The Dragon Warlord's Silent Bride

DIANA’S POV

Two hours after they left the Third Watchtower, the first ash hound entered Diana’s camp without making a sound.

They were still south of Blackharrow’s border, with Diana’s carriage near the center of camp beside a supply wagon. The horse lines ran behind them, fires marked the outer ring, trees crowded the western side, and a low ridge rose to the east.

Diana saw the creature through the carriage window.

It moved close to the ground, smoke leaking through gaps between its ribs while its eyes reflected the campfires with a dull red glow.

Its low, uneven gait made it look injured until a Northern guard turned and the ash hound struck him before he could shout.

His scream woke the camp.

”Attack!”

Alma dragged Diana away from the window as steel left its sheaths outside. Horses fought their lines, men shouted positions, and Raigoro’s voice rose clearly above the confusion.

”Form around the carriages. Archers to the ridge.”

Something slammed into the side of Diana’s carriage hard enough to shake the door in its frame.

A soldier forced it closed from outside and held it long enough for the latch to catch.

”Remain inside, Your Highness.”

Claws scraped across the roof.

Diana pressed one hand against the dragonstone at her throat.

The scar beneath it had started burning before any creature reached the carriage.

An ash hound leaped over the nearby supply wagon just as Daric drove a spear through its chest. The creature twisted around the weapon and snapped for his arm while fire spread across its back without consuming it.

Alma dragged a travel chest against the carriage door.

Diana moved to the opposite window and saw a young page running between the horses with spare arrows clutched against his chest.

He could not have been older than twelve.

A frightened horse struck the supply wagon beside the carriage.

The wheel broke under the impact, and the wagon overturned before the boy could escape.

He disappeared beneath it.

Diana struck the glass.

No one heard.

The Northern soldiers had formed a line against the hounds coming from the trees, leaving no one close enough to reach the wagon before another creature climbed onto it.

A small hand appeared beneath the broken wheel.

Diana pointed toward it, and Alma understood what she intended before she reached the door.

”No.”

Diana reached for the door.

”Princess, no.”

The title irritated her even now.

Princess Selena had been ordered to remain protected.

Diana had spent years learning when obedience kept a person alive.

The boy cried out.

The ash hound lowered its head toward his trapped hand.

Diana shoved the travel chest aside.

”Grand Duke Raigoro ordered us to remain here,” Alma said.

Diana looked at her.

Alma already knew what she intended.

”You cannot save him if you die beside him.”

No soldier could reach the boy in time.

Diana opened the door.

Smoke and shouting rushed into the carriage.

A dead ash hound burned beside the steps, forcing Diana to jump over it as she ran toward the overturned wagon.

Alma followed, muttering a curse Diana had heard only twice before and both times because of Odran.

The ground shook beneath running horses and armored feet.

Diana had no weapon, and Selena’s traveling clothes were nearly as useless for fighting as her wedding gown. Her skirt tangled around her legs, while the veil narrowed her sight until she tore it away from her face.

The ash hound lowered its head.

A lantern lay on its side between the carriage and the wagon. Its reservoir had cracked, spilling a line of oil under the broken wheel, though the wick still burned behind the glass.

Diana snatched it from the mud.

The creature turned toward her.

The dragonstone pulsed once against her throat.

The ash hound faltered.

Its head jerked slightly, as though something beyond the fire had caught its attention.

Diana had no idea why.

The hesitation lasted only a heartbeat.

The boy whimpered beneath the wheel.

Diana threw the lantern.

Glass shattered against the wagon, and flame raced across the spilled oil.

The hound recoiled.

Diana dropped beside the trapped boy and caught his arm.

When she pulled, he screamed.

His leg remained pinned beneath the broken wheel.

Alma fell to her knees beside Diana.

”Lift with me.”

Together they caught the side of the wagon, but even with both of them straining, it barely moved.

The ash hound began circling the fire.

Diana searched the spilled supplies and found a broken spear beneath the sacks. She dragged it free, wedged the shaft beneath the damaged axle, and pushed down with all her weight.

The wagon lifted just enough for Alma to pull the boy clear, but the ash hound was already coming through the flames when Raigoro struck it out of the air.

His sword entered beneath its jaw and drove through the back of its skull. The creature landed in the mud at Diana’s feet, smoke curling around her shoes as Raigoro faced her with ash across one side of his face and blood along his sword.

”I ordered you to remain in the carriage.”

Diana pointed toward the boy.

”He would have died,” Alma said.

Raigoro looked at the overturned wagon.

Another hound came from behind Diana.

She saw its shadow too late.

Raigoro caught her around the waist and pulled her aside just as Daric’s spear passed through the space where she had been standing and entered the creature’s throat.

Diana struck Raigoro’s armor with one shoulder. His arm locked around her until Daric’s spear brought the hound down.

So much for surviving the first one.

Raigoro released her.

”Inside.”

Diana ignored the order and dropped beside the page.

Blood poured from a wound below his knee.

