Evelyne's heart pounded as she stepped through the towering Gates of the Underworld, her fingers still lightly clasped in Azrael's grip. The moment she crossed the threshold, an unnatural chill crawled over her skin, and the very air seemed to shift.
The world beyond the gates was nothing like she had imagined.
Instead of a barren wasteland of fire and death, she found herself standing in a vast, shadowed kingdom. The sky above was a deep crimson, streaked with veins of glowing gold. Enormous blackstone spires rose in the distance, each carved with intricate, glowing sigils. Rivers of molten lava cut through the land, their soft glow illuminating dark forests with twisted trees.
It was hauntingly beautiful.
A kingdom of nightmares and wonders.
Her escort had stopped at the border, their expressions tense. They weren't allowed past this point. From here, she was alone.
Azrael turned to face them, his golden eyes unreadable. "She is under my protection now," he said simply.
With those words, the last ties to her old life were severed.
Her father's men bowed stiffly, reluctant but powerless to defy a demon king. Evelyne swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched them turn their horses and ride away.
She was truly in enemy lands now.
Azrael didn't speak as he led her forward, and she was grateful for it. She needed a moment to process the reality of what was happening.
She was walking beside the most feared ruler in the world.
And soon, she would be his wife.
After a long ride through the darkened terrain, they reached his palace.
No—his fortress.
It loomed against the sky like something pulled from the depths of a forgotten legend. Massive obsidian walls encircled the structure, laced with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. The gates were twice the size of the ones at Solmere, and the statues of demon warriors stood like silent sentinels along the entrance.
When they passed through, demon guards in black armor bowed their heads in silent greeting.
Evelyne expected to be led through cold, lifeless halls, but once again, she was surprised.
The castle was not what she thought it would be.
The inside was dimly lit by floating lanterns that emitted a soft, bluish glow. The walls were lined with elegant dark tapestries woven with silver and gold, depicting battles, celestial constellations, and ancient symbols she couldn't understand. Though the atmosphere was heavy, it did not feel like a place of pure cruelty.
Azrael strode through the halls, his long cloak billowing behind him. Evelyne struggled to keep up, her eyes darting to the figures they passed.
Some demons were monstrous, their twisted forms barely humanoid, while others looked just like ordinary men and women—except for their eyes, which gleamed in shades of red, gold, or violet.
The whispers followed her.
"The human princess…"
"She looks fragile…"
"Why would our king bind himself to one of them?"
She bit her lip and forced herself to keep walking. She would not give them the satisfaction of looking weak.
After what felt like an eternity, they reached a grand set of doors. Azrael pushed them open, revealing a large chamber. A throne room.
At the center of the vast space, raised on a black marble dais, sat the Demon King's throne. Made of jagged obsidian, it was carved with runes that glowed faintly, their meanings lost to her. Above it, a large window stretched to the ceiling, revealing the eerie red sky beyond.
Azrael walked forward, his movements effortless, like a shadow drifting across the floor. He turned and regarded her with an expression she couldn't decipher.
"You will stay here," he said. "This will be your home now."
Evelyne stiffened. Home? This place would never be her home.
She lifted her chin. "Do I get a say in anything, or am I simply a prisoner dressed as a bride?"
Azrael arched a dark brow, his golden gaze assessing her. "Would you rather be locked away?"
She clenched her fists. "No."
"Then I suggest you accept your reality," he said smoothly. "You will have your own chambers, your own servants, and I will not force anything upon you. But do not mistake my patience for weakness."
Something in his tone sent a chill down her spine.
This was a man who did not need to raise his voice to command absolute authority.
Evelyne swallowed and turned away. "Fine."
Azrael studied her for a moment longer before nodding. "Lyria," he called.
A woman stepped forward from the shadows.
She was stunning—tall, elegant, and dressed in flowing dark silks. Her violet eyes shimmered beneath long lashes, and curved horns protruded slightly from her midnight-black hair.
"My lord," she said, bowing slightly.
Azrael motioned toward Evelyne. "She will be under your care. Ensure she has everything she needs."
Lyria's gaze flickered to Evelyne, unreadable yet curious. "As you command."
Azrael stepped past Evelyne, pausing only for a moment. "Rest for now," he said, his voice quieter this time. "Tomorrow, we discuss your role here."
And with that, he was gone.
Evelyne stood in silence, the weight of her situation crashing down on her.
She had left everything behind—her home, her family, her people—to stand in the heart of the enemy's lair.
And yet…
Azrael was not what she had expected.
She had been prepared for a cruel tyrant, a heartless monster who would break her into submission.
But the man she had met was controlled, unreadable, and—most unsettling of all—strangely patient.
She didn't know which was more dangerous.
Would she truly be a queen here, or just a pawn in his game?
Only time would tell.