Reborn to Ruin My Cheating Dragon Husband and Claim My Cursed Warlord

Alys Mercer POV:

Kayden lay draped across Jaheem's shredded tunic, tears streaming down her pale face as she glared up at the terrace.

"Princess, I know you hate me because Jaheem gave his heart to me!" she yelled, her voice trembling with self-righteous drama. "If you must punish someone, punish me! Do not torture him with this medieval savagery!"

A few of the younger palace squires shifted uncomfortably in the back row.

I walked toward the punishment bench, the hem of my crimson gown brushing against the coarse gravel.

"Punish you?" I stopped three feet away, staring down at her. "What makes you think a dragonless stray is worthy of my attention?"

"Love knows no rank!" Kayden snapped, biting her lip. "Where I come from, all humans are equal! You are no better than anyone else just because you were born with golden blood!"

"This is Althea," I said, my voice cutting through her words like an iron blade. "This land is governed by the breath of the First Dragon, not the delusions of a beggar."

I turned my eyes to the chief bailiff standing beside the bench.

"Bailiff. What is the penalty under Dragon Court Law for a dragonless commoner disrupting a royal execution?"

The bailiff dropped to one knee, his armor clanking. "Death by sacred flame, Your Highness. Or the severing of both feet."

Kayden's jaw slackened. The righteous color drained from her face in an instant. Her hands began to tremble violently against Jaheem's bloody ribs.

"Did you hear that?" I asked her quietly. "Will you move yourself, or shall I have the guards remove your feet before throwing you into the street?"

Kayden scrambled backward so fast she scraped her palms raw against the stones.

Jaheem reached out a bloody hand, clutching her ankle. "Alys! Do not touch her! Take it out on me!"

"How noble," I sneered. "Since you are so eager to bear her burdens, her crime of obstructing the court shall be answered upon your back."

I looked at the executioner. "Add twenty strikes to the sentence. Proceed."

The heavy thud of iron against flesh began again, accompanied by Jaheem's piercing wails.

Kayden sat curled on the dirt, her hands pressed over her ears, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

Before the thirtieth strike could land, the sharp clatter of iron-shod hooves echoed from the outer gates.

A carriage bearing the Bradley crest skidded to a halt at the edge of the square. A young woman in an ostentatious silk gown adorned with cheap fire-ruby earrings kicked the door open and rushed down the steps.

"Stop! Stop this at once, you filthy dogs!" Gwyn Bradley screamed, charging into the courtyard.

She saw her brother covered in blood on the wooden bench, her face turning crimson with rage. She marched straight toward the dais, pointing a manicured finger at my face.

"Alys! You madwoman! How dare you lay a hand on my brother!"

"Impudent!" Clara barked, stepping forward to block her path.

"Out of my way, servant!" Gwyn shrieked, raising her palm to strike Clara across the face.

Clara was faster.

She caught Gwyn's wrist mid-air, twisted it downward, and delivered a brutal, resounding backhand across Gwyn's cheek.

The crack of the slap rang across the stones.

Gwyn spun from the force and collapsed hard onto her side, her ruby earring flying off into the dirt.

"A half-blood brat of a vassal house dare speak the First Princess's name?" Clara looked down with cold disgust. "Learn your place."

Gwyn clutched her swelling cheek, tears of shock filling her eyes. "You... a common handmaiden struck me? My mother will have you flayed alive!"

I took a step toward her. The golden light in my irises pulsed, locking her onto the ground with pure bloodline weight.

Gwyn shrank back against the stones, whimpering.

Before I could speak, a massive shadow fell over me.

Kael stepped directly between Gwyn and me. His broad shoulders blocked her hateful glare, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, a mountain of silent, lethal menace.

"The morning wind is sharp, Your Highness," he said in a low, gravelly rasp.

He unfolded a heavy golden dragon-scale cloak and draped it gently over my shoulders.

I gathered the fur trim against my collar. The clean scent of arctic cedar and dark ember smoke drifted from the fabric, cutting through the stench of blood in the courtyard.

Down the avenue, a second carriage—twice as large, decorated with gilded iron and heavy velvet—pulled through the main gates.