On my wedding eve, my fiancé gave my mother's dragon to my adopted sister. Then he told me to kneel and wipe her boots—or walk the fire to end eight years. I chose the fire. Barefoot, bleeding, I crossed the coals while he laughed that no man would have me. Seconds later, a white dragon descended with an army at its back. The most powerful lord in the North looked down at my burned feet and said, "I'll marry her."