Chosen Bride of the Seven Dark Princes

Midnight blew across the darkened spires of Avalia's Dragon Palace, swirling the fireflies around the fragrant lavender and rosemary meadows.

The largest of the three moons, a pinkish gold sphere, shone weakly onto the rugged plains below. Tendrils of hazy wispy clouds hovered over its face, obscuring some of its details.

The medium-sized greenish moon was a bit paler, less obtrusive, but it did give out a decent amount of light. It hung high on the horizon, next to the tiny blue moon that gave out the least amount of light.

Three full moons. There would be very little cover for any covert operation.

High atop one of the watch towers, a single solitary man stood watch. Stray wisps of his hair blew across his face with the murmuring gusty winds.

His eyes were alert, his senses humming. He had been standing on high alert for hours now but he continued his vigil without cessation.

If there was one night when all hell broke loose during the witching hour, it would be tonight.

"Nothing yet." He spoke into thin air. "East Tower is quiet."

He paused for a moment, obviously listening to someone say something.

"From the Southeast you say?" He cocked his head, listening and watching the southeast side. "I still don't see anything."

His sharp dragon eyes continued to scan the horizon.

Nothing was happening save for the rustling of the winds through the willows on the ground near the trickling creek that ran down the craggy hillside to feed into the palace ponds.

Suddenly, from below the horizon, hundreds—no thousands of dragons on the wing rose up.

"They're here!" He sounded the alert. "Thousands of them, flying in from the southeast! Sound the alarm!"

On his command, horns began blaring, breaking the silence of the night.

From below his watch tower, hundreds of his fellow warriors began teeming forward taking up their positions.

"Get ready! They're coming!" He shouted.

In no time flat, the hordes of dragons flying in formation began to descend from the sky.

"Fire at will! Fire at will!" The commands came as hundreds of pulse beams began shooting up from the ground to hit with solid thuds, the force shields of the dragons that were flying in.

There were hundreds of shooters but there were thousands of fliers.

Once half the fliers landed within the courtyards, the shooters used their weapons as bludgeoning tools as hand-to-hand combat began.

Black-clad Royal Guards with red collars and red sleeves fought against Duke Abberbie's black-clad warriors with green collars and green sleeves.

Screams and shouts rang out everywhere as friends fought against friends. Brothers fought against brothers. Fathers fought against sons.

The relatively small space of the courtyard did have one redeeming quality. It limited the number of attackers who could descend into the palace.

From the courtyard, bands of black-green dragons fought with black-red dragons to break through into the inner sanctum of the palace.

Their objective—to rescue the girl who was to be put to death tomorrow.

If they succeeded, it would be a civil war which would depose King Süren, the latest Dragon King to ascend the throne, to make way for Duke Abberbie to become the new Dragon King.

If they failed, it would be status quo and Duke Abberbie, along with his entire family and retinue of followers, would be slaughtered for the crime of insurrection and uprising.

It was a civil battle that was truly horrific in scope and scale.

In a very short amount of time, there were hundreds and hundreds of dragon warrior deaths on both sides, all on account of a single female who was imprisoned within the dungeon keeps of the Avalian palace walls.

As the black-green dragons fought to gain traction into the palace, they were met on all sides by King Süren's forces.

Someone set a section of the palace on fire. Screams and howls began to get desperate as people trapped within that one section of the palace began to die a horrible death of smoke inhalation and burns.

The smell of burning wood merged with the stench of burning flesh. It was a revolting unique odor of wood smoke and a strange sweet charred smell similar to that of roast pork.

Women began to join men in the desperate battle, fighting invaders as well as quelling the fires with water hoses and buckets.

More black and green warriors poured into the palace. The palace royal guards were barely holding their ground, meeting every new warrior with a fresh warrior of their own.

High above, within the safety of an Avalian warship, Duke Abberbie gazed down at the forces on the ground.

His curly brown hair, rotund body and jowled cheeks were by no means jolly. He couldn't be much more serious than he was at that very moment.

At the height that his warship was hovering, he could not see much, but the visuals zooming in on the palace grounds were adequate for him to make out the battle raging below.

Duke Abberbie's aim was not to win this battle. He only wanted to extract his daughter from the dark desperate dungeon they had held her.

Unfortunately, the palace defense was very tight. The only way to extract her was to win a fight that he did not want to engage in.

His attempt to buy off the Advisors had failed and so there was no other choice but to send his troops in.

Duke Abberbie stood at the window of the ship, looking down at the light show on the ground. His eyes were tragic.

Although he could not hear the raging battle, he knew that dragons on both sides were being slaughtered for what would seem to be no good reason at all. They were weakening their dragon forces for nothing!

Damn Süren! It didn't have to be like this.

All he wanted was for Süren to marry his daughter and take over the throne in an orderly peaceful manner. Why did Süren have to make a big deal out of marrying Sharina?

If he really wanted the Erenveil Princess, he could have simply taken the girl as a Royal Consort. Although Sharina would have been a bit upset about that, no one would truly care.

Lyra was just a minor princess from a minor Royal Consort. Being a Royal Consort herself to the Dragon King would not have been an insult.

Instead, what had happened? Süren had fought like a hell hound against the idea of marrying Sharina. In a last desperate attempt to snare him, Sharina had done what he told her to do and was now on death row.

Damn Süren!!!

Duke Abberbie had been more than willing to cut a deal to get his daughter out, but Süren did not even want to discuss any options!

It was all Süren's fault! Because of him, there would be such wanton destruction of the palace and the deaths of so many people!

Duke Abberbie slammed his hand against the glass window.

His daughter certainly did not deserve to die. How was she to know that Süren would have reacted so badly to the drugs?

"Your Grace!" An attendant ran into the room. "The Royal Troops are flying up to fight an aerial battle!"

Duke Abberbie scowled. Aerial battles were even more costly in terms of dragon lives.

The Royal Guard were not even waiting for his forces to land. They were engaging them in the air!

This was his last chance to extract Sharina. There would be no more chances.

"Call in the remaining ground troops. Flood the palace. I want my daughter out of there whatever it takes!" He yelled.

"Yes Sir!" The attendant ran out of the room to do his bidding.

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