The Dragon King’s Chosen Tribute のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

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 jus

Zarek’s POVAlistair, my steward, entered my room right as the clock struck six. Punctual as ever.Without waiting for me to address him, he announced, “The first set of this year’s tributes are waiting just outside, your majesty.”I flicked my fingers, voice cold, “Let the first one in.”Sometimes, I wondered why I even bothered. Alistair bowed out of the room and I sat heavily on the bed to wait.Clasping my hands together, I leaned forward, considering the stone tiles of the chamber floor. How many timid humans had skittered in over those tiles and run out again? How many foolish girls had burned themselves on my skin?This will end like all the others. Why even bother?My head ached with the ever-present reminder of why I had to go on.I may have ruled this country for centuries, but I’d yet to obtain what I needed most: an heir.Only three of us remained and I was running out of time.Not one human could ever know that I was under a curse. I’d laughed off the idea myself, at firs

Lyra’s POVHeart pounding in my ears, I slipped back into my dormitory, practically throwing myself into bed and shucking my shoes to pretend I had been sleeping the whole time. None of the soldiers or guards had noticed me on the way in.I must have gotten away with it.Stilling my harsh breathing to fake sleep, eventually, I fell asleep for real.At dawn, we awoke to a chaos of running servants and stone-faced guards.One servant slipped into our room, shaking Abigail awake and meeting my gaze with wild eyes.“You all must get up and out into the hall,” she babbled frantically as she all but pulled Abigail out of bed. “The King is furious. Someone- he’s looking for a tribute. Someone must have angered him last night. Get up. Up, up, up.”She nearly fell, trying to dash out of the room, but I caught her by the arm so she wouldn’t hit the ground.“Are you alright?” I asked, steadying her before I let go.“Alright?” she echoed, voice tight, “The last time the king lost his temper, he k

ZarekMy knuckles ached as I squeezed the hilt of my blade—it was all I could do to stop the tremors. I remember nothing. A gap in my mind that cuts out after speaking to my steward. I asked for a tribute, yet as he left my curse consumed me—blacking out all my thought, my purpose. Falling to my curse means that death rained upon my citizens, my servants. Before I have killed over thirty people. Thirty lives snuffed out. I've stolen parents and siblings from their families and I fear I have done so again.My mind is wild—frantic to catch up, to assess my surroundings. What frightens me most is the senseless death at my own, crazed hands. It would simply mean I am yet another step closer to becoming the mindless animal that is my dreaded end.My blade trembles, its edges brushing against the pale neck of the woman beneath me. Her breaths are quick, eyes bouncing from the knife to my face. I recognize her.She is the one who helped me the other night, who halted this curse as I experien

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