Starting out as a Dragon Slave-Chapter 51: The thirst grows

Mordred was sitting in a corner of his cell, his back pressed against the cold, damp stone, his muscles still taut from hours of back-breaking work in the mine. His breath was slow, controlled, and he was beginning to feel the imminent transition back to his home world.

But before he could sink into the darkness... something changed.

A tiny, almost imperceptible noise broke the heavy silence of the cell. Not a sound of metal or chains. No, something fluid, furtive.

Her instincts were immediately alarmed.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the floor, her exhausted body tensed, ready to pounce if necessary.

A light breeze swept through the room, as if an invisible presence had slipped in without disturbing the guards.

Someone was there.

With a quick movement, Mordred straightened his head and scanned the hooded figure who had inexplicably slipped into the cell unnoticed.

The darkness of the room made his face indistinct, but the intruder’s fluid, calculated gait immediately betrayed someone accustomed to moving about undetected.

Mordred made no attempt to pretend surprise. On the contrary, he spoke immediately, his voice slightly louder than a whisper, but firm and threatening.

- Who are you?

His voice resounded with icy harshness. He was in no mood for guesswork after a day spent breaking rocks under the watchful eye of draconic torturers.

But before he could try anything else, the figure raised his hand slightly, beckoning him to calm down.

- Quieter.

The voice was soft, feminine, but controlled, poised. No fear, no confusion.

Someone confident.

Mordred didn’t move, but he sensed immediately that this person was no mere slave who had come in secret to seek help.

Then, with deliberate slowness, the figure lowered his hood.

And what he saw immediately made him cringe.

Before him, under the trembling glow of the torchlight outside, was a woman of bewitching, almost unreal beauty.

Her pure silver hair flowed in smooth waves over her shoulders, framing a face of perfect symmetry, where two piercing amber eyes shone, filled with subtle intelligence and unfathomable mystery.

But it wasn’t her appearance that instantly ignited a fire of contempt in Mordred’s veins.

No.

It was what she represented.

For he immediately recognized the subtle markings on her forehead, the patterns delicately etched into her pale skin.

A dragoness.

And not just any dragon.

She needed no introduction for him to understand who she was.

Mordred felt a burning wave of pure disgust and contempt rise up inside him.

His jaw clenched slightly as he stared at her with a mixture of cold intensity and restrained rage.

- You’ve got to be kidding!

His tone was filled with venom and icy hatred.

The dragoness didn’t even flinch. She continued to stare at him with absolute calm, as if his reaction didn’t surprise her in the least.

- You are... who, exactly?" added Mordred, his voice rumbling with anger ready to explode.

She didn’t answer immediately.

She stared at him a moment longer, measuring his incendiary gaze, his almost palpable contempt.

Then, in a breath, she declared in a clear, cutting voice:

- I am the princess of dragons.

The silence that followed was chilling.

The dragon princess.

The King’s daughter.

One of the heirs to the throne that had ruled this world for centuries.

Mordred felt his blood boil violently.

Everything, absolutely everything in him, was screaming to spit in his face.

His fist clenched violently on the ground, his muscles contracting under the effect of such brutal hatred that he had to force his own body not to move.

- You’ve got to be kidding me.

It wasn’t a question.

He wanted to destroy her with his eyes.

Her. The daughter of the monster who had enslaved mankind.

She. A noble dragoness, a creature born in wealth and blood, come to a slave cell as if it meant nothing.

His breath quickened slightly, but he remained calm.

Not out of fear.

But because hatred is best savored when you give your enemy time to understand that he represents nothing more than a despicable insect.

As for the princess, she didn’t move.

She didn’t look away in the face of his burning gaze.

She just stood there, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Then Mordred finally spat out his words, each of them loaded with pure, icy contempt.

- What are you doing here?

His voice was a blade.

Cold. Implacable.

If he could, he’d kill her on the spot.

But she...

She smiled slightly.

An unsettling smile.

The dragon princess’s smile stretched slightly, a subtle, almost amused rictus, as if she were perfectly anticipating Mordred’s every reaction. She was toying with him.

But it was when she opened her mouth that the real storm broke.

- Don’t you want news of Akane?

