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Daeron had been dreaming of the dragon for months.
Every night, the black creature returned to his room like a thief searching for gold and jewels. Sometimes it came in through the door, other times it was already there, waiting for him and watching him with its amethyst eyes and an expression he couldn’t quite place, but which sent shivers down his spine.
"Daeron... this is your duty." The dragon called to him, and the all-too-familiar voice made the dreamer’s entire body tremble.
As the black scales glowed under the torches of the dream and the beast whispered the same repetitive words as always.
"You carry the blood of the dragon." The black figure landed on the bed and pinned the prince’s arms down tightly, not letting him move.
Daeron tried to struggle and scream, but it was useless. He could never escape the claws that marked his body, tearing his nightshirt and leaving marks on his pale skin.
The wings closed around him like a trap, and the creature’s monstrous weight pressed him against the bed as it growled near his face and squeezed his wrists until it hurt.
“This is your duty as the dragon’s blood, my sister,” whispered the black beast in a tone that seemed sweet but was icy, as if speaking of something ordinary and simple.
“No! Let me go!” Daeron screamed in desperation, as he felt the dragon draw near his neck, its hot breath leaving a sensation of filth on his skin.
"My beautiful and foolish sister, there is no reason to refuse, it is your duty to continue our lineage." The dragon finished his speech, and Daeron felt intense pain, as if fangs were sinking into his flesh until they reached the bone.
It was an agonizing pain that made Daeron wake up every morning gasping for breath, his heart racing, and his nightgown crumpled between his fingers, as if he had truly been fighting.
Until one day when the dream failed to haunt him. Daeron managed to sleep through the night and thanked the gods for this small mercy at dawn, feeling for the first time in months that his muscles weren’t tense with anxiety.
He got up slowly, took a shower, and put on fresh clothes, choosing a dark blue tunic that his sisters said looked good on him.
In the family dining room, the table was laden with warm breads and fresh fruit. Maekar, seated at the head of the table, looked at Daeron as he sat down; for a brief moment, his face conveyed a look that said he was pleased to see him well and presentable.
Beside him, Eggs was eager to begin training; his hands gestured as if he were holding a sword, nearly knocking over his glass of juice. Daella and Rhae, sitting together, giggled softly at their brother as their silver hair shimmered in the candlelight.
Daeron smiled at the sight and observed another figure. Aerion sat silently on the other side of the table. He wasn’t laughing like the others, nor did he seem excited. His gaze was fixed on Daeron, it was hard to tell what he was thinking.
When their eyes met, Aerion merely gave a wry smile and turned his face toward their father, who was beginning to say something.
Daeron decided to ignore his brother and drank less wine during the meal just so his hands wouldn’t shake as much while he ate the warm bread and listened to Maekar talk about a tournament that would take place at Ashford Meadow to celebrate the birthday of Lord Ashford's daughter, Lady Gwin.
After breakfast, the dreamer’s day was peaceful; he walked with his sisters and trained with Eggs using his sword, even though he didn’t really like it, while Aerion mocked them and threw himself with all his fury at the knight he was training with.
When evening fell, Daeron had dinner with his family as usual until the moment they said their goodnights and each went to their own room to rest or take a bath.
The prince took a relaxing bath before going to bed. When he finished, he put on his lightest nightshirt and drank enough to slow his thoughts and send his dreams far away, hoping the gods would make the dragon disappear again so he could rest.
He staggered, somewhat dazed, to his bed and collapsed onto the soft mattress; without pulling the blanket over himself, his heavy, sleepy body fell asleep the moment he touched the bed.
But unfortunately, the peace didn’t last long.
Daeron woke up in the middle of the night, dazed. Darkness enveloped the room, and he couldn’t see a thing the torches had gone out, and only the faint light from the moon streaming through the window remained. For a moment he thought he was dreaming, but then he felt a real hand pressing against his chest, firm and warm.
His entire body trembled on the mattress, and he tried to move an arm, frightened, but couldn’t because he was pinned down by the man on top of him. Daeron sensed that the man wasn’t very large, yet his presence was terrifying.
The dreamer felt his blood run cold, a chill that ran from the tips of his toes up his spine. The man lowered his head toward his face, and his warm breath touched his skin.
“Relax, I’ll be quick.” The voice was low, with an amused tone as if he were joking.
The warm hands moved, fiddling with the fabric of Daeron’s nightgown, slowly pulling it up. Daeron felt rough fingers touching the skin of his thigh and felt disgust, a wave of nausea rose up his throat as he tried to move again, but he was so drunk that his muscles were slow and heavy.
Part of him wanted to fight, to run, and to scream for help. But the other part was so tired, tired of dreaming, tired of being afraid every night, tired of trying to escape the same creature that seemed familiar.
For months he had been waking up in the morning scared and gasping for air, with the vivid sensation that the claw marks were still stinging on his skin. So why try to fight against what seemed inevitable? Why keep struggling against something the gods seemed to have decreed for him?
Daeron closed his eyes and let himself be carried away in defeat, feeling the man’s weight upon him, his body uncomfortable and his soul constricted as if he were in a cage. He heard a satisfied laugh, low and hoarse, and felt fingers running through his dark hair in a way that was meant to be a caress, but which only left him more sad and disgusted with his own cowardice.
Tears streamed from his amethyst eyes as he tried to remain still, hoping it would all end soon, that the man would use his body as he saw fit and abandon him like a cheap whore. Daeron just wanted to wake up in the morning to find that it had all been just another shitty dream and that there was still something clean left of his broken soul.
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When the morning light filtered through the curtains, Daeron awoke in shock. His head throbbed as if someone were pounding a hammer against his skull; he tasted the bitterness of wine in his mouth, mixed with a sensation of filth he couldn’t explain. For a few seconds he lay motionless, staring at the ceiling, trying to forget what had happened, but the images came flooding back, clear and cruel.
The dragon in his room… who was actually a man. One who had amethyst eyes like his own and whom he now recognized more than ever, and to whom he would never be able to say a single word about what he had done.
The young man let out a trembling sigh and tried to sit up, feeling his loose nightgown the fabric hanging loosely over one shoulder, torn in places because he hadn’t been able to stay still for long and had tried to push the body off him, which had resulted in his nightgown being torn violently and a slap across the face.
Daeron shuddered at the painful memory; he felt his heart beating faster, loud enough to hear faintly through the silence of the room. Slowly he sat up and looked at the white sheet, seeing stains scattered across the fabric.
His dark blood and the semen that had trickled down his legs stained the light-colored fabric that had been changed just days earlier.
His hands began to shake so violently that he recoiled in disgust, feeling a pain and pressure in his stomach that nearly made him faint. Daeron brought a hand to his mouth, nearly vomiting the nausea he felt was intense.
The tears came before he could stop them, first one, which rolled down his hot cheek, then another, and yet another, until his face was completely wet and his breathing came in gasps. His whole body began to shake when he could no longer hold it in and turned to vomit on the floor, the headaches and stomach pains blending into a single pain that seemed never-ending.
After he finished, he curled up on the bed, pulling his nightshirt close to him as if it were the only protection he still had, as if the thin fabric could shield him from everything that had happened.
The dreamer hugged himself tightly, wrapping his arms around his own body, while tears soaked the fabric of his nightclothes. The sheet stained with blood and semen lay at his feet, ready to be burned in the bedroom fireplace along with the nightgown he wore, so they could never be seen again, and so no one would discover what had happened that early morning.
But at that moment, Daeron wasn’t ready to move yet. He could only stay there, curled up, crying silently and waiting for the disgust to fade, even though he knew that even if he took a thousand baths, he would never feel as clean as he had before.