The journey to the southern fortress was silent, save for the soft rumble of the Demon King's chariot and the occasional whisper of the wind through obsidian towers lining the road. I sat beside him, hands clasped tightly in my lap, eyes fixed on the passing landscape.
He said nothing. Not once.
I wanted to speak, to ask questions about the artifact, the chains, the nature of our bond—but his presence alone kept my tongue tied. Even the air around him seemed charged, like a storm waiting to strike.
The chains on my wrist pulsed faintly. I could feel him—every subtle shift in his breathing, every heartbeat. A tether I could not see, yet could not ignore.
Finally, he spoke, low and deliberate. "You will train at the fortress. Magic, combat, etiquette… all of it. Your role as my wife requires more than ceremony."
I swallowed hard. "I don't have magic."
"You do now," he said, eyes narrowing. "The contract transfers power. But it will not sustain you without control. You will need to learn discipline."
Discipline. The word felt heavier than chains themselves.
When we arrived at the fortress, the gates loomed like black mountains. Guards with armor that shimmered like liquid obsidian bowed as he passed. Their eyes flicked to me, curious, wary.
"You will address them as your protectors," he said, stepping off the chariot. "They will test your limits. The weakest attempt to challenge me, or you, will fail. But the strong… will demand obedience."
I nodded, trying to hide my trembling. My pulse synced with the chains again, and I felt a warmth coursing through my veins. A warning? Or an awakening? I wasn't sure.
Inside the fortress, a circle of generals and sorcerers awaited. The air was thick with magic; I could sense spells hidden in every corner, whispers of curses waiting for mistakes. The Demon King moved with fluid authority, introducing me only briefly.
"This is Ashara," he said. "She is my wife. Her presence stabilizes my power. She is to be respected, and anyone who doubts her will answer to me."
A sorcerer stepped forward, his eyes scanning me like a predator. "Your Majesty," he said cautiously, "with respect, what is her training? She is human. The contract… unusual."
"I do not need to explain to you," the Demon King replied. His gaze snapped to mine, locking me in place. "Learn from her, or risk failure. She is mine."
The generals and sorcerers fell silent. I could feel their curiosity—and fear. The chains pulsed stronger now, as if sensing their doubt and my rising anxiety.
Later, alone in my chambers, I traced the glowing sigil on my wrist. A warmth spread through me—gentle, intoxicating, yet tinged with warning. It was not merely magic. The artifact had a mind of its own.
A soft knock echoed at my door.
I turned. The Demon King was standing there, his silhouette dark against the torchlight. "Do not forget," he said quietly. "The bond is more than magic. It is life itself. Every choice, every heartbeat, connects us. If you falter… I will feel it. And so will you."
I swallowed, my chest tightening. "I… I will not falter."
"Good," he murmured. For the first time, he stepped closer, closer than necessary. The chains pulsed furiously, and I felt heat rush through me. My pulse raced—not just from fear.
"Remember this," he said, voice low. "The world will test you. The contract will test you. And I… will test you."
His words lingered as he turned and left, the door closing softly behind him. The warmth of the chains remained, a constant reminder that our bond was not just magical—it was personal, dangerous, and binding in ways I did not yet understand.
I sat down, hands trembling, realizing that my life had irrevocably changed. I was the Demon King's wife. The artifact pulsed against my wrist, whispering promises of power and warning of consequences.
And I knew, deep in my chest, that the storm had only just begun.