Chapter 2

The Mad Dragon King

The wagon smelled like wet wool, rusted iron, and old horses.

Evelynn sat in silence between two armed soldiers as the wooden wheels rattled violently over the frozen road. Every bump sent another sharp ache through her back.

Nobody apologized.

Again.

Outside, snow-covered forests stretched endlessly beneath a darkening sky. The farther they traveled from Ardenshire, the emptier the roads became.

As if even travelers avoided the northern routes.

Toward dragon territory.

The iron cage fixed over the wagon windows didn’t help her mood either.

Apparently, sacrifices traveled like criminals now.

One of the guards across from her snored loudly, mouth hanging open.

The other kept glancing at her like she might suddenly grow claws.

Idiots.

Evelynn leaned her head against the cold wood and closed her eyes.

Three days.

Three days since her name had been announced in the square.

Three days since her entire life had been ripped away.

No clinic.

No home.

No future.

Only snow, chains, and a road leading north.

Toward a monster.

The wagon suddenly slowed.

Voices drifted from outside.

“We stop here for the night.”

A tavern.

Evelynn smelled smoke before she saw the building.

Warm light glowed through frost-covered windows ahead, cutting through the dark forest road like a beacon.

The sign above the door swung violently in the wind.

THE BROKEN STAG.

One of the guards grabbed her arm.

“Don’t cause trouble.”

Evelynn looked at him flatly. “Where exactly would I run?”

The man opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

Smart choice.

Inside, the tavern buzzed with low conversation, clattering mugs, and the smell of roasted meat. Heat rushed against Evelynn’s frozen skin so suddenly it almost hurt.

Several people looked up the moment the soldiers entered.

Then their eyes landed on her.

The iron cuffs around her wrists explained enough.

The room quieted.

Not completely.

Just enough.

Like everyone suddenly remembered something unpleasant.

The innkeeper frowned. “What’s this?”

“Royal business,” one guard muttered.

That ended the conversation immediately.

Nobody liked royal business.

Especially this close to dragon territory.

Evelynn sat alone at a corner table while the soldiers occupied themselves with ale and greasy stew. Nobody offered her food until an older serving woman silently placed a bowl in front of her.

Potato soup.

Thin.

Mostly water.

Still warm.

Evelynn looked up softly. “Thank you.”

The woman hesitated before speaking.

“You’re the tribute?”

Not

who.

The tribute.

Like she’d already stopped being human.

Evelynn gave a small nod.

The woman’s face tightened with pity.

“That poor child…”

Before Evelynn could answer, laughter erupted from the bar.

A group of northern mercenaries sat crowded around a firepit, already drunk.

One of them slammed his mug down.

“I’m telling you,” the man barked, “the Dragon King tore the servant in half himself.”

Someone scoffed. “That’s bullshit.”

“It isn’t.”

“You saw it?”

“No,” the mercenary admitted, “but my cousin served at Black Citadel.”

That name instantly lowered the noise level nearby.

Even the soldiers listened now.

The mercenary leaned closer dramatically.

“They say the king’s gone mad.”

A cold draft slid down Evelynn’s spine.

Another man snorted. “Dragons are all mad.”

“No. This is different.” The mercenary lowered his voice further. “Something’s wrong with him.”

The fire cracked loudly.

“He stopped attending the imperial court months ago. Locked himself inside the upper palace.”

“Probably killing servants.”

“Worse.”

The man pointed toward the north.

“They say his dragonfire won’t stop burning.”

Silence.

Even Evelynn found herself listening now.

The mercenary continued.

“One maid walked into his chamber last winter.” He swallowed. “Nothing left but ash.”

Someone cursed under their breath.

Another crossed himself.

One of the royal soldiers muttered quietly:

“I heard he slaughtered three of his own generals.”

“Five,” another corrected.

“No,” said a third voice near the fire. “Seven.”

The numbers kept growing with every retelling.

Like all good monster stories.

Evelynn should’ve ignored them.

But she couldn’t stop listening.

Because soon…

those stories would become her reality.

The mercenary took another long drink before continuing.

“They say the Dragon King hasn’t slept in years.”

“Impossible.”

“He’s cursed.”

That word lingered heavily in the room.

Cursed.

The mercenary leaned back.

“My cousin said sometimes you can hear him screaming through the palace walls.”

A nervous laugh followed.

“Drunk nonsense.”

“You think so?” The mercenary smirked darkly. “Then explain this.”

He reached into his coat and tossed something onto the table.

A blackened metal crest.

Burned almost beyond recognition.

“Palace guard insignia.”

One soldier picked it up carefully.

The edges looked melted.

Like someone had held it inside a furnace.

“That came from Black Citadel?”

The mercenary nodded slowly.

“They found it fused to a stone wall.”

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

Then one of the older soldiers quietly said:

“I heard the king no longer looks fully human.”

Evelynn’s eyes flicked toward him.

The soldier stared into his ale.

“Gold eyes. Black scales under the skin. Sometimes claws.”

Another muttered:

“Sometimes wings.”

The tavern fell silent again.

Outside, the wind howled against the windows.

Evelynn looked down at her untouched soup.

Suddenly she wasn’t hungry anymore.

The serving woman returned quietly to collect empty mugs.

As she passed Evelynn, she whispered:

“If you can run… run.”

Evelynn almost laughed at that.

Run where?

There was nowhere in the kingdom dragons couldn’t reach.

Especially him.

One of the guards suddenly stood.

“Enough stories.”

His voice carried forced confidence.

“We leave at dawn.”

Nobody argued.

Because nobody wanted to keep talking about the Dragon King after dark.

The soldiers eventually retired upstairs, leaving only the dying fire downstairs.

Evelynn remained awake.

Sleep refused to come.

Her eyes drifted toward the far wall of the tavern.

Toward the faded mural hanging above the fireplace.

She hadn’t noticed it earlier.

A painting.

Or what remained of one.

Most of it had been scorched black.

But she could still make out fragments beneath the burn marks.

A massive dragon spreading its wings over a burning city.

And beneath it—

a man standing in fire.

Tall.

Crowned.

Golden-eyed.

Someone had tried to destroy the image.

Deep claw marks slashed through the king’s face.

Evelynn stared at it for a long moment.

Then quietly asked the innkeeper:

“What happened to the painting?”

The old man behind the counter didn’t look up while cleaning a mug.

“Travelers burned it.”

“Why?”

This time he met her eyes.

Fear flickered there.

Real fear.

“Because they said looking at him too long brings bad luck.”

A log collapsed in the fireplace.

Sparks burst upward.

For one brief second, the ruined mural almost looked alive.

The Dragon King’s golden eyes seemed to glow beneath the scorch marks.

Watching her.

Evelynn quickly looked away.

Outside the tavern windows, somewhere far beyond the mountains—

something enormous roared through the night.