The Dragon King's Traded Bride のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

"Tessa… if you send me one more report tonight I will move your desk to the parking lot." I could hear her laughing on the other end of the line as I pushed through the glass doors of Weston Headquarters, heels clicking against marble, left hand pressed to the small of my back because everything below my ribs had been aching since noon. "You say that every Thursday, Mrs. Weston." Tessa's voice was warm, unbothered. "One day I will mean it." I shifted my bag on my shoulder, stepping out into the cool night air. "I am going to the clinic then straight home. Do not call me unless the building is literally burning." "And if it is only figuratively burning?" "Then send an email." I hung up, smiling despite myself. Seven months pregnant, three mergers approved in one afternoon, ankles that had stopped being ankles sometime around week twenty-four — still I felt good. Tired the way you feel good, if that makes any sense. The kind of tired that means something. I pressed my palm to my b

You are staring," he said, without turning around. "I am thinking." "About?" "About whether you actually speak to people or just collect them." That made him turn. Slowly, like a man who had all the time in the world and knew it. His eyes found mine across the short distance between our horses and I had to physically stop myself from looking away because looking away would mean he won something and I had not decided what we were playing yet. "I speak," he said, "when something is worth speaking to." "And the eleven women before me were not?" "They were quiet." "You wanted quiet?" "I wanted the opposite." His voice did not change. Not warmer, not colder. Just certain, the way stone is certain. "I waited three hundred years for the opposite." I did not have an answer for that. Which, in my experience, was the most dangerous place a conversation could leave you. He faced forward again. The column kept moving. Cecilia leaned over from her horse and grabbed my sleeve. "My Lady…

"Tell me who is living in that body." The fire crackled between them. Mia kept her eyes on it for three full seconds — long enough to build something, not long enough to look like she was hiding. Then she looked at him. "I had a fever," she said. "About three weeks ago. It took things from me… memories, pieces of who I was. The girl people describe when they talk about Mia Ashveil does not feel like someone I recognise anymore." She watched his face while she said it. He listened, nodded once and said nothing. The silence stretched long enough to be uncomfortable. "That is interesting," he said finally. "Is it." "The girl I met four years ago knew exactly who she was. She wore it like a weapon." He tilted his head slightly. "A fever does not take that from a person… nothing takes that from a person like her." "Maybe it was a very bad fever." "Maybe." He said it the way people say words they do not mean — clean on the surface, something else entirely underneath. Mia held his

He came for her before dawn. She was already awake. She had not really slept, only lain in that beautiful room staring at the painted ceiling, thinking about his hands, the way the candles had blazed, and the word tomorrow delivered in a voice that sat in her chest like an ember. When the knock came, she was already dressed. She opened the door. He was in dark clothing, no cloak, carrying a small torch that burned white instead of amber. He looked at her — already dressed, hair done, completely ready — and something shifted in his expression. “You did not sleep,” he said. “You knocked before sunrise. Did you expect me to?” “I expected you to at least pretend.” “I do not pretend well. You said so yourself.” She stepped into the corridor. “Where are we going?” “Down,” he said. “Stay close.” “You keep saying that.” “You keep requiring it.” She followed him through corridors that grew colder and older with every turn. The stone beneath her fingers changed from smooth and polishe

The witness arrived on a Thursday. Mia knew before Cecilia even spoke. The castle had changed. Not openly, nothing dramatic. But the atmosphere felt tighter somehow, like the entire building was holding onto a secret and pretending it was not. Servants moved faster through the halls. Guards appeared in corridors that had been empty yesterday. Conversations stopped the moment someone entered a room. It was the silence that gave it away most. “A man from the Ashveil estate arrived before dawn,” Cecilia said as she set breakfast on the table. Her hands were steady enough for anyone not paying attention, but Mia noticed the slight stiffness in her movements. “He came with Lord Soren’s escort.” She sat across from Mia without waiting for permission. That alone told Mia how serious this was. “He says he was there the night the real Mia Ashveil died,” Cecilia continued carefully. “He claims he helped prepare the body. He also says Lord Ashveil paid him to stay quiet.” Mia lowered her