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My own uncle fed me to hungry sharks when I was only six. Because he wanted me dead. But I survived. At ten, he pushed me in front of raging bulls to kill me. The beasts tore into my face. When I tried to run, my evil uncle caught me. and years passed. Then on my 18th birthday, he did the unthinkable. He decided to kill my father and slit my mother's throat and made me watch. and the time came he sold me to the deadliest man in the realm. the dragon king. five princesses went before me all dead. but what is he planning to do with me , it all started the day two my uncle's guards pulled me by my hair to witness the slaughter of my own flesh and blood. Fists knotted in my hair, dragging me down the corridor so fast my bare feet barely touched the ground. I didn't even know what was happening until I was already through the throne room doors. They threw me down on the marble. I looked up. My mother was on her knees in the center of the room. My father was already on the floor beside her. His hands were bound behind his back. There was blood on his face. His eyes found mine the moment I came through the doors. He shook his head. Just once. Don't. Gareth, my uncle walked out from behind the throne. He was wearing my father's crown. He looked down at me on the floor and smiled. Not the smile of a man who had done something wrong. The smile of a man who had finally done what he always intended to. He stopped behind my mother. My mother turned her head. Just enough to look at me. "Isobel. Take care of yourself. And take care of Myron." She said, the last words from her mouth. "Mother Don’t say—" She held my gaze. She didn't look away. She didn't flinch. And then Gareth drew the blade across her throat in one clean motion. “No….Mother” The word tore out of me before I could stop it. Raw. Broken. My mother dropped. She hit the marble floor face first and I watched the blood spread from her throat in a dark, widening pool. I watched. I had no choice but to watch. “No…..”I screamed at the sight of my mother’s blood dripping on the floor. The sound came from somewhere so deep in my body I didn't know it existed. I didn't even recognize it as my own voice. My mother’s body was lying in front of me. This was the woman who had sat beside my bed every single night I was sick with fever. The woman who had braided my hair and burned her fingers learning how to bake because I had once said I liked sweet bread. The woman who had sacrificed every comfort, every pleasure of her own life to make sure mine was full. I threw myself forward. Both guards yanked me back so hard my shoulders nearly tore from their sockets. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Their hands were locked around my arms like iron clamps, crushing down to the bone. I pulled against them with everything I had — every muscle, every ounce of weight — and I didn't move a little. Not even a little bit. I was screaming at my own body to do something, anything, and my body had nothing left to give. I couldn't even fill my lungs properly. The guard on my left had his forearm pressed across my chest so hard that each breath came in shallow, useless gasps. My mother was face down on cold marble and her blood was touching my knees. I again gathered all the strength left in my body to revolt against them. I was on my feet before I knew I was moving. They hit me from both sides and took me to the floor. My face cracked against the marble so hard my vision went white. My lip split open. My teeth cut into the inside of my mouth. I tasted blood. I didn't stop screaming. From the floor I watched my uncle walk to my father. My father. The man who had fed Gareth from his own table when Gareth had nothing. The man who had given Gareth land, title, soldiers, a seat at every council meeting, a place in our family — when Gareth deserved none of it. Not one piece of it. My father looked at me from the floor. He kept his eyes on mine. His mouth moved. I couldn't hear him over my own screaming. But I knew my name on his lips. I had seen it ten thousand times. Then Gareth drew the blade across his throat too. I stopped making noise. I don't know why. The sound just — left me. Like something inside had shut off entirely. I lay on the marble with a guard's boot pressed into my back and I stared at my father's body. At the blood moving across the floor toward me in a thin, steady line. At the crown sitting on my uncle's head — my father's crown, the same crown my father had worn every day. It was on Gareth's head. The Killer of my parents. Gareth was approaching me with the knife in his hands. He crouched down in front of me. He tilted his head. He looked at my face the way a man looks