Married To The Cursed Dragon Lord

Keeley POV:

The next morning, after the first transfer of funds appeared in my secret account, I changed into a set of dark, practical riding clothes.

I slipped out of the manor unnoticed, a shadow leaving through a back gate.

I'd "borrowed" a swift horse from the stables and was now racing toward the cliffs where Kamilah had died. They marked the jagged border between Mccarthy and Stark lands.

The official story was that she had argued with someone and lost her footing. I didn't believe it.

I reached the cliff's edge and tied my horse, the wind whipping my hair across my face.

I began to search the area like a hound, my years of survival in the wild and my training as Pharmacist X making my eyes sharp to any disturbance.

Soon, I found it. At the base of a thorn bush, a tiny scrap of fabric snagged on a root. It wasn't ordinary cloth. It bore a specific, embroidered crest.

I carefully plucked it with a pair of tweezers and sealed it in an evidence bag. The crest... a snake entwined with a sword. I'd seen it before, but couldn't immediately place it.

As I stood to leave, a powerful, suffocating pressure slammed into me.

It was a presence that originated deep in the blood, the shadow of a great dragon falling over the land. As a Dragonless, it felt like my very blood was turning to ice.

My body went rigid. I spun around, my dagger already in my hand.

A tall figure stood not far behind me, materializing as if from the air itself. He wore black riding gear, his form straight and imposing. A wide hood shadowed most of his face, but it couldn't hide the aura of cold, solitary power.

It was him. Cornelius. I had never seen him, but that unique Dragon's might, a mix of death and power that belonged only to the Lord of Ironwood, was unmistakable.

Why was he here? A coincidence? Or was he here to clean up the scene?

My heart sank. My grip on the dagger tightened as I fell into a defensive stance.

His gaze dropped to the evidence bag in my hand. From beneath the hood, I felt his eyes sharpen like a blade.

Cornelius didn't speak. He simply started walking toward me. Each step was a hammer blow against my heart, the pressure of his Dragon's might making it hard to breathe.

I gritted my teeth, fighting the instinct to flee. Show weakness, and he would tear me apart.

The moment he stepped into my attack range, I did not retreat—I struck.

My dagger flashed, aiming for his wrist and the evidence bag he was trying to seize.

Cornelius seemed startled that a "Dragonless" would dare resist; a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. But he was impossibly fast, twisting his wrist to easily deflect my blade.

His hand clamped onto my wrist like an iron vise, the force overwhelming, and I could not break free.

Sharp pain shot up my arm, and my dagger clattered to the ground. We grappled.

I threw every fighting technique I knew—kicks, knee strikes, elbows—but my attacks were useless against his brute strength.

He did not seem to want to hurt me, only to subdue me and take the evidence.

In the struggle, Cornelius slammed me against a rock by the cliff edge.

His chest pressed flush against my back, his body heat searing through my thin tunic, making my skin tingle.

I could smell his distinctive draconic scent—cedar and sulfur—an overwhelming aggression. I felt his hand reaching for the pouch. In desperation, I snapped my head back, slamming it into his chin.

Cornelius grunted in pain, and his grip loosened for a moment. That was all I needed. I slipped free like an eel and kicked at his knee. We separated and faced each other again. In the struggle, his hood fell back, revealing his face.

It was a face so handsome it was breathtaking, with lines as hard and cold as if carved from ice. But his skin was unnaturally pale, and his deep gray eyes swirled with a controlled pain and the fury of being disturbed.

My heart clenched.

I didn't press the fight. I feinted, snatched my dagger from the ground, and scrambled back to my horse. I leaped onto its back and galloped away without a backward glance.

Behind me, Cornelius didn't follow. He just stood there, his cold gaze a physical weight on my back.