The doors to the royal library loomed before Evelyne, tall and foreboding. The dark wood was carved with ancient symbols she didn't recognize, glowing faintly as if whispering secrets she wasn't meant to hear.
Azrael stood beside her, his golden eyes watching her reaction closely. "You insisted on coming here," he said, voice low and measured. "Let's see if you can handle it."
She squared her shoulders. "I can handle more than you think."
Azrael smirked but said nothing. With a simple motion of his hand, the massive doors groaned open.
Evelyne stepped inside and froze.
Rows upon rows of books stretched into the distance, their spines bound in deep crimson, onyx, and eerie shades of violet. Floating lanterns cast a dim, golden glow, making the shadows dance between towering shelves. Unlike the libraries of Solmere, where order and elegance reigned, this place pulsed with something alive—something ancient.
The scent of old parchment and burning embers filled the air.
"Impressed?" Azrael asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
Evelyne hesitated. "It's… different."
A soft chuckle rumbled from him. "Knowledge here is not tamed like in the human world. Some books are dangerous. Some… choose their readers."
Evelyne turned to him. "What does that mean?"
Azrael didn't answer. Instead, he lifted a hand, and a single book on a high shelf trembled before floating toward them. The cover was bound in black leather, engraved with a golden sigil that pulsed like a heartbeat.
"This is a history of the human-demon wars," Azrael said, handing it to her. "It is not the version your scholars teach."
Evelyne hesitated before taking the book. The moment her fingers brushed against the cover, a strange warmth spread through her hands, and a whisper curled in the back of her mind—a voice not her own.
Her breath hitched, but she ignored it.
She would not show fear.
Azrael watched her closely. "You heard it, didn't you?"
She swallowed hard. "What was that?"
"The truth."
His cryptic response only frustrated her more.
"I'll let you read in peace," Azrael said, turning away. "Lyria will remain here if you need assistance."
Evelyne blinked. "Wait, you're not staying?"
Azrael smirked over his shoulder. "Why? Do you prefer my company now?"
Her face burned. "That's not what I—"
But he was already walking away, his dark cloak billowing behind him.
Evelyne let out a sharp breath and turned back to the book.
If this library held the truth, then she would find it.
She would uncover the secrets of the past—and of the Demon King himself.
Hours passed, but Evelyne barely noticed. She pored over page after page, her mind racing.
The book spoke of the wars in chilling detail, but what disturbed her most was that the demons had not started them.
According to this version of history, it was the humans who struck first, driven by fear of what they didn't understand. Kings and priests spread propaganda, twisting reality to justify their crusades.
Was this true? Had everything she been taught been a lie?
She slammed the book shut, her heart pounding.
Lyria, who had been quietly watching from the other side of the room, finally spoke. "You look pale."
Evelyne pressed a hand to her forehead. "This… this can't be real."
Lyria crossed her arms. "Because it challenges what you've always believed?"
Evelyne clenched her fists. "Because if it's true, then… then my people are the villains."
Lyria's gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. "Truth is rarely simple, Princess. There are no pure heroes or monsters."
Evelyne shook her head. This changed everything.
If her father had lied about the war, then what else had he lied about?
Her mother's death?
Her arranged marriage to Azrael?
She needed answers.
And there was only one person who could give them to her.
The Demon King.
Evelyne stormed through the halls of the fortress, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and fury.
She found Azrael in a private chamber, standing by a massive window that overlooked his kingdom. He turned at her approach, one brow arched.
"You're back sooner than I expected."
She didn't waste time. "Did my father know?"
Azrael's expression remained unreadable. "About what?"
"About the truth," she pressed. "About the wars. About who really started them."
Azrael was silent for a moment before he spoke, his voice softer than she expected. "He knows."
Evelyne's stomach twisted.
"So he married me off to you," she whispered, "to silence the guilt?"
Azrael studied her carefully. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he simply feared me."
She let out a bitter laugh. "And yet, I was raised to believe you were the monster."
Azrael's golden eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And do you still believe that?"
Evelyne hesitated.
He was ruthless. He was dangerous.
But a monster?
She didn't answer. She couldn't.
Azrael took a step toward her. "You wanted the truth. Now you have it."
Evelyne's heart pounded as she met his gaze. She was trapped in a war far bigger than herself, tangled in a web of lies that went deeper than she ever imagined.
And standing before her was the one man who might hold all the answers.
But at what cost?