Mordred’s world came to a screeching halt.

His dull rage, his cold, burning hatred, all his attention immediately focused on those words.

Akane.

The name echoed in his skull like an explosion.

In a flash, he leapt to his feet, his body tense with raw tension.

He advanced abruptly towards the princess, stopping just inches from her, his gaze a sharp blade of fury.

- Speak up!

His voice rumbled like a muffled thunderclap.

There was no more sarcasm, no more contempt.

Only brutal urgency.

He wanted to know.

No.

He had to know.

The princess didn’t even flinch.

She looked at him with disconcerting calm, letting him seethe under the effect of unbearable expectation.

Then she laughed softly.

A light, almost... provocative laugh.

As if she was amused to see him in such a state.

- Oh, not so fast, Mordred.

He felt her fist clench so hard her nails dug into his skin.

- Speak, dragon.

Her tone was icy.

But she kept her enigmatic smile.

Then, slowly, she raised a slender, elegant finger.

- I have one condition.

Mordred growled weakly, but didn’t answer immediately.

He knew how to play this game.

Dragons didn’t offer anything for free.

They never did.

- I’m all ears.

His tone was more controlled, even if the tension in his body was still ready to explode.

The princess tilted her head slightly, observing every detail of his face, every movement of his body.

Then, in a suave, poised voice, she declared:

- Before your fight tomorrow, I’ll come and see you again.

She paused briefly, letting her words sink into him.

Then, slowly, she added the real condition:

- And then you must accept my request.

Mordred immediately squinted, analyzing every word.

She hadn’t yet specified what her request would be.

She wanted to bind him to a bargain he didn’t yet understand.

But he didn’t care.

If it meant getting news of Akane...

He’d take anything.

- All right, then.

He answered without a second’s hesitation.

Not a hint of hesitation. Not a doubt.

She stared at him, seeming to assess whether he was serious or not.

Then, satisfied, she nodded gently.

- Then listen carefully.

Mordred felt his heart grow heavy, as if something inside him already knew the truth would crush him.

Then she spoke.

- Akane survived her fight.

These first words drew a tiny sigh of relief from him.

But that relief evaporated immediately afterwards.

- But not for long.

Mordred had no time to ask a question.

The princess continued immediately, coldly, calmly.

- Belgaroth didn’t kill her.

She paused deliberately, as if to give him time to understand what was coming next.

- But he wants to break her.

A cold shiver ran down Mordred’s spine.

- He wants to see her kneel. Beg. Deny everything she is.

Mordred couldn’t breathe.

- All weapons were taken from her. Locked up. Starved. Only allowed to drink if she crawled to a bowl at her feet.

Her fists clenched violently.

- She’s beaten every day.

- If she speaks, they beat her.

- If she remains silent, she is beaten.

Mordred felt an infernal fire growing in his gut.

- She has no right to clothes.

His heart stopped for a moment.

- When Belgaroth came to see her, he amused himself by talking to her like a lover.

His teeth clenched so hard they crunched under the pressure.

- He caressed her, like a hunter admiring a trophy he still wants to savor before devouring it.

Mordred felt his blood turn to poison.

Poison that burned, that screamed, that consumed him from the inside out.

- He wants her to break.

- He wants her to become his.

- He wants to see her say "yes" when he takes her for the first time.

Something inside Mordred exploded.

His breath caught.

His mind dislocated.

His body trembled.

The air around him became oppressive.

His muscles clenched violently.

He could hear nothing but the deafening sound of his own rage.

The urge to kill.

To slaughter.

To rip Belgaroth’s throat out with his own teeth.

His vision blurred.

His blood boiled.

His hands trembled with an anger he’d never known before.

And the dragon princess was still smiling slightly.

Not in mockery.

But as if she expected it.

As if she wanted to see how far he could go.

As if she wanted to see the birth of the real Mordred.

In his slave cage, chained, reduced to an animal, Mordred had just realized something.

It was no longer a simple quest for vengeance.

It was no longer a simple need for power.

He was going to kill Belgaroth.

But not only that.

He was going to bring down this entire dragon kingdom.

He was going to crush them all.

Every last one of them.