The Dragon King's Hated Bride-Chapter 128: Ari At The Tavern

>>Ariston

I stared at him, frozen, every part of me suddenly ice-cold.

"No," I said sharply, my voice lower than it should’ve been, harsher than I meant. "I’m not doing that."

I turned on my heel. The tavern door stood right there, an escape within reach.

Drakkar didn’t stop me. Not physically. Not with his voice either.

He just leaned back against the bar, arms crossed again, that damn calm in his posture like he knew exactly how this would play out.

"It’s your decision," he said casually. "I won’t force anything on you."

I paused by the door, hand hovering over the worn wooden handle.

It was my decision. And I hated that.

The tavern had gone quiet behind me—too quiet. I could hear the crackle of the fire, the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen, a faint wind blowing through the narrow cracks in the windows.

This was the only lead I had found. The only sign of my father in years. If I left now... where would I even go? Back to begging strangers for a name? A shadow? A guess?

I clenched my jaw, the frustration burning under my skin like it always did—when the world closed in, when choices weren’t really choices at all.

Slowly, I turned around.

Drakkar was still there, smug as ever, watching me like he’d been waiting the entire time.

When my eyes met his, his smirk widened knowingly.

I hated that I was doing this.

But I walked back in.

And he didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to.

He already knew I had agreed.

***

My eyes widened. My mouth opens just slightly.

What the hell... am I wearing?

A deep, crimson flush creeps up my neck to my cheeks as I take in the reflection. It’s me—definitely me—but I’m dressed like... like some seductive demon succubus

The top—or what barely counts as one—is tight black leather, cut so low and high it feels like a cruel joke. The chest is mostly exposed, only barely framed by a spiderweb of blood-red patterns that look like claws wrapping around my skin. My midriff is completely bare, revealing a sharp, symmetrical tattoo just above my waistline. It was somehow part of the dress

I instinctively tug at the edges of the outfit, as if somehow I can make it... longer? Less revealing? No luck. The sleeves are skintight, one full arm covered in black and red stripes, the other mostly bare. My fingers twitch like I want to cover myself, but where would I even start?

Then there are the shorts—black leather again.They fit too well. Too snug. Like someone tailored them specifically to leave nothing to the imagination. And it was so short, might as well say it was a big belt rather than shorts.

I pursed my lips in shame.

And the tail. The massive, crimson, dripping scorpion-like tail arching behind me, moving on its own. I yelped as it twitched, casting a jagged shadow over the wall behind me.

"I look so weird," I mutter, horrified. "And embarrassing ."

I glance back at the mirror again, one hand awkwardly trying to cover my stomach, the other fidgeting uselessly with the zipper of the too-small top.

That smug bastard had tailored it.

I heard the door open.

I didn’t wait.

I spun around, rage igniting like a spark to dry kindling. My fingers flew down to my boot, yanking the dagger free in one smooth, practiced motion. I charged across the room, heart pounding, blade raised before he’d even stepped through fully.

Drakkar didn’t flinch.

In fact, he barely moved.

One moment I was mid-lunge, dagger aimed for his throat—and the next, his hand snapped up, impossibly fast, catching my wrist like I was a training dummy. His other hand caught my waist mid-air and twisted, using my momentum against me.

My back hit the wall.

!!!

The dagger clattered to the ground.

And I was pinned.

One arm was held above my head, wrist locked in his grip, the other hand pressed against my hip, holding me in place. He leaned in, far too close, face far too amused.

"Well, someone’s in a mood," he said, his voice low and velvety, eyes flicking down my body. "Is this how you thank me for gifts now?"

"You call this a gift?" I spat, struggling against him, cheeks burning. "It’s a godsdamn strip-show in leather!"

He laughed—an actual laugh, deep and warm in his chest, like I’d told him a joke.

"Oh, come on. It brings out your eyes," he murmured, then grinned. "And your hips. Especially your hips."

I let out something between a growl and a curse, trying to shove him off me, but he didn’t budge. His grip just tightened, playfully.

"You’re adorable when you’re angry," he added with maddening calm. "Like a very stabby kitten in a very tight outfit."

"I will kill you," I hissed.

"I’m counting on it," he said, leaning in just a bit more. "But maybe wait until after you’ve modeled the back for me. I hear the tail moves when you’re mad."

I froze. My tail did twitch. Violently.

Holy Hell!

I was never wearing anything he gave me again.

I was still pinned to the wall when Drakkar finally loosened his grip. I yanked my wrist free, scowling hard enough to start a storm. He stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender, that damned grin still stretched across his face.

"Relax," he said casually, like I wasn’t about to stab him again. "No one will recognize you."

"Excuse me?" I snapped.