at something he has just acquired and is deciding what to do with. "Don't cry, It's unbecoming of a princess." he said. I couldn't stop crying. My whole body was shaking so hard my teeth were rattling against each other. I pressed my face into the marble and I cried. I cried until there was nothing left in me and still my body kept going. Then Gareth stood up straight and clasped his hands behind his back. “You should be happy that you and your brother are alive” He said. “Myron?” I whispered to myself. "Your brother fled," he said. "Myron slipped out through the east passage." He said it casually. "Fifteen years old. No weapon. No plan. Just his little legs carrying him into the dark." He threw his head back and laughed like someone had just told him the funniest thing he had ever heard. "He thinks he can escape me. That incompetent little boy actually thinks he can hide from me." He looked back down at me, and the smile didn't leave his face. "I will find him. And when I do, I will drag his corpse back here and drop it right in front of you." "I will make sure you are watching when I do it," he added. "So you understand exactly what happens to everyone you love." He gestured to the guards. They hauled me up. My legs wouldn't hold. They didn't slow down. They dragged me out of the throne room with my feet scraping against the floor, my hands reaching back toward my parents, even though nothing I did would ever bring them back. At the doorway I turned my head one last time. My mother. My father. Both on the cold marble floor. My uncle sitting down on my father's throne with my father's crown on his head. They threw me in the dungeon that same night. “You’re lucky, that you get to live” Gareth had said to me. I knew he kept me alive for a reason. A monster like Gareth does not keep people alive out of mercy. I was useful. I just didn't know how. Not yet. I was soon going to find out. Gareth's guards could come down to dungeons multiple times. They wanted to know where Myron would go. Which of my father's allies were still loyal? Which lords might shelter the true heir of Valmere? I told them nothing. They brought a whip. I told them nothing. They used it until my back was split open in lines so deep I could feel air touching places that had never seen light. I pressed my face into the wall. They used their fists. They slammed me into the wall hard enough to crack the back of my skull against the stone. On the days they didn't beat me, they found other ways. They made me pick garbage from the dungeon floor with my bare hands. Rotting food. Bones. Things I couldn't identify and didn't want to. They threw buckets of animal waste through the bars so that the smell soaked into my skin and my hair and my clothes and never left. So that every breath I took was a reminder that this was what I was worth to them. This was what I had been reduced to. They wanted every minute of my existence to feel like punishment. As long as Myron was out there — free, the true heir of Valmere — Gareth's grip on the throne was not complete. I was the bait. The leverage. The one thing that might eventually draw my brother out of hiding. But that wasn’t it. Myron can’t be the only reason. They wanted Myron. But if that was all they wanted — why keep me fed? Why keep me alive at all when I was clearly never going to talk? I was also something else. I just didn't know it yet. Gareth had a plan for me. Something bigger than a dungeon. Something that went beyond using me as leverage against Myron. But I had decided, I was not going to be the reason he got caught. I had made my peace with the dungeon. With the rats and the darkness and the boots on the stairs. What I had not made my peace with — what I never could have prepared for — was what would happen that night. That night the boots were different. I know every sound in this dungeon. The particular rhythm of the guard who brings the water. The heavier step of the one who brings the whip. These boots I have never heard of before. Two guards. Faces blank. Moving fast. One of them grabbed my arm and hauled me upright before I could speak. My legs buckled. I hadn't stood properly in weeks. He didn't slow down. He dragged me up the stairs with my bare feet scraping against every step. "Where are you taking me?" No answer. At the top of the stairs the second guard finally spoke. "We have a good news for you, dear princess" he said flatly. “What? Have they found my brother?” I asked? “No, even better. You’re being sold” Guard replied as if announcing celebrations. “Sold? To whom?” I asked. None of them replied. I stopped walking. I was in disbelief. The guard yanked me forward and kept moving. "Keep moving," he said. "Or I'll kill you here before the king