Chosen by the dragon kings Mga Nobela at Kwento

And in the final battle, beneath the shattered moons and the dying sun, Zenobia made her choice. She knew she could not kill him. But she could contain him, so summoning the last of the White Dragon’s strength, she called forth the ancient rite of sealing—a forbidden art passed down from the first dragons themselves. Kal laughed at her, even as the chains of light wrapped around his limbs.

Rhazion roared in pain. Verath flinched. Without warning, the First King stepped forward. The earth trembled. Its enormous head lowered until it was level with him. “The choice returns.” “What choice?” The ancient dragon’s voice grew solemn. “The same choice that ended the First Age.” Images flooded Elara’s mind. A woman with silver-violet magic. A dragon of golden fire. A shattered sky. A terrible battle. Sacrifice. “No…” she whispered. The First King looked directly at her.

The elves in the room look at me, then back to Yhen. “And which are you, King Yhendorn?” the fat, pompous king asks. “That depends on which side you take, King Llewel. If you fight with us, my mate and I will be powerful allies. If you are against us, then you will be at the dragons’ mercy. The dragons have been ready to go to war ever since Kenzo was improperly claimed by King Faeler. We convinced them to give us time to find an alternate solution. They’ve been more than patient and, in that time, two more dragons have been claimed improperly. Now, the royals who touted the practice of using their troupes to claim a dragon have been killed. The dragons are done waiting and frankly, so am I.

The hall went dead silent. Kaelan walked right through the terrified crowd, heading straight for me. The notorious, ruthless Dragon Chancellor looked at me with a rare softness in his eyes. A faint smile even played on his lips. But the next second, that smile died. His eyes locked onto the glaring blood on the back of my hand. And that humiliating shoe print. Instantly, the golden slit of a dragon flared deep within his ocean-blue eyes. "My mate." His voice, a low growl, echoed in the hall.

I growl, annoyed at the fact Mallard left the door open and this idiot has now ruined my fantasy. “Your father wants to see you.” I nod, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I watch as he bows before turning around, “And close the door on your way out.” The door closes and I exhale sharply- what now? I know my father is anxious about me being able to produce an heir, but I am doing everything in my power to make sure it happens by the deadline. By dragon law, I need to have one in the next five years if I want to continue my rule, if I do not produce one, my insane brother could try to claim the throne, and no one would want that.

she said "Wow.. it like am the only peasant in this competition and I thought it was for anybody no matter your status" Rosy stated " Yes it bias right? But that obviously not what the king wanted" Maria said " How would you know" Rosy asked. " Forgotten my father is his the right hand man? He bring juicy details home, the king wanted it to be so but what had he expected living the decision of choosing the girls up to his elders" she sigh " they had obviously choosed a lady for their best interest and the king his far to unconcerned about such things" she said " you were obviously choosen as last minute decision since it was discovered that Laila was already pregnant, so be careful" she warn

She got down and then continued her search. As her hands tapped across every book, flipped through some, reading their titles and seeing if they could help, she couldn't stop thinking. The Choosing Ritual had been in existence for as long as she could remember. Each year, every lady between the ages of 18 and 27 who was neither married nor pregnant was presented during the ritual. Seven of them would be chosen by the Dragon King as Potential Brides; they would leave with him to the castle, and then after some days or weeks, six would return.

I saw it in his shoulders not defeat, but strain. “They made you choose,” I said quietly. “Yes.” “And?” His eyes softened when they met mine. “I chose Red Moon,” he said. Relief flickered in my chest. “But,” he added calmly, “Red Moon includes the alliances that keep it strong.” I studied him carefully. “You showed them.” “I reminded them.” He placed a hand gently over my stomach. “I will not rule from fear,” he murmured. “Not of war. Not of elders. Not of ghosts.”

The silence lasted exactly long enough to be an answer. "We believe so," Drex said from the window. His voice was very careful. "We cannot prove it. But the probability of the Flame Keeper bloodline being drawn from the covenant bowl in the same century that the curse on the king's dragon reaches critical acceleration—" He stopped. "It is not a coincidence we are comfortable accepting." I was not comfortable accepting it either. I had been chosen. Not randomly. Not by the indifferent hand of fate reaching into a bowl of three hundred names. Chosen deliberately, by someone who knew what I was and had decided the time had come to collect me.

he insisted, and then turned to me "It's up to Khez to decide" they looked at me seriously as they waited for my answer. I looked carefully first in case someone would break down and give a sign "Let's go" I said and chose the left direction. They did the same they followed my choice. I was in the lead and they were behind me Is this really right? As my breath went in the direction I had chosen life got here it was not just a simple choice if not a serious choice of life decision.