By the time we reach the palace, my palace, the one I grew up in, I'm too weak to stand. The knight has to carry me inside, and I hate him for it. Hate the way his hands feel on my skin, too rough and too cold and all wrong.
The palace is different. Brighter. More opulent. There are new tapestries on the walls, new servants bustling about. No one looks familiar. I suppose everyone I knew is dead now. A century has passed, and everything has changed.
Except me.
I'm still the same girl who was cursed on her nineteenth birthday. Still the same girl who's been asleep for a hundred years.
The knight carries me into the throne room, and I see him. The king. My distant cousin, apparently. He's young, maybe thirty, with a sharp face and cold green eyes. He looks at me like I'm a prize he's won.
"Your Majesty," the knight says, bowing as much as he can while still holding me. "I present Princess Adelaide, rescued from the disgusting dragon's clutches."
The king rises from his throne, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well done, Prince Benedict. Very well done indeed."
Prince Benedict. So, the knight has a name. How wonderful.
"Set her down," the king orders.
Benedict dumps me into a chair, and I nearly slide off. My limbs feel like jelly. I look down and see for the first time I'm wearing a light blue silk dress. This must be the one my dragon always said was his favorite. My head is spinning. And the pain. The pain is still there, a constant, gnawing ache that won't let me think straight.
The king circles me, studying me like I'm a piece of meat. "She's not as pretty as I expected," he muses.
I glare at him, but I don't have the energy to speak.
"Her skin is a bit too... dark. Her hair is an interesting color," Benedict adds, his tone dismissive. "Too blonde. I prefer brunettes."
"Hmm." The king strokes his beard. "Perhaps she can dye it. And if she stays out of the sun, her skin might lighten. At least a little. A small sacrifice for such a profitable arrangement, wouldn't you say?"
Profitable arrangement?
"Indeed," Benedict agrees. "Though I do hope she's more... cooperative than she appears. Her body is decent enough. Good birthing hips. Nice and soft.”
They're talking about me like I'm not even here. Like I'm a doll they can dress up and parade around.
The king claps his hands. "Indeed! Let's discuss terms, shall we?"
He gestures to a table laden with contracts and ledgers. Benedict joins him, and they begin to negotiate.
My fate. Like I'm property.
"The dowry," the king begins, "will include ten thousand gold coins, the eastern provinces, and the mining rights to the northern mountains."
"Generous," Benedict says. "But I'll need more. Capturing the princess was no small feat, your majesty. The dragon nearly killed me."
Liar. The dragon didn't even see him coming.
"What do you propose?" the king asks, scratching his beard.
"An additional five thousand in jewels. And a guarantee of heirs."
The king raises an eyebrow. "Heirs?"
"Eight," Benedict says firmly. "Within ten years. The majority boys, of course."
My stomach lurches. Eight children? In ten years?
"Boys. Of course. And if she fails to deliver?" the king asks.
"Then you compensate me for my suffering. Another ten thousand gold, plus the southern trade routes."