gets the chance." As soon as I entered the Throne room. The throne room hit me like a physical blow. Light. People. The smell of burning candles and expensive perfume and the particular kind of tension that fills a room when something irreversible is about to happen. I was shoved forward and I hit the stone floor on my hands and knees. I looked up. And there he was. Gareth. That evil man, whom I once called my uncle. The man I had spent every waking moment in the dungeon dreaming of destroying. He sat on my father's throne. Wearing my father's crown. Watching me with that smug, slow smile of a man who has already won and knows it. I had nothing left. No strength. No pride. Nothing but the fire that had been burning in my chest since the day I understood what he had done. I squeezed every drop of moisture I had left onto my tongue and spat at his feet. "You incompetent coward. You had no courage to win the throne so you decided to kill my parents." Gareth gave me an evil smirk. "Save your strength, niece. You are going to need it." His voice was warm. Pleased with itself. He rose from the throne and walked toward me with his hands folded behind his back. He looked down at me the way a man looks at something he has already decided the value of. "The Dragon King has agreed to spare this kingdom." He paused, letting the silence do his work for him. "In exchange for you." The words landed like a stone dropped into still water. Damon, The Dragon King of Drakovia. Every child in every kingdom knew that name. Not from bedtime stories. From warnings. From the way adults dropped their voices when they said it. King Damon of Drakovia. Famous for all the wrong reasons. They said he burned his own palace on coronation night just to show his court what he was capable of. That somewhere beneath that skin was something not entirely human. And his brides. Five princesses. Five kingdoms. Each one walked through the doors of his castle. Not one walked back out alive. No bodies returned. No letters. Just silence — and the slow understanding that marriage to the Dragon King was not a marriage at all. It was an execution with a ceremony attached. And my uncle had just sold me to a monster. Just because he wanted to save himself from someone who was worse than him. I stared up at Gareth. "Why are you doing this?" His smile widened. "You thought I kept you alive to crown you as a princess of this kingdom?" HIs laughter echoed through the entire room. “Well, I am glad we had something that could be some use to the King of Drakovia” "No." The word came out before I could stop it. "No, you cannot—" "I can. And I already have." His voice dropped. I shook my head, scrambling to my feet on shaking legs. "I will die before I go. I will slit my own throat before I let you—" His hand shot out and closed around my throat. He pulled me close. His face was inches from mine. His breath was warm and smelled of wine. "Listen to me very carefully. You are going to marry King Damon. And if you so much as breathe a word of refusal—" He tightened his grip. "I will find Myron. I will hunt him to the ends of every realm. And I will skin him alive. Piece. By. Piece." My brother's name in his mouth felt like a hand reaching into my chest and squeezing. Tears burned down my face before I could stop them. "Do you understand me?" he said again. I nodded. Nodded helplessly. He released me. And I collapsed, gasping, my hands on my knees, my whole body shaking. "Good." He stepped back. "Take her to Lilith. Clean her up. Dragon King Damon arrives at dawn." The guards dragged me away. I didn't have to turn around to know she was smiling. A guard's hand shoved me hard between the shoulder blades and I stumbled through. Before I could even turn around the gate slammed shut behind me. The lock turned with a sound so final it felt personal. I grabbed the bars anyway. Pulled. They didn't move. The sound of the lock. It was the sound of the dungeon door all over again. The sound of every door that had ever been closed on me. The sound of the world deciding I was not worth keeping on the right side of things. I was alone. The air inside was a living thing. It pressed against my skin. It filled my lungs with every breath and made me struggle for my breath. The walls pulsed with lava light. Red. Gold. The shadows moved with it, twisting across the cave floor. I took one step forward. Then another. My thin red dress was already soaked through with sweat. My golden hair clung to my neck and face. "I don't even know what I am looking for," I whispered. My voice died immediately, swallowed by the heat. And then I heard it. A growl! I froze. It came from the darkness ahead. A low, rumbling sound that was less like a noise and more like