Chapter 6: The King’s Choice
King Zain did not look like the old, decaying monster the villagers had described. He was a man in his mid-twenties, toweringly tall, with a broad chest and shoulders that seemed to carry the weight of the sky. His hair was as black as the obsidian throne he sat upon, and his eyes were a piercing, molten gold with slitted pupil.
He wore no heavy crown, only a simple gold band across his brow. His presence radiated a raw, terrifying heat that made the air in the hall shimmer.
The selection process was brutal and blindingly fast.
One by one, the most beautiful maidens of the provinces stepped forward. Girls with hair like silk and skin like snow curtsied, offering sweet smiles and rehearsed poetry.
Zain didn’t even look at most of them.
“No,” he would say, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated through the floorboards.
“Too fragile.”
“Next.”
“No. Her eyes are filled with greed.”
Within two hours, hundreds of candidates had been eliminated. The tension in the room was palpable. Many of the girls were weeping as they were escorted out by the guards, their dreams of becoming queen shattered, though their families would still receive the gold.
“Tamara from the House of Alden,” the herald shouted.
A collective murmur rippled through the remaining crowd. Tamara stood up, smoothing down her simple forest tunic. She walked down the long, black marble aisle with a steady, unhurried pace. She did not tremble. She did not bow her head in fear.
As she reached the base of the throne, she stood before the towering figure of the Dragon King. Zain sat forward, his molten gold eyes locking onto her masked face. For the first time all afternoon, the King did not instantly say “Next.” He stared at her. His slitted pupils dilated slightly, his gaze tracking the line of her throat, her simple clothes, and finally, the stark white leather mask.
Tamara felt a sudden, strange warmth coat her palms. Her skin pricked under his intense scrutiny.
“Why are you covering your face?” Zain asked, his voice dropping into a lower, quieter register that sent a bizarre shiver down her spine.
“They said it brings bad luck, Your Majesty,” Tamara replied, her voice steady and clear, echoing perfectly in the silent hall. “I wore it to spare your court from an unpleasant sight.”
A sharp, mocking laugh echoed from the remaining maidens in the back.
Zain slowly stood up from his throne. He descended the black stone steps, his massive frame towering over her. The heat radiating from him was intense, like standing near a roaring hearth, but to Tamara, it didn’t feel oppressive. It felt strangely comforting.
“I will decide what is bad luck in my kingdom,” Zain murmured.
He reached out a large, calloused hand. The entire room held its breath, expecting him to rip the mask away in rage or push her to the ground.
Instead, his long fingers gently caught the leather strap. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled the mask away, exposing the right side of her face to the bright, crystalline light of the hall.
The dark, ink-black crescent moon was laid bare.
A wave of sharp gasps filled the room. Several maidens covered their mouths in horror.
Zain did not flinch. He did not recoil. He stood perfectly still, staring at the dark mark on her cheek. Then, slowly, he raised his thumb, pressing the pad of his skin gently against the center of her birthmark. His touch was incredibly soft, almost reverent.
A breathtaking, genuine smile broke across the Dragon King’s fierce face. He turned to the high herald.
“Clear the hall,” Zain commanded, his voice booming with absolute authority. “The selection is over. I have decided. It’s her.”
The hall exploded into absolute chaos.
Gasps filled the hall— “The King has chosen… the ugly bride.”