The knife hovered above my palm, its edge humming like a held breath.
"Speak your name," the priest said.
I did not look at him. I watched the blade instead, the way red light crawled along its spine. Demon steel, they called it. Forged to remember blood.
"My name is Seris Vale," I said.
My voice did not shake. That surprised the court more than anything.
A murmur moved through the chamber, soft and uneasy, like silk dragged across stone. The demon nobles stood in their tiers, horns gilded, eyes burning in shades of ember and ash. None of them smiled. Weddings were supposed to be celebrations. This one felt like a verdict.
The blade dipped.
I felt the sting before I saw the blood. It welled slowly, heavy and dark, sliding down my skin. The priest caught it in a shallow bowl carved with runes that pulsed as if alive.
"Do you enter this covenant of your own will?" he asked.
I almost laughed.
Of my own will. As if will had anything to do with hunger debts and ledgers written in red ink. As if will had not already been traded away the day my mother collapsed over a merchant table, breath rattling, fingers still clutching a contract she could never finish paying.
"Yes," I said instead.
The lie tasted clean. The truth would have taken too long.
The runes flared brighter. Somewhere in the hall, chains clinked. Not real ones. I felt them anyway.
"Do you accept the binding of flesh, fortune, and fate?" the priest continued.
I hesitated.
This was the moment no one had explained to me. The part the demon envoy had skipped over while smiling too politely, as if politeness could soften the weight of what I was agreeing to.
"What happens if I say no?" I asked.
The hall went still.
The priest lowered his voice. "Then your family's debt is reclaimed in blood."
I nodded once. That was clear enough.
"I accept."
The bowl trembled. My blood darkened, thickening, until it looked less like liquid and more like something that wanted to crawl.
"Then kneel," the priest said.
I knelt.
The stone was cold even through the thin silk of my dress. White, of course. They had dressed me in white as if purity still mattered. As if anyone here believed I had come untouched by fear.
A shadow fell across me.
I lifted my head.
He stood at the far end of the ritual circle, taller than anyone else in the room, broad-shouldered, wrapped in black armor etched with symbols that drank in the light. His horns curved back from his temples like a crown made of night. His eyes were not red. They were darker than that. Like a fire banked so deep it no longer needed to burn brightly to destroy.
The Demon King.
Malrik Azrael.
I had known, in theory, that this marriage was political. A "stabilizing union," the envoy had called it. A necessary sacrifice. They had not told me his name. They had not told me his face.
They had not told me I would be kneeling before the ruler of the demon realms.
My breath caught despite myself.
He did not look at me.
His gaze was fixed on the priest, jaw tight, one hand resting on the hilt of a sword that looked too used to be ceremonial.
"Proceed," Malrik said.
One word. Flat. Commanding.
The priest swallowed and obeyed.
"Bring the second vessel."
A demon attendant stepped forward with another bowl. This one was already filled.
I did not need to be told whose blood it was.
The air changed as the Demon King cut his palm. I felt it like pressure behind my eyes, a sudden weight in my chest. His blood hit the bowl with a sound that was almost a crack, and the runes along the rim flared white-hot.
Pain lanced through my hand.
I gasped, fingers curling.
The cut on my palm burned as if someone had pressed it to a flame.
Across the circle, Malrik's shoulders stiffened.
He looked at me then.
Not with curiosity. Not with hunger.
With shock.
"You feel that," he said.
It was not a question.
"So do you," I replied, before I could stop myself.
A ripple of unease moved through the court again. The priest froze, eyes darting between us.
"That is not possible," he said.
The Demon King ignored him. His gaze did not leave my face.
"What did you feel?" Malrik asked.
I swallowed. Be careful, I told myself. This was not a man who liked surprises.
"Pain," I said. "Sharp. Immediate."
His jaw tightened. "That is a shared-response clause."
The priest paled. "That clause is dormant until—"
"Until the bond deepens," Malrik finished. "Yes. I know."
He took a step toward the circle. The air seemed to bend around him.
"And yet it has already activated," he said softly.
The runes carved into the stone beneath my knees began to glow.
The bowl lifted from the priest's hands on its own. The blood inside it churned, mixing, dark and darker, until there was no clear boundary between mine and his.
I felt a tug low in my chest, like a hook catching on something vital.
"Stop it," the priest whispered.
The magic did not listen.
A voice filled the hall. Not spoken. Felt.
By blood freely given and obligation sworn, the covenant awakens.
My vision blurred. The room tilted.
Malrik reached me in two strides, gripping my arm to steady me. His touch was warm. Too warm. Heat surged up my skin, chased by a wave of something else.
Fear.
Not mine.
His.
He looked down at me sharply, eyes blazing now. "Release the bond," he commanded.
The magic laughed.
Clause One acknowledged, the voice intoned. Shared burden established.
Pain slammed into my chest. I cried out despite myself, fingers digging into his armor.
Malrik swore under his breath, a harsh sound. He dropped to one knee beside me, one hand braced on the stone, the other still gripping my arm.
"What are you?" he demanded.
I stared at him, breath coming too fast. "Human," I said. "Very human."
The priest found his voice. "Your Majesty, this is impossible. The contract has never—"
"Silence," Malrik snapped.
The court obeyed instantly.
He looked at me again, more closely this time, as if searching for cracks, for hidden runes carved beneath my skin.
"You did not know," he said.
It was an observation. And somehow, an accusation.
"I knew I was marrying a demon," I said. "That was all they told me."
His mouth twisted. "They sold you."
"Yes."
Something dark and dangerous shifted behind his eyes.
The runes flared brighter.
Clause Two pending, the voice murmured. Emotional integrity under review.
"What does that mean?" I asked, heart hammering.
The priest backed away, shaking his head. "That clause was sealed. It cannot be—"
Malrik closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, something had hardened.
"It means," he said, "that the contract is awake."
The floor shuddered.
A scream rang out as one of the lesser nobles was thrown back by a burst of force. The magic surged, wild and hungry, spiraling up around us in threads of red and black.
Malrik pulled me against him without thinking. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, solid, protective.
The pain eased.
We both froze.
He looked down at me slowly.
"You calm it," he said.
I could not speak. My pulse thundered in my ears.
"I have lived with this contract for centuries," he went on, voice low. "It has never responded like this. Not to anyone."
The magic coiled closer, brushing against my skin like a living thing.
"I did nothing," I said.
"Exactly," he replied.
The voice spoke again, clearer now.
Primary authority identified.
The hall erupted.
"That is heresy," someone shouted.
"The contract cannot—"
Malrik stood in one smooth motion, pulling me with him. He turned, facing the court, his arm still around me.
"Enough," he said.
Silence fell like a blade.
"This ceremony is concluded," he announced. "Any who challenge the covenant will answer to me."
No one moved.
He looked down at me again, expression unreadable.
"You will come with me," he said.
It was not a request.
"Where?" I asked.
"To my chambers," he replied. "Before the contract decides something worse."
The magic tightened, as if in agreement.
As he led me from the ritual circle, my palm still burned where our blood had mixed. With every step, I felt his presence in my chest, heavy and inescapable.
This is a mistake, I thought.
But the contract did not care about mistakes.
It cared about bonds.
And somewhere deep within it, something had already chosen me.