He nodded toward the mirror. "You’re wearing a wig." Yes, there was a wig too.

I blinked, then turned to catch my reflection again to look again. Beneath the crimson glow and the scandalous outfit, my usually short, red hair had been replaced with a long, black wig that framed my face like some cursed glamor spell.

"And honestly," Drakkar continued, voice full of infuriating amusement, "who would ever think the human war hero, Ariston, would be found in a tavern—swaying his hips, enjoying drinks, and flirting with the customers?"

My fists clenched so hard my knuckles cracked.

"You what?"

His laughter burst out of him, rich and unbothered. He leaned against the table like this was just some fun little joke between friends. "You’re taking it too seriously."

"I should gut you for saying that," I growled.

"Mm. Maybe later."

I glared. He ignored it.

"All you need to do," he said, like this was all perfectly normal, "is find the person who’s been drugging the customers."

I stared at him. "And why, exactly, do I need to do that?"

He didn’t even hesitate. "Because you’re a new face. No one knows you. No one will suspect you’re watching. You’ll blend in perfectly."

I opened my mouth to argue again, but then—

"And because," he added, tone suddenly dropping into something smoother, more serious, "I own the tavern. And I want this dealt with quickly. Discreetly."

That stopped me.

"On that note, why the hell do you own a tavern?" I echoed, "You’re the demon prince!"

"Oh, nothing special." he shrugged, "I knew I was never inheriting the throne, so I had to do something else. Never thought it would be Draegon who would take the seat, but oh well," he turned his back on me and began to walk towards the window, "It was never going to be me, so-"

"So you decided to make a cheap tavern?" I snorted

"Excuse you," He looked back at me, "My tavern is a very high end one." He was slightly offended but played it off, "And I own a few other businesses." The sun was setting in the background, "Now chop-chop." He clapped his hands, "We need to get to work" he said, flashing that familiar, wicked smile. "I’ve got to fund my future self somehow." I stared at him in disbelief.

"As a prince you don’t have to worry about that." I rolled my eyes at him.

"Oh, I’m not worried, I just do it for fun." He was acting haughty which just somehow made me more angry, "And besides, who better to run a den of sin than someone who understands the business?"

I rubbed a hand down my face, groaning into my palm. And then this stupid idiot asks me why I don’t give him a chance.

Why would I give a demon who loves to be this free a chance?

He and I are too different.

So now I was dressed like a demonic temptress, in a wig, about to go undercover in some shady tavern—owned by Drakkar—to catch a poisoner.

All while swaying my hips and pleasing the customers.

This was hell.

***

The music throbbed through the tavern like a second heartbeat—low, heavy, and sultry. The air smelled of smoke, spice, and something faintly magical, like temptation in liquid form. Laughter echoed from dark corners, glasses clinked, and somewhere nearby, someone was already losing a bet they didn’t remember making.

I sat with one leg crossed over the other at the edge of the lounge platform, one hand lazily resting on the velvet armrest of my seat. The dress clung to me like it had been sewn into my skin. Every inch of exposed flesh shimmered slightly under the enchanted lights, the blood-red patterns on the fabric pulsing faintly with the beat of the music.

My fake tail flicked behind me—smooth, controlled, calculated—like it had its own rhythm, one designed to draw attention. And judging by the dozens of eyes watching me, it was working.

Demons watched me from all angles. Their gazes burned—some hungry, some amused, some curious. Male, female, somewhere in between, or beyond—it didn’t matter. They didn’t know who I was. They just saw the exotic new customer with dangerous eyes, perfect posture, and a drink list more expensive than their pride.

I tilted my head and smiled—slow, confident, unreadable. Then lifted my fingers and ordered the most expensive drink on the menu, something glowing and green, served in a glass that looked like it had teeth. I didn’t even flinch when I sipped it.

On the outside, I was everything Drakkar wanted me to be: elegant, sultry, controlled.

But inside?

I wanted to crawl under the table and die.

Every movement felt too big, too obvious. Every pair of eyes on me made me itch beneath the leather. The wig made my scalp sweat. The tail kept swaying without my permission, and the top—it wasn’t even trying to stay in place.

But I didn’t let a single flicker of discomfort touch my face.

I just need to find the person drugging the drinks of the demons here. Apparently someone is trying to destroy the tavern’s reputation and make it go under.

A presence sank into the velvet couch beside me.

I wasn’t all that familiar with what kind of creature had just arrived. There was this faint, wet sound of shifting skin, the scent of brine and dark magic made me curious

I turned to look at the man.

"Evening," came a voice, low and oozing charm. "Didn’t think I’d find someone so... captivating tonight."

It was a tentacle demon.

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