When the boy tried to rise, Alma held him down while Diana reached through the open carriage door, tore a strip from its linen curtain, and pressed the cloth hard against the wound.

The page cried out.

The Northern healer was still treating men beside the horses, so Diana took the boy’s belt and fastened it above the injury. A broken arrow shaft gave her enough leverage to tighten it until the bleeding slowed.

Her hands remembered what Queen Elara had taught them.

Years ago, Diana had cut her foot on broken pottery in the palace garden. Her mother had knelt in the dirt beside her and calmly shown her where to press while they waited for a physician.

Diana remembered crying harder over the ruined shoe than the blood.

Her mother had laughed.

The memory steadied Diana now.

Raigoro remained beside her.

”You know how to treat this?”

She nodded.

His attention went to the binding.

Diana expected him to ask who had taught her.

But instead, Raigoro turned toward the healer approaching through the fighting.

The page caught Diana’s sleeve.

”Do not let them take my leg.”

Diana kept pressure on the cloth.

She could not promise him that.

She stayed until the healer reached them.

The woman knelt, examined the improvised binding, and immediately began replacing it with proper equipment.

”This slowed the bleeding.”

She applied a tourniquet, packed the wound, and wrapped the leg in clean linen while Daric pulled his spear from the dead hound nearby.

”The ridge is clear,” he reported. ”Six killed. Two fled north.”

”How many wounded?” Raigoro asked.

”Eight. One dead.”

Daric looked toward the page.

”The boy would have been two.”

His attention shifted to Diana.

Daric held out his water flask.

Diana looked at it before taking it.

He had accused her at the watchtower only hours earlier. Apparently a man could remain angry and still share his water.

By the time the attack ended, the eastern sky had begun to pale.

Northern soldiers dragged the dead creatures beyond the camp, though their bodies continued smoking long after the flames died.

Diana washed the page’s blood from her hands and watched the water in the basin turn pink.

Soldiers moved around her without speaking. Some noticed the torn veil and stained sleeves, while others watched Alma repair what remained of the carriage curtain.

A few of the soldiers looked at Diana differently now.

She had no intention of deciding yet what that meant.

Raigoro knelt beside the hound he had killed near the wagon and pushed aside the burned fur beneath its jaw.

An iron barb had been driven deep into the creature’s flesh, with a length of broken chain still attached.

Daric crouched beside him.

”Ash hounds do not tolerate collars.”

”They did not choose this one.”

Raigoro removed the barb and found black resin coating its point.

The same resin had covered the lure near the Third Watchtower.

Diana touched the scar beneath the dragonstone.

The hound had hesitated when the scar burned.

She had no explanation for it.

Daric followed a trail leading away from the camp, where small pieces of meat had been tied to branches at regular intervals.

The final piece hung twenty paces from Diana’s carriage.

Someone had built a path for the pack, and its final marker stood near Diana’s carriage rather than the soldiers’ tents or supply wagons.

Alma moved closer to Diana as Raigoro wrapped the iron barb in cloth.

Daric looked back along the feeding trail.

”It ends here.”

Raigoro’s gaze settled on Diana’s carriage.

”Then the pack was not simply brought toward the convoy.”

Daric followed his attention.

”The bride was the destination.”

”Yes.”

Daric looked toward the Northern banners.

”Someone knew our route.”

”Or knew enough to predict it.”

His gaze moved to Diana, the bloodstained cloth still in her hands, and the page sleeping under the healer’s cloak before he approached her.

”You left the carriage after I ordered you to remain inside.”

Diana lowered her eyes.

Raigoro looked toward the boy.

”He survived because you saw what my soldiers could not reach.”

Diana looked up.

”You also entered an active attack without a weapon. Alma followed you, and a second hound nearly killed you because you never saw it coming.”

His voice remained controlled.

”Your judgment saved the boy. Your method nearly killed you. Next time, signal a soldier. You do not leave cover alone.”

Raigoro returned to Daric.

Diana watched him go.

Odran had cared only that she disobeyed. Raigoro had corrected her only after accounting for the boy she saved.

At sunrise, the convoy moved again.

Quartermasters abandoned the damaged wagon only after transferring everything that could still be used to the remaining carts and packhorses. The wounded traveled in the protected center of the formation.

The young page was placed inside Diana’s carriage.

His name was Eren.

He slept with his injured leg braced between folded blankets, and whenever the wheels struck a stone, Diana checked the binding.

Before noon, black mountains rose ahead.

A line of stone markers crossed the road, each carrying the dragon seal of Blackharrow.

The Northern soldiers straightened in their saddles as they passed them.

Raigoro’s territory lay beyond.

The men riding beside Diana still believed she was Selena, treasured daughter of the king who had abandoned them. That borrowed name protected Diana from one danger while carrying her father’s crimes into the next kingdom.

Diana looked toward Raigoro riding at the head of the column.

Valence had taught her what to expect from him long before she ever saw his face. The road north kept giving her evidence that did not fit.

Ahead, the black mountains rose higher until they filled the horizon.

Diana watched them instead.