The doors to the ritual hall closed behind us with a sound that felt final, like the sealing of a tomb.
The noise of the court vanished instantly. No murmurs. No protests. No echoing footsteps. Just silence—and the low, steady sound of my own breathing as I struggled to keep pace with the Demon King.
Malrik Azrael did not slow for me.
His stride was long, purposeful, the kind of walk belonging to someone who had never needed to check whether others could follow. The corridors we passed through were carved from black stone veined with faint crimson light, the walls alive with slow-moving sigils that reacted to his presence. As he passed, they brightened. As I followed, they flickered—uncertain.
I had the sharp, disorienting sense that the palace itself was watching me.
The burn in my palm had not faded. If anything, it had settled deeper, like heat trapped beneath the skin. Every few steps, a pulse of sensation rippled through my chest—not pain exactly, but pressure, like a hand closing briefly around my heart and letting go.
Shared burden, the voice had said.
I did not like the sound of that.
"You're hurt."
The words reached me not as sound, but as sensation. A sudden awareness, sharp and intimate, that did not originate from my own thoughts.
I stumbled.
Malrik stopped immediately, turning so fast his cloak snapped through the air. He caught my elbow before I could fall, his grip firm but careful, as if he were afraid of breaking something fragile.
"I said nothing," I managed.
"I know," he replied.
His eyes searched my face, dark and intent. Not accusing. Measuring.
"That was not for you," he said.
A chill slid down my spine. "Then who was it for?"
"For me."
The pressure in my chest pulsed again, stronger this time, followed by a flicker of emotion that was not mine.
Anger. Controlled. Old.
I pulled my arm free, stepping back. "You're in my head."
His jaw tightened. "And you're in mine."
The admission hung between us, heavy and dangerous.
He turned away without waiting for my response and resumed walking. I followed, because I had no choice—and because every instinct told me that stopping here, alone in a demon palace that did not yet recognize me, would be worse.
We reached a set of doors unlike the others we had passed. These were taller, etched with battle scenes instead of sigils—demons and monsters locked in violent motion, frozen in black metal. At the center was a symbol I recognized from the contract bowl.
The covenant mark.
Malrik pressed his bloodied palm against it.
The doors opened soundlessly.
Inside, the air was warmer. Not stifling—alive. Firelight glowed from braziers set into the walls, their flames an unnatural blue-black that cast shifting shadows across the room. The space was vast, but not ostentatious. No gold. No jewels. Just stone, steel, and scars carved into the architecture itself.
This was not a place designed to impress.
It was a place designed to endure.
Malrik released the door and gestured me inside. "Sit."
The word was sharp, automatic.
I bristled—and then sat anyway, lowering myself onto a wide stone bench near the hearth. The heat seeped into my bones, loosening muscles I had not realized were clenched.
He remained standing, watching me like a general studying a battlefield after a battle gone wrong.
"Explain," he said.
I let out a humorless breath. "You're going to need to be more specific."
His gaze flicked to my hand. "The contract reacted to you. Not to blood. Not to rank. To you."
"I don't control ancient demon magic," I said. "If I did, I wouldn't have agreed to marry a stranger."
His expression darkened at that. "You were not meant to marry me."
The words landed harder than I expected.
"What?" I asked.
"This contract," he said, moving closer, "was designed as a deterrent. A symbol. A blood-tied alliance meant to remind the human kingdoms that demons do not forgive debt lightly."
My stomach tightened. "So what was I meant to be?"
"A placeholder," he said bluntly. "A name. A body. Someone to fulfill the ritual so the clause could remain dormant."
I stared at him. "You planned this."
"I planned stability," he corrected. "I did not plan for the bond to awaken. I did not plan for it to recognize authority where there should be none."
The pressure in my chest surged, sharp enough to steal my breath.
He noticed immediately.
Malrik swore under his breath and stepped back. The pain eased.
"You're doing that again," I said hoarsely.
"Doing what?"
"Pulling away so it stops hurting me."
His shoulders stiffened. "I'm limiting contact."
"You don't have to touch me for it to hurt," I said. "Whatever this is—it's already connected."
He studied me for a long moment, then finally inclined his head. "Agreed."
The word felt heavy. A concession from a king who was clearly unused to making them.
"Then listen carefully," he said. "This bond is not a simple marriage tie. It is older than my crown. Older than this palace. It was forged after a war that nearly destroyed both realms."
I did not interrupt.
"It was meant to bind a demon sovereign to an equal," he continued. "Someone capable of sharing burden, consequence, and command. When the demon kings realized no such equal existed, the contract was sealed."
"And forgotten," I murmured.
"Buried," he corrected. "Until your family's debt unearthed it."
I swallowed. "You think I'm… what? Some kind of equal?"
"No," he said immediately.
The pressure in my chest spiked.
He winced.
"…Not by design," he amended, jaw tightening. "But the contract does not lie. If it has identified you as a primary authority, then you possess something it recognizes."
"And you don't know what that is."
"No."
That honesty unsettled me more than anger would have.
I stood slowly, my legs unsteady. "Then here's what I know. I didn't come here to rule demons or awaken ancient magic. I came here to keep my family alive."
Something flickered in his eyes. Not sympathy. Recognition.
"You succeeded," he said. "Your family is safe. Untouchable."
The word echoed in my mind.
"And me?" I asked.
His silence was answer enough.
The fire crackled, sharp in the quiet. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then the bond pulsed again—soft this time, almost… curious.
I felt something else slip through.
Weariness.
Not mine.
I looked at him more closely then. At the faint lines of strain around his eyes. At the way his shoulders remained rigid, as if rest were a forgotten concept.
"How long have you worn that crown?" I asked quietly.
His gaze snapped to mine. "That is not your concern."
The bond flared.
A memory—not mine—brushed against my thoughts. Blood-soaked stone. Screams. A crown heavy with expectation and failure.
I gasped.
Malrik recoiled as if struck. "Do not," he growled.
"I didn't mean to," I said, heart racing. "I swear."
He turned away, fists clenched. "The bond is unstable. Until I understand its limits, you will remain here."
"In your chambers?" I asked.
"In my ward," he corrected. "This space is shielded. The contract cannot extend beyond it without my consent."
"And if I leave?"
His voice was low. "Then the palace will feel your absence. And it will not respond kindly."
That sounded like a threat. Or a warning.
"Am I a prisoner?" I asked.
He faced me again, eyes dark. "No."
The bond pulsed—truthful.
"You are my wife," he said, the word strange on his tongue. "And that makes you the most dangerous variable in my realm."
My chest tightened, but this time the sensation was not pain.
It was fear. Sharp. Anticipatory.
"Rest," he added, turning toward the far side of the room where a door slid open at his approach. "Tomorrow, we begin undoing this."
"And if it can't be undone?" I asked.
He paused, hand on the doorframe.
"Then," he said slowly, "we will find out what kind of queen the contract believes you are."
The door closed behind him.
The fire crackled louder, as if pleased.
I sank back onto the stone bench, staring at my burning palm, at the faint glow now etched into my skin where his blood had touched mine.
I had traded one debt for another.
And this one had teeth.