Chapter 93 Loved By a Lie
Damien
The moment I step through the door, the world rearranges itself. There is no disorientation, no falling, no sense of wrongness, the way there usually is when magic interferes with reality. Instead, everything settles around me with unsettling ease. Stone beneath my boots becomes polished marble. Torchlight softens into sunlight streaming through high arched windows, casting gold across banners that ripple gently in a breeze that smells of summer and open fields. This is my kingdom...I recognise that immediately. Did the doorway transport me back? I turn back around to the door, eager to tell Bella it is safe to come through, but the doorway is gone. I straighten instinctively, unsure of what to do as I look around at the great hall that stretches wide and bright. I see now that its walls are freshly decorated with white and gold drapery, and garlands of greenery carefully wound around the pillars. Flowers line the walkway, arrangements made with care and celebration in mind. People fill the space, and they are not afraid of me...That realisation hits harder than any blade ever has. They smile as they pass. Bow, yes—but easily, without flinching. Children dart between skirts and boots, laughing, one of them waving at me with a sticky hand as if I am something familiar and safe. Merchants, nobles, guards… they look at me with warmth and respect without terror, affection without calculation. This is wrong. My gaze flicks instinctively to the far end of the hall, searching. Bella, where is Bella?
The dragon stirs sharply beneath my skin.
She is not here, he says at once, low and certain.
“I know,” I murmur under my breath, even as something treacherous in my chest aches at the absence.
Footsteps approach quickly, purposeful but light. My advisor, Marius, approaches, looking younger and unburdened as he nearly skids to a stop in front of me, his face flushed with excitement rather than fear.
“Your Majesty,” he says, grinning broadly. “There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere. You’re going to be late.”
“Late for what?” I ask, though part of me already knows.
He laughs, clapping a hand on my shoulder with a familiarity that would have earned him execution in any other version of my life. “Your wedding, of course.”
The word lands like a hammer. I look around again, heart beginning to pound and dread threading through my veins.
“No,” I say quietly. “That’s not—”
“You really shouldn’t keep her waiting,” he continues, already steering me toward the tall doors at the far end of the hall. “The people are beside themselves. They adore her. She’s exactly what the kingdom needs.”
The dragon snarls, heat curling dangerously tight beneath my ribs. This is a lie.
“I was stood up,” I say flatly, digging my heels in at last. “She never came.”
My advisor pauses, blinking at me as if I’ve told a poor joke. Then he smiles indulgently. “My king, today of all days? She’s been waiting for you since dawn.”
He rushes me outside, where the gardens look as they once did, completely decorated for a royal wedding that never happened. This is not right. This already happened...and Bella, Bella was here, she came. I look around the crowd as Marius leaves me at the altar. I search for her, but she's not here. The doors ahead begin to open, and my pulse roars in my ears.
“No,” I say again, louder now. “Stop.”
The dragon presses hard against my consciousness, furious and unyielding. This is not right.
The doors swing wide, and music swells—soft, hopeful, unbearably gentle...And there she stands. The bride. She is beautiful in the way this world wants her to be. Soft-eyed. Radiant. Dressed in white and gold that matches the hall, the banners, the flowers—everything carefully chosen to make her fit seamlessly into this vision of a perfect future. She beams at me, eyes shining, hands clasped as though she cannot quite contain her excitement. Her gaze holds no fear. No hesitation. No calculation. She wants me. The crowd turns toward me expectantly, smiles wide, murmurs of approval rippling through them like a tide.
This is what they wanted from you, the dragon says darkly. A king they could love without trembling.
My stomach churns. This woman was meant to stand me up. She was meant to look at me and see a beast, a threat, a crown too heavy to bear. She was meant to flee, leaving me alone in that hall with my pride in tatters and my kingdom whispering behind my back. She was meant to lead me to Bella. To the woman who loved me without fear because she wanted to. Who accepted me as I am, beast and all. The woman steps forward, veil lifting slightly as she smiles up at me.
“You were late,” she says softly, wonder in her voice. “I was afraid you might think I’d changed my mind.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “You were afraid of me,” I say.
She laughs gently, as though humouring a child. “Never. How could I be?”
The dragon’s growl reverberates through my bones. They should fear you. You learned to carry that fear. You learned to protect others from it.
I look past her—to the altar, to the priest waiting patiently, to the people watching with open affection—and something inside me goes cold and clear. This place did not give me what I wanted.
It gave me what I would have chosen once, before I understood the cost. A kingdom that does not fear me. A bride on a silver platter who does not run. A crown that does not weigh so heavily. But all of that comes with no Bella. No challenge. No balance. No one standing at my side who sees the monster and chooses me anyway. I take a step back.
“Damien?” the bride asks, confusion finally flickering across her perfect expression. “What’s wrong?”
Everything, I think. Aloud, I say, “This isn’t real.”
The dragon rises fully within me, vast and burning. You do not belong to this story, he agrees.
I lift my chin, meeting the eyes of a kingdom that loves me too easily.
“I was shaped by fear,” I say calmly. “By rejection. By standing alone in the aftermath of it.”
The bride shakes her head, smile faltering. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
I almost pity her.
“I’m not,” I say. The warmth drains from the space. “I have my mate,” I continue, voice steady as iron. “And she does not belong in a world this clean.”
The illusion begins to crack with hairline fractures in the marble beneath my boots, the banners trembling, colours bleeding too bright, too sharp.
The dragon bares his teeth within me. We do not choose this.
I turn away from the altar, away from the waiting bride, away from a future that costs me everything I’ve fought to become. And as the world begins to unravel around me, I hold onto one truth with absolute certainty: I would rather be feared and chosen—than loved by a lie.