It might have been beautiful if it hadn’t felt so final.

She wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. She had been, days ago, when they told her where she was going—what she was being offered as. Fear had burned through her, fierce and cracking, until it ran dry. Now, only numbness remained. Not broken, just... sharpened. As if her soul had folded in on itself like steel to survive the fire.

Whisper stirred beside her—her silver-furred cat, a sleek creature with eyes like polished onyx. He curled against her thigh, half-buried in the folds of her cloak. His steady breath, his warmth, were the only anchors she had left.

She lowered her hand and stroked her cat gently. "I don’t know why he chose me," she murmured. Her voice was soft, barely a sound. "I’m not special. 

The cat purred.

Elianna tilted her head, leaning it against the plush interior wall. It was quiet inside, save for the wheels grinding and the wind whistling through the seams. She closed her eyes.

Qombinia.

The name alone conjured a thousand fears. The land of dragons. The kingdom of monsters. A realm where humans were not merely unwelcome—they were hunted. Despised. A place so fiercely guarded by its immortal king that history books called it cursed. She remembered the words of her teacher, the trembling hand that pointed to the jagged mountain ranges etched in ink:

“They kill humans, even if it means they die with them.”

And yet... that was where she was headed.

She opened her eyes again, staring at the ceiling of the carriage. It didn’t make sense. What could they want with her?

She clenched her fists slightly, her eyes narrowing. 

But the wheels turned.

She exhaled slowly, letting her thoughts drift—dangerously, guiltily—to the dream. The one she never dared speak aloud.

Since she was five, the dream had come. Always the same. Always the man.

Red eyes.

Eyes that glowed like rubies buried in ash. They followed her everywhere—in forests, in palaces, in temples of mist and gold. The world around him shifted each time, but he remained. His face was always hidden. But his voice... his voice was made of smoke and hunger.

And his hands—

They knew her.

She shouldn’t remember the way they moved over her dream-body. How they made her feel carved out and reformed at once. How his lips never touched hers, but she woke feeling like they had. How he breathed against her neck like a secret lover. How she would arch in his phantom arms, gasping for air she could never find.

Even now, the memory of it flushed her cheeks. She didn’t understand what it meant—only that no one had ever made her feel anything like that. Not in the waking world. 

Would she ever see him outside of her dreams?

And if she did—would she recognize him without a face?

A sudden jolt of the carriage brought her back. She blinked. Her hand was clenched around the edge of the seat. Her chest rose and fell with quiet intensity. And across her lap,she reached for her cat. 

She reached to pet her again, grounding herself in the rhythm of his breath.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, though no one had asked.

The fog outside was thicker now, curling in like breath from something ancient. The road twisted. Somewhere beyond the hills, Qombinia waited.

Hours passed. Days blurred. The world outside the carriage shifted in a soft, continuous hush. No bandits. No interruptions. Just the hush of turning wheels and the whisper of wind.

Until the land began to change.

The soil blackened like cooled ash. The trees grew taller, twisted, ancient—limbs like claws stretching toward the sun. Strange birds with bright blue eyes blinked down from gnarled branches. The air thickened, pulsed with a quiet pressure beneath the earth, as if something immense slept just below the surface.

She leaned forward, pushed aside the curtain.

The carriage continued its grim path forward. 

Her head rested on Eliana’s lap. The rhythm was familiar. Calming. A lullaby she had known since childhood, when the creature first appeared and never left. Liri was no ordinary cat—she sensed emotion, danger. Sometimes, Eliana felt Liri understood her more than any person ever had.

Eliana adjusted the veil over her head. A sheer fabric that settled softly across her face.

They were on the final road to Qombinia—the Land of Dragons.

Even now, the name filled her chest with awe. As a child, she had heard stories whispered between scholars, tales passed in corners of old libraries, shared by a tutor. 

The Dragon Realm. 

It had always felt like legend. A kingdom above the clouds, wrapped in storms and shadow, guarded by ancient creatures and older laws. No one she knew had ever been there. No one had returned with certainty.

But now, she was being taken to its heart.

To him.

The Dragon King.

They said he was not a man.

They said he was a god.

And worse—they said he hated humans.

