chapter 3 :The Iron Pass

The mud of the northern trail was thick, clinging to my leather boots like the heavy weight of the destiny I was trying to rewrite.

In the original pages of The Dragon's Wife, Seraphina von Malcor was a creature of silk and greed. She loved three things: the power of the Malcor name, the glint of royal gold, and the feeling of a crown on her head. The "old" Seraphina wouldn't be caught dead within a hundred miles of a battlefield unless there was a chest of jewels waiting at the end. She was a woman who spent her afternoons drinking tea while her husband, King Alaric, bled for a kingdom she only wanted to spend.

But as I rode through the freezing rain, my fingers numb against the horse's reins, I wasn't thinking about gold. I was thinking about the way Alaric's eyes had looked in the firelight—shattered, tired, and burning with a heat he couldn't control.

"Lady Seraphina, we are approaching the gorge," Kael whispered, his voice barely audible over the thunder. "If the King sees us, there will be no mercy. He believes you are safely tucked away in your chambers, plotting how to steal from the treasury."

"Let him believe what he wants," I said, my voice shaking from a mix of cold and adrenaline. "Just keep the shields ready. Remember what I told you: the Shadow Sect doesn't aim for the men. They aim for the King's dragon-veins."

The Iron Pass loomed ahead—a jagged, obsidian-black canyon that looked like the open jaws of a beast. This was the place. According to Chapter 42, this was where the "villainess" Seraphina had leaked Alaric's route to the assassins for a pile of diamonds. But in this timeline, the diamonds didn't exist. Only the danger did.

As we crested the final ridge, I saw them.

Alaric's battalion was a thin line of steel against the mist. In the center, mounted on a massive black warhorse, was the King himself. Even from this distance, I could feel the heat radiating from him. He wasn't wearing his royal mantle; he was in full plate armor, his silver-white hair soaked by the rain. His dragon-eyes were glowing a faint, warning gold, scanning the cliffs.

Suddenly, a whistle broke the sound of the rain. It wasn't a bird. It was the sound of a bowstring being released—a specialized, heavy-duty bow.

"NOW!" I screamed, kicking my horse forward.

Kael and the guards charged behind me, their horses hooves thundering like a second heart. We didn't head for the front lines; we headed straight for Alaric's flank, right where the "Vulture's Peak" cliff hung over the path.

Alaric turned his head. His eyes widened as he saw the small, unauthorized unit charging toward him. When his gaze landed on me—hair wild, face covered in mud, riding like a madwoman—his expression shifted from shock to pure, unadulterated fury.

"SERAPHINA?" his voice roared, a sound that was half-human and half-dragon. "WHAT IS THIS MADNESS? GO BACK!"

I didn't stop. I couldn't. I saw it—the glint of a silver-tipped arrow at the top of the cliff. It wasn't a normal arrow. It was laced with Draconic-Iron, a substance that could pierce a shifter's scales and freeze their blood.

"ALERIC, DOWN!" I shrieked.

He didn't move. His pride was too great. He stood his ground, thinking I was just another distraction, a "game" I was playing to get his attention.

In that split second, I didn't think about my life in the real world. I didn't think about the book. I lunged from my horse just as we reached him, my body colliding with his armored leg, trying to pull him toward the shelter of the canyon wall. At the same time, Kael and the guards raised the lead-lined shields I had commanded them to build.

Thwack.

The arrow struck. It didn't hit Alaric's heart. It slammed into the lead shield I had forced Kael to hold over the King's head. The force was so great that the shield dented, the silver poison hissing as it touched the metal.

Silence fell over the pass, broken only by the heavy breathing of the soldiers.

Alaric stared at the shield. Then, he looked down at me. I was on the ground, my hands scraped and bleeding, my expensive riding leathers ruined by the mud. I looked nothing like the "Power-Hungry Queen" he knew.

He dismounted in one fluid, terrifying motion. He stood over me, his shadow swallowing me whole. The heat coming off him was so intense it started to dry the rain on my skin.

"You," he whispered, his voice a dangerous, trembling growl. He reached down and grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet with enough force to make me shiver. "You were supposed to be at the palace. You hate the mud. You hate the cold. You love nothing but your own comfort."

I looked him straight in his glowing eyes, ignoring the pain in my wrist. "I love being alive more, Alaric. And I love... I want you to live, too."

His grip tightened. "How did you know about the arrows? This is a secret weapon of the South. Not even my generals knew they had reached this far."

"Does it matter?" I gasped, the heat from his body making me feel lightheaded. "The Shadow Sect is on that ridge. If you don't send the scouts now, they will fire a second volley."

Alaric didn't look away from me. It was as if he was trying to see into my soul, trying to find the "greedy" Seraphina he had hated for years. But she wasn't there.

"Kael!" Alaric barked, never taking his eyes off me. "Take the third unit. Clear that ridge. Bring me the archer's head."

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

The soldiers scrambled, the battle cry echoing through the pass. But Alaric stayed. He stayed right in front of me, his hand still clamped around my arm.

"You played me," he hissed, but his voice didn't sound angry anymore. it sounded... haunted. "You played the role of a selfish, power-hungry woman so well that I almost let myself be killed today because I didn't think you were capable of a single selfless act."

"I told you," I said, my voice cracking. "I'm not the woman you remember."

A shiver ran through me—not from the cold, but from the way he was looking at me. It was the "Obsessive" gaze I had read about in the books, but now it was directed at me. It wasn't a look of love yet; it was the look of a predator who had just realized his prey was the only thing keeping him alive.

The dragon inside him let out a low, rumbling hum that I could feel in my own bones. He reached out with his other hand, his fingers brushing the mud off my cheek. His touch was scorching.

"If this is another game, Seraphina," he whispered, leaning down so his breath fanned over my lips, "it is the most dangerous one you have ever played. Because now, I am never letting you out of my sight."

He picked me up, throwing me over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing, and turned toward the command tent.

The story had officially broken. The villainess had saved the hero, and the hero was no longer looking for his "True Love." He was looking at the woman who had bled in the mud to keep his heart beating.

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