Monster's Pretty Bride

Chapter 1

Eryss 

The white fabric clings to my skin like a death shroud, whisper-light, deceptively fragile. It pools around my feet in a mockery of purity, a silk-and-lace noose cinched at my waist. The purna call it a bridal gown. I call it a funeral dress. Mine, or his? That’s yet to be decided.

The heavy weight of the dark elves' stares presses against me, their slitted eyes glittering with amusement, hunger. They stand in perfect, rigid formation, draped in their obsidian leathers, silvered armor glinting under the dying sun. Watching. Waiting. As if this moment, this exchange, is nothing more than a business deal.

Which, of course, it is.

A peace offering. A gift wrapped in satin, delivered straight into the hands of a beast.

I keep my spine straight, my chin high, even as the ground beneath me radiates unnatural heat. Protheka’s cursed veins pulsing with magic too ancient, too deep, for mortals to touch without consequence. Sweat beads at the base of my throat, slipping between my collarbones, slow, insidious. The purna priest beside me murmurs words of devotion, of unity, of bonds forged in peace, but the lies slither from his lips like poison, thick with the weight of treachery.

I’m not here for unity.

I am here to kill a monster.

A hush spreads through the assembly, rippling outward like a blade slicing through silk.

They are coming.

The first thing I hear is the scrape of talons against stone, sharp and deliberate. The rhythmic beat of massive wings follows, sending gusts of wind laced with crushed rock and charred earth spiraling through the air. Then, the smell of something metallic, electric, raw power coiled, waiting to be unleashed.

The gargoyles land in unison, their hulking forms casting monstrous shadows against the cliffs. Towering figures carved from obsidian and fire, their eyes glowing like smoldering embers. But one stands apart, his presence swallowing the space between us, bending the air around him.

Naranus.

Even without looking, I feel him, an ancient thing, wrong and terrifying, molded from stone and sin.

He steps forward, slow, predatory. He moves like a king who has never been forced to bow, like a warlord whose enemies have long since turned to dust beneath his feet. The air around him crackles, laced with power that doesn’t sit right, as if it’s constantly trying to reshape itself. His skin is like dark slate, ridged with jagged fractures, seems to shift in the dying light, flickering between flesh and something harder. Something unbreakable.

His eyes settle on me.

Molten gold, wicked and knowing.

A chill slips down my spine, sharp as a dagger’s edge. Not from fear. No, fear would be too easy. This is something far more dangerous.

Recognition.

As if he’s seen me before. As if he already knows exactly what I am, what I’ve come here to do.

I grip the folds of my dress tighter, forcing my shoulders back, forcing my expression into something unreadable. He can’t suspect. 

Naranus halts mere steps away, the heat rolling off him in waves. Up close, the details sharpen, the rough texture of his skin where stone battles flesh, the faint glow of his pulse beneath the fractures of his collarbones. His wings flex slightly before settling, massive and jagged, like living obsidian poised to strike.

The priest begins speaking again, droning on about the sacred duty of the peace bride, the unity between our people, the great sacrifice of our leaders to ensure stability between the purna, the dark elves, and the gargoyles. Lies.

Naranus lets him speak.

When the final words echo into silence, he does something unexpected.

He laughs.

A slow, deliberate sound, rich with something I can’t figure out. It slithers over my skin, molten, wicked.

His gaze sweeps over me, slow, unhurried, proprietary. Measuring.

“You expect me to believe this is an offering of peace?” His voice is a low growl, rasping against my bones like stone grating over stone. His talons twitch at his sides, a flicker of something dark, restless. “A fragile little thing in white, sent to my gates like a lamb to the slaughter?”

The purna priest stiffens. “She is Eryss, your bride, Lord Naranus. A token of our devotion to—”

“Devotion?” His wings shift, restless. “Do not insult my intelligence.” His focus never wavers, locked onto me, burning through me. “Tell me, bride. Do you tremble behind those wide eyes? Do you pray for salvation?”

I meet his stare and do something that makes the priest beside me gasp.

I smile.

“No,” I say, voice smooth as polished steel. “I do not pray. And I do not tremble.”

Something shifts in his expression. Just a flicker. A pulse of intrigue, wicked and lingering. Then, in a single breath, he moves.

One second he stands before me, the next, his hand grips my chin, tilting my face up toward his. Claws scrape against my jaw, light, teasing. Dangerous.

My heart slams against my ribcage. The moment stretches, taut as a drawn bowstring.

His breath fans against my skin, carrying the smell of charred embers and something headier, something dark. “A liar,” he murmurs, thumb pressing just beneath my lips. “Or a fool.”

The priest starts to object, but Naranus lifts his other hand, and the dark elves stiffen, weapons tightening at their sides. A silent warning.

I hold my ground. “And what does that make you?”

His lips curl. “Curious.”

Before I can react, his grip shifts, sliding lower, wrapping around the base of my throat. Not tight, not yet. Just enough to remind me who holds the leash.

But I don’t falter. I let the moment stretch. Let him look. Let him search for the fear he expects to find.

He won’t find it.

Naranus’s expression darkens, molten eyes flickering. His grip tightens, just slightly. “A purna with no fear. Strange.”

I breathe slow, measured. “A gargoyle with no mercy. Expected.”

His claws flex, and for one sharp second, I wonder if he will squeeze. If he will crush me and end this farce before it begins.

But instead, he releases me. Steps back. And without looking away, he speaks.

“The deal is struck.”

The words settle like a death sentence.

The priest exhales, relieved. The dark elves shift, eager to leave.

And Naranus watches me as if I am a puzzle he intends to take apart, piece by piece.

I breathe in deeply, ignoring the way my pulse thrums, the way the ghost of his grip lingers against my skin.

This is only the beginning.

One day, I will slit his throat and end him.