The palace was not what Elara expected.
She had imagined darkness and chains. Instead, she found towering halls of black crystal that reflected starlight from cracks in the cavern ceiling. Rivers of glowing lava flowed behind protective barriers, casting warm golden light.
Creatures bowed as she passed — winged sentinels, shadowed advisors, horned nobles draped in velvet.
None smiled.
Her chambers were vast, furnished with dark wood and silver-threaded tapestries depicting battles and constellations. A balcony overlooked a sea of fire far below.
It was beautiful.
It was terrifying.
The Devil King — whose name she learned was Malakar — did not visit her that first night. Nor the second.
On the third evening, he appeared without warning, stepping from the shadows near her hearth.
"You are not afraid," he observed.
Elara lowered her book. "I am terrified."
A flicker of something — amusement? — touched his eyes.
"Yet you remain."
"I made a promise."
Malakar walked slowly around the room, trailing his fingers along the carved stone wall. "Most humans break promises when fear outweighs honor."
"I am not most humans."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, he said, "You may walk the upper gardens tomorrow. Guarded."
"Why?"
"Because you are my queen," he answered simply.
It was not tenderness.
But it was not cruelty either.