The Dragon Prince's Bride
*Author's other work (She belongs to the Demon King)*
***
They say opposite attracts, that's a lie. Opposites kill each other!
When a hot blood meets another hot blood, things are bound to get burnt.
That is exactly what happens when the pompous and prideful elven princess, Neriah of the Avelah Kingdom is forced to marry the brash dragon Prince, Barak of the Trago Kingdom.
Neriah's goal is to someday break away from her marriage and run away with the love of her life, Lyle of the Niles. While Barak will do everything to keep her as a wife.
Neriah is certain she's in love with another, but she's also certain that no one can ignite the kind of passion her husband brings. Her husband who she hates more than anything.
Can the flames of passion be drawn from hate? Can that same passion burn down the walls of lies, betrayal, and hurt? Can its ashes transcend into love?
Excerpt
"I am a rose, a beautiful flower, delicate and precious! But you my dear sir are nothing but the thorny stem! Prickly, dangerous and very harmful!" ranted Neriah while poking his chest with her index finger.
"Well you seem to forget one important detail, my love." He calmly grabbed her poking hand.
"And what would that be, my fine sir?"
"That the thorny stem and the rose grow together. The delicate rose and the prickly thorn, they belong together my dear."
"You—"
"And no amount of ranting and raging will change that. You think I want to keep a witch like you? You are a pain in the neck. If I am a thorn then you are a piece of fish bone stuck inside my neck. I cannot swallow and I can not spit it out! I just have to bear it!"
"You insolent bastard! Do you mean to say I am a burden!"
"Well you are no precious prize, are you?"
And that was it, she threw herself at him with her claws ready to mar his face, but he was quicker and he caught both her hands with one of his own and pressed her heaving chest upon his. Golden eyes stared deep into hers. They were as green as the fresh leaves on an orange tree.
His fingers caressed her face, “You might not be a precious prize, but by the heavens, you are mine.” And his lips fell on hers, and once again, another argument was drowned.
AnnieQuin · Fantaisie
