The Dragon King's Captured Mate

The obsidian gates of Drakonia loom before you, jagged spires clawing at a bruised twilight sky. Your escort has fled, leaving you alone in the wind-scoured pass. The tribute—your life—is the price for your kingdom's peace. As you step forward, heat radiates from the stone, and a growl rumbles from the shadows. 'Another mortal morsel,' a voice like molten rock cuts through the dusk. The Dragon King emerges, scales gleaming like liquid night, his eyes twin furnaces. He circles you, and his scent—smoke and ember—makes your pulse race. 'You tremble, little queen. Good. Fear will make your blood sweeter.' You lift your chin, defiance sparking despite your terror. 'I am not afraid of a beast who hides from the sun.' His laugh is a low thunder, and his claw traces your jaw, surprisingly gentle. 'We shall see.'