The Dragon King's Prize

Technically, I shouldn’t even be alive. I nearly died three times before I was five years old. When I came into this world I wasn’t breathing and the midwife had to resuscitate me. Unfortunately, they were so focused on me they didn’t realize my mother was bleeding more heavily than she should and she didn’t survive my birth.  The midwife named me, since my mother was no longer able to and my father was away on a hunting trip. My father cared about hunting and gambling much more than he did about his wife or daughter. She named me Renata, meaning ‘reborn’. But most of the nurses gave me the nickname Wren, like the bird, because I was so tiny but I had a huge pair of lungs. As a toddler I became suddenly ill with a violent fever that kept me bedridden for weeks, until a priest was called to deliver last rites. I miraculously recovered by the next morning.  At eight years old, I found out that my father was planning on giving me a pony for my birthday, since all princesses should be delicate riders. I squealed when I saw him, which startled one of the mares and I received a kick to the head. I was unconscious for a week and the doctors were certain I would never wake up, but once again I proved them wrong. After the pony incident my father became paranoid, hiring extra staff to follow me everywhere to make sure I didn’t have any more ‘accidents’. He wanted to make sure I lived, at least until my seventeenth birthday. I was the last descendant of the tiny kingdom of Ambria, which became tiny because my father the King liked to drink and gamble too much, and ended up using much of the land as payment for his debts. After exhausting most of his resources, he only had one thing of value left to put up as collateral. Me. Since I was three years old, I have been promised to Luther, the King of Ulysto, a man thirty years my senior. He visited me once right after I turned fourteen, to check on the development of his future wife. He leered at me and briefly touched my breasts, making a comment about how he liked women with bigger chests, but my face was pretty enough to make up for it. I hated him on sight and shivered in revulsion whenever he was near. Luckily, he only stayed for one night and he was gone the next morning. After he left, I begged my father to let me out of the arrangement, but he informed me that King Luther had been paying my father’s debts all these years and that’s the reason we had been able to keep a roof over our heads. “Please, father, don’t make me marry him. He’s so old! And one of the maids told me that she heard from his cook that he had a temper and his first two wives died very mysteriously,” I exclaimed out of turn. He narrowed his eyes and his lips made a firm line of irritation. “The answer is no. I’m sure there is a perfectly good explanation for their deaths. And you should not be consorting with the help; you are a princess. Do not speak of this to me again,” my father replied coldly. My father wasn’t an evil man; he always made sure I was cared for and well educated and he never raised a hand to me. But he wasn’t a very good father either because all he liked to do was drink and gamble and hunt. He had no idea how to relate to me and had no interest in doing so since I wasn’t a boy. My family became my nurses and tutors, all staff that was hired to be with me, so I never really knew for sure if I was truly loved. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I knew one person who loved me, and not because she was getting paid to; Margaret, my former nanny turned ladies maid. She became my mother’s ladies maid when she married my father and over the years they grew very close. Before my mother died, Margaret swore to her that she would look out for me no matter what. Margaret told me my mother had a special gift, one that allowed her to see brief glimpses of the future. She made Margaret promise to be my guardian if anything should happen to her, and I have to wonder if she knew she wouldn’t make it through childbirth. “Your mother was kind and compassionate, Renata, as you must always strive to be,” Margaret would tell me on a daily basis. Margaret always called me by my full name. She was a generally stern woman, but I knew she cared for me. In between her lessons and occasional scoldings, she would sneak little treats from the kitchen for me and cover for me so I could go riding by myself without my father noticing. She would sometimes get a wistful expression in her eyes when she looked at me. I was supposedly the spitting image of my mother; long golden blonde hair that curled at the ends and striking hazel eyes that would sometimes look a little blue depending on the color I was wearing. I was very petite and slender, which worked in my favor since dresses were made for lithe figures these days. The maids were always commenting on how lucky I was that my figure