The Dragon Lord's Rejected Wife

Delphine Winters POV:

"He's here!"

The shout echoed through the grand hall of Ward Manor, and my heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of anticipation. Five years I had lived as a widow in all but name—my husband gone to a war that never sent him home—and today, that long winter was finally over.

I smoothed the front of my silk gown. It was a magnificent creation, the color of a twilight sky, a gift from my mother. Its cost could have fed a village for a year, yet it bore no shimmering scale patterns, no threads of woven dragon-fire. A silent, constant reminder of my status: Delphine Winters, the Dragonless wife, a wealthy merchant's daughter who had married into the ancient, dragon-blooded House Ward.

The air smelled of dragon's breath incense and burning oak, a scent unique to the halls of dragon-kin nobility. Across the room, the massive dragon-head fireplace roared, its controlled flames casting a warm glow on the cold stone walls. The firelight danced over the Ward family's war banner hanging above, the red-gold threads of its dragon sigil proclaiming their heritage as Half-Blood dragons.

My mother-in-law, Eleanor, raised a goblet toward me. The wine inside had been warmed by dragon-fire, a privilege of the nobility. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. I knew she saw me not as a daughter, but as the treasury that kept this house from crumbling.

From the high-backed chair at the head of the room, the family matriarch, Matilda, watched me with a critical gaze, as if I were a piece of furniture that didn't quite match the decor.

A horn blast from outside shattered the tense quiet. The lord had returned.

My breath caught.

The heavy oak doors swung open. And there he was. Erwin Ward. He stood silhouetted against the fading light, taller and harder than I remembered, the cold edge of the battlefield etched into the lines of his face. He wore the uniform of a Dragon Marshal—the battlefield rank the King had granted him for the northern campaign, worn over his hereditary lordship of House Ward—its dark fabric adorned with the family's red-gold dragon crest.

Cheers erupted. "Welcome home, Lord Ward!"

I moved through the crowd, my own joy a silent song. Five years of waiting, of holding this house together, were about to be rewarded with his embrace.

His eyes met mine across the hall. But there was no joy in them. No relief. Only a flicker of something complex and evasive. My steps faltered.

He didn't move toward me. Instead, he stepped aside.

And revealed the person standing behind him.

A woman. Young, dressed in a simple linen dress that was utterly out of place among the silks and velvets of the court.

One of her hands was held tightly in Erwin's. The other rested protectively on her swollen belly. She was heavily pregnant.

My mind went blank. The cheering of the crowd became a distant, muffled roar, as if I were underwater.

Beside the woman stood a little boy, no older than four or five. His eyes were a perfect, startling copy of Erwin's.

Erwin cleared his throat, his voice taking on a formal, proclamatory tone I had never heard before. "This is Beryl King," he announced. "And our firstborn son, Theo."

My gaze swept the room. Eleanor avoided my eyes. Matilda, however, had a look of grim satisfaction. The other family members were watching me, their faces alight with cruel curiosity.

They all knew.

This welcome wasn't for me. It was for her.

I was the last to be told, in the most humiliating way possible. I was the punchline to a joke I didn't even know was being told.

The blood in my veins turned to ice. My body, which the dragon-kin called "cold-blooded" because I had no dragon-fire of my own, finally felt the part.

Erwin looked at me, his lips parting as if to speak. "Delphine, I know this is sudden, but I hope you can..."

I didn't let him finish.

Slowly, gracefully, I gathered the hem of my skirt. I sank into the a perfect, distant curtsy, most distant curtsy I could manage.

"Welcome home, Lord Ward," I said, my voice as still and dead as a frozen lake. "And welcome to your guests."

I deliberately called them "guests." It was the only weapon I had.

Erwin's brow furrowed. He hadn't expected this calm.

Beryl flinched, shrinking behind him and looking at me with wide, wet eyes, as if I were the villain in this story.

The boy, Theo, showed no such fear. He peeked out from behind Beryl's legs and made a face at me.

I turned away from them, my back straight, and walked step by step into the shadows at the edge of the hall. The light was dim there, just like my heart.

I could feel every eye in the room on my back. Pity. Glee. Contempt.

I lifted my chin. My pride would not let me fall apart here. I was a Winters, not some wilting flower to be trampled.

Erwin started to follow, but a sharp look from his mother stopped him. Eleanor then moved to greet Beryl, her voice warm and welcoming, as if she were the true lady of the house.

Watching the farce, the last wisp of warmth I held for this family vanished.

From this day forward, I live only for myself.

And Erwin Ward, along with his entire house, would pay for what they had done today.