Her stomach tightened. What did she have to offer a being older than empires? One who saw mortals as dust? Rumors claimed he had turned cities to ash for simply approaching his domain. He was cold. Distant. Cruel.

And she was being offered to him like a token.

Still, Eliana did not tremble.

She had accepted her fate.

Whatever waited on the other side of this road, she would meet it. Quietly. Steadily.

The road darkened.

Clouds overhead swirled into violet patterns, glowing faintly. The trees shimmered like crystals. The ground beneath them shifted—soil turning to stone etched with old runes. Magic buzzed under the wheels.

She closed her eyes.

And the dream came again.

---

It always began in silence.

She stood barefoot in a field of mist. Gold and ivory light danced through the fog. Her breath rose in soft puffs. The air felt thick with memory.

Then came the sound.

Wingbeats. Gentle. Deep. Like thunder softened by time.

The mist parted.

A dragon soared above her.

Golden. Massive. Timeless.

His wings spread like veils of light, his scales glowing like molten jewels. His eyes—ancient gold—watched her. When they met hers, something stirred deep inside her. Recognition. Longing.

He circled once, then descended.

She didn’t move. Her heart raced, but her feet stayed still. She had seen this moment a hundred times before.

The dragon landed. Quiet. Graceful. His breath stirred her veil.

From the shadows, a figure emerged.

Tall. Hooded. Cloaked in black.

Red eyes.

She never saw his face. It was always hidden. But his presence was familiar. As if she had known him always.

He approached. Slowly.

The golden dragon watched in silence.

She raised her hand. The stranger took it.

His touch was warm. His fingers closed around hers, light as air, sure as fate.

He stepped behind her. One hand over her heart. One on her waist.

No words.

Just silence.

And closeness.

And the feeling that he had waited for her through lifetimes.

Each time, she tried to speak.

And each time—she woke.

---

Her eyes opened.

The carriage crossed a narrow bridge. Beneath ran black water, glowing with strange light. Above them, the sky flared with Qombinia’s twilight—clouds drifting backward, stars shining in daylight.

Eliana touched her veil. Liri stirred.

"Almost there," she whispered.

The cat flicked her tail.

Ahead, the city rose.

Qombinia.

Mountains loomed in the distance—jagged peaks like obsidian spears piercing the sky. Rivers of glowing lava wove between black cliffs, steaming and alive. The sky wasn’t quite blue—it shimmered like glass, fractured and veined with hidden light. Along the narrow stone path ahead, statues of dragons rose from the earth like sentinels, their ruby eyes glittering in the fading sun.

It was haunting.

And beautiful.

And terrifying.

This was a kingdom ruled not by mortals, but by something older. Wilder. A place where time bowed its head and men forgot their pride.

A kingdom of dragons, she thought, her heart stuttering. This is their world now.

It climbed a mountain carved by dragon claws. Towers spiraled like horns. Rooftops shimmered with dark stone. Fires floated in midair, held by magic. Dragons flew overhead, watching in silence.

At the center stood the palace.

The carriage slowed as the forest thinned.

Before them rose the gates of Qombinia—massive, towering things of black stone and molten silver, carved with dragons that writhed and shimmered as if alive. Flames flickered behind their open mouths. Eyes of emerald, ruby, and sapphire seemed to blink as Eliana’s carriage approached, like the gates themselves were watching her.

Her breath caught in her throat.

This was no simple kingdom wall—this was a threshold between worlds.

She leaned forward slightly, veil stirring as she peered through the carriage window. The road beneath them had transformed entirely—no longer stone, but a path of ancient glass, veins of glowing red magic running beneath the surface like lava sealed under crystal. The trees around them had vanished, replaced by towering spires of obsidian and floating lanterns held aloft by invisible magic.

The carriage came to a stop just before the main gates. Liri stirred in her lap, tail twitching.

“princess,” the coachman called softly, the first word spoken since they entered the outer rim of the realm.

She nodded, her fingers briefly tightening around Liri before setting the cat gently on the velvet seat. With careful grace, she stepped down from the carriage.

And paused.

The air was warm and humming with energy. Everything glowed. Every stone, every flame, every breeze seems to carry intention. And she—veiled, quiet, alone—stood before it all like a question waiting to be answered.