was ‘in fashion’. I didn’t care, however, I was more comfortable in a tunic and breeches. That’s what I would wear to go riding, which was the only time I felt truly free and happy. Cleo was the horse my father presented to my mother on their first anniversary. She was a beautiful light brown mare with white spots, full of spirit and sweetness. Recently I had taken to riding every day for as long as possible. I knew my time was running out. My seventeenth birthday was two weeks away and I would be sent to King Luther, whom I would marry immediately. I had a feeling he wouldn’t allow me to ride once we were wed. Out on my daily ride, the sun shining bright above me, I begin to push Cleo harder. My frustration at my impending situation spurs me to recklessness and I start to lose control. Cleo is galloping at a dangerous speed across a meadow and my heart starts pounding with fear. If only I got up earlier to ride I would be wearing pants instead of this ridiculous dress. But I was having lunch with my father and I would be cutting it close if I needed to change. Riding side saddle on a horse at this speed was nearly impossible. I try to rein her in but it’s no use; she has had a taste of freedom and she won’t be letting it go any time soon. I let out a strangled scream but in that moment a part of me wonders if death is a better fate than what’s in store for me. As we approach the woods I duck my head down so I don’t get caught on any branches. Out of the corner of my eye I see a male rider on a huge black stallion. He starts towards me and my fear increases.  Who is this stranger on my father’s lands? All of a sudden he is right next to me. He grabs the reins and tugs sharply. Apparently Cleo needs a stronger hand than my own because she slows down immediately.  “Whoa there, girl,” a deep masculine voice soothes.  He must not be all bad if he’s currently saving me from breaking my neck and speaking in a calm voice to my horse, I think. We finally come to a stop in a clearing and I take deep breaths to calm down. I look up at the stranger and my rapidly beating heart nearly stops. He is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Dark chestnut hair brushes his collar and a wayward lock falls over his eyes, which are such a dark brown they are almost black. He has olive toned skin and to me he looks exotic and forbidden. The expression he wears is equal parts amused and irritated, but I straighten my shoulders to let him know I am not intimidated by him. “You have a death wish, princess?” he asks in an arrogant tone. “I certainly do not. And how do you know I’m a princess?” I reply haughtily. “Your clothing gives it away. Only royalty would be enrobed in such finery,” he explains. I look him over, suddenly overwhelmed by how big he is. He is at least four or five inches above six feet, with huge muscles all over his body from his neck to his toes. They are bulging underneath his simple outfit of a tunic and breeches. His boots look very well made, so he’s obviously not a servant. He must be some kind of nobleman. His eyes narrow on me when he catches my inspection of him. A brief moment of lust comes across his eyes, so quick in fact that I tell myself I imagined it. “You need to be more careful. Your horse has a strong spirit and she needs a firm hand. Next time I might not be around to rescue you. Not to mention, there are ruffians that frequent the woods in this area,” he says. I don’t like that he is ordering me around, as if he has the right to. Nobleman or not, I am a princess and he should address me accordingly. “I can take care of myself,” I say boldly. “So I suppose a thank you is too much to ask?” he replies sarcastically. I feel chagrined for my rudeness. Something about his personality brings out a fire in me, but I was not raised to be impolite. “May I have your name, sir? So I may thank you properly?” I ask, making sure my tone is congenial. “I’m nobody you need to be concerned about. Just don’t take chances like this again, else you fall prey to a lesser gentleman than myself,” he warns as he leans his face close to mine. Our thighs are touching, as he still has control over my reins, and I can feel an intense heat coming off his body. His proximity makes my temperature rise and I feel my cheeks flush. “How do I know you’re a gentleman?” I ask. He gets even closer, so that our noses are almost touching. The smoldering look in his eyes makes my breath catch and I’m caught off guard by my intense feelings. He stares at me in such a way that it causes a tingle to flow through my body straight down to my core. I have no idea what he’s about to do next and the anticipation is thrilling and terrifying all at once. He runs his finger down my cheek and traces my jaw and I swear the world stops spinning. “I’m not,” he whispers. Then he abruptly releases me and gallops off into the woods, leaving me breathless.