the cave itself shifting. Like the earth deciding to turn over in its sleep. I looked up. Higher. And higher. And higher still. And finally. It emerged. From the darkness the way a storm emerges from a horizon — not all at once, but in pieces, each piece large enough to be a creature on its own. A claw. Each talon, the length of a man. A leg. Scaled and vast and radiating heat like a furnace door. A neck. Arching down from somewhere in the darkness above, impossibly long. And a head. The size of a carriage. Emerald green scales, each one the size of a shield. Eyes that burned with molten gold — the same exact colour as Damon's. As if the same fire lived behind both pairs. I was finally witnessing A dragon. Not a story. Not a legend whispered in frightened voices at the edges of ballrooms. A dragon. Alive. Real. In the same enclosed space as me, with no gate between us, with no council watching, with no one to call to and nowhere to run. It lowered its massive head. Slowly. The shadows crawled across the cave floor. Its nostrils flared as it breathed me in. Tasting the air around me. Reading something in my scent that I could not understand. The heat of its breath alone was enough to dry the sweat on my skin in an instant. I fell to my knees. Not from weakness. From the simple impossibility of standing in the presence of something this enormous and this utterly indifferent to my survival. The glow started in its chest. A deep, pulsing white that turned orange, then gold. Fire was building in its throat. I could see it. A furnace behind its teeth. Growing. "Please." The word tore out of me before I could stop it. "Please." I don't know who I was saying it to. The dragon. The Moon Goddess. Whatever force in the universe had decided that a girl who only wanted to protect her brother deserved this particular end. I scrambled backward. My hands hit the gate. I pounded on it with both fists until my skin tore. "Let me out! Please! I don't want to—" No one answered. The dragon's tail swept out. It hit me like a wall of solid rock. The force of it lifted me completely off the ground and threw me across the cavern. I hit the cave wall back first and the impact drove every particle of air from my lungs in one brutal instant. The world went white with pain. I hit the ground and couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Just lay there, my whole left side screaming, the cave spinning above me. My hand landed on something sharp. I looked down. A shard of something black and gleaming was embedded in my palm. I stared at it for one disoriented second before I understood. A dragon scale. Green I yanked it out. Blood poured immediately, hot and fast, dripping from my fingers onto the cave floor. The dragon's shadow fell over me. I looked up at it. At those enormous gold eyes bearing down on me. At the fire building in its throat. I was going to die here. In a cave beneath a castle in a kingdom that was not mine, for a crime that was not mine, with my brother still somewhere out there not knowing where I was or what had happened to me. Something broke open in my chest. Not fear. Rage. At Damon standing somewhere beyond the gate. At the council in their crimson robes. At my uncle Gareth sitting on my father's stolen throne. "If you are going to kill me, then do it!" I screamed at the dragon. "Just do it! Get it over with!" I yelled. The silence that followed was so absolute it pressed against my eardrums. The dragon had stopped. It stood completely still, its enormous head tilted at an angle, its gold eyes fixed on me with an expression I had no framework to read. Blood poured from my palm onto the cave floor. The dragon stopped. I thought for one stupid, desperate second that it was over. That something had reached it. That even a creature like this had a limit. I was wrong. The pause wasn't mercy. It wasn't hesitation. It was a predator taking one last look before it finished the job. The fire in its throat changed colour. From white-hot. To gold. It opened its jaws wide enough to swallow me whole. I closed my eyes and thought of the only person I loved, my brother Myron. The next second, I heard a terrifying roar and the world disappeared into fire and light. The dragon breathed fire directly at her. And then—- Will Isobel make it out of the Crucible tonight? — or is this where her story ends? The moment the dragon saw her — when it smelled her blood — what did it sense that made it pause for a while? Five princesses walked in before her. None came out. What fate would Isobel face in this deadly Trial by Fire? To know what happens next, listen to the story, Bride of a Dragon. Available only on Pocket FM app. Download now.

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