Four men approached in silent formation, armored in black dragon-scale, their faces hidden behind silver masks shaped like snarling beasts. One of them carried a scroll; another, a velvet-lined box. None spoke.

They bowed low, as if to a queen, though she had no crown.

One of them extended a gloved hand.

She placed hers in his.

As he led her forward, the others flanked her sides.

She glanced back once—toward the carriage, toward the life she had left behind. But the mist had swallowed it. There was no going back.

Only forward.

Through the gates of the dragons.

---

They entered a corridor carved through a mountain's heart, lit with floating orbs that dimmed and flared as she passed. The path twisted upward, every inch adorned with ancient murals—winged beasts, battles fought in the clouds, flames and kings and something older than time itself. She couldn’t look away.

And yet—despite the grandeur, despite the awe—Eliana felt calm.

Or rather, she held it tightly inside her, like a shard of glass hidden behind silk.

She had just turned seventeen that winter.

But she walked with the manner and poise of a grown woman—elegant, composed. She was a diamond among charcoal. Her pale skin glowed faintly under the lantern light, and her movements, even beneath the weight of her cloak, were fluid and graceful.

Her face remained hidden beneath the veil, but her beauty was undeniable in her bearing alone. Her presence stilled even the flames.

She did not speak. She did not ask questions.

---

They emerged into an inner courtyard surrounded by towers that seemed to scrape the sky. Dragons—real dragons—perched on ledges far above, their wings folded, their glowing eyes trained on her in silence.

One let out a low, rumbling breath.

She felt it through her chest like thunder.

Then a new figure stepped forward.

He was tall, with striking silver hair tied back with a leather band, and piercing crimson eyes that shimmered like embers beneath the evening sun. No mask. No armor.

Unlike the others, he smiled faintly.

“Princess Elianna of Kallistar,” he said, voice deep and steady, like thunder kept on a leash. “Welcome to Qombinia.”

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. He was looking at her—not like a man glancing at a noble guest, but like a beast who had just caught the scent of something unfamiliar.

His eyes lingered on her veil.

“I am Kaelith,” he continued. “Earl of the Kingdom. I’ve been sent to escort you to the palace.”

Still, she said nothing. Her heart was a drum against her ribs. This is the Earl? This is the one who serves under the Dragon King?

Kaelith tilted his head slightly, one brow rising. “Are you going to sit there and stare all day,” he asked, “or will you step down, Your Highness?”

Heat rushed to her face.

She blinked, breath catching in her throat as she rose slowly, willing her legs not to tremble. The veil fluttered as she moved, and for a heartbeat, his gaze dropped—not to her face, but to the line of her neck, the shape of her form beneath the cloak.

A flicker of something passed through his expression. Curiosity. Or something more dangerous.

She placed one gloved hand on the edge of the carriage door. Her knees felt weak. But she stood straight. She would not falter. Not here.

Her cat—a sleek, midnight-black creature with bright amber eyes—slipped from beneath the carriage and curled against her leg. Whisper. Her silent companion. His touch brought her back into her body, grounding her. She exhaled slowly, a faint smile ghosting beneath the veil.

Her maid stepped down next, carrying the luggage with practiced ease, silent and dutiful.

Kaelith’s eyes flicked back to her. He took a step forward, close enough that she caught the scent of him—smoke, cold iron, something unnameable and clean. Her fingers tightened around the door.

He studied her—not rudely, but with quiet intensity. The veil. The stillness. The silence.

Then he murmured, almost to himself, “Why does she hide behind that veil?”

She heard it.

“I went through the courtyard, away from the guards, toward the palace's inner halls. As they walked, he glanced at her veil and frowned slightly.

“No one told me you would be veiled,” he murmured.

“It was my choice,” she said, voice soft but steady.

His brow arched slightly. “Interesting. Most are eager to show their face before a king. Especially… this king.”

“She tried to banish the thought of him from her mind—but the deeper she pushed it, the more his imagined presence seeped in. A shadow with gold eyes and fire-laced breath. Why did the idea of him make her skin prickle, not just with fear... but something else? Something she didn't dare name.”