Chapter 6

“If you fail, they will kill you.”

Elinor did not raise her voice, nor did she soften her words. The way she let them fall between them made the air in the room grow heavier. The late afternoon light slanted through the tall windows, illuminating the dust suspended in the air, while Lyria held a closed book on her lap she had long since stopped reading. Her fingers slowly tightened around its cover.

“The final… test?” she asked, a cold weight settling in her chest.

Elinor nodded without hesitation.

“In two months.”

There was no comfort. No warning softened by kindness.

“You’ve learned to walk like me, to speak like me… even to remain silent like me,” she continued, watching her closely. “You’ve memorized my history, my preferences, my silences.”

She leaned slightly closer.

“Now you will have to be me in front of my family.”

Lyria’s heart slammed against her ribs.

“In front of everyone?”

“Everyone. My father, my uncles… the servants who have watched me grow up since childhood,” Elinor replied, never breaking eye contact. “If you pass that, you’ll be able to live in the city.”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to.

Lyria lowered her gaze, gripping the fabric of her skirt.

“I don’t think I can do it,” she admitted softly. “Sometimes I still make mistakes… I say things a lady wouldn’t say.”

Elinor studied her in silence for several seconds, as if weighing every gesture, every doubt, every crack.

“You don’t have a choice,” she said at last.

Lyria looked up.

“Neither of us does.”

Silence thickened between them.

“And you?” Lyria asked.

Elinor stood and walked toward the window.

“I will disappear,” she said calmly. “I’ll live here, in the countryside. Far from the court… far from the king.”

She turned her head slightly.

“While you take my place in the city… I will take yours in oblivion.”

A knot formed in Lyria’s throat.

“And if I’m discovered?”

Elinor turned fully. Her eyes were cold.

“Then you will be executed.”

The air seemed to freeze.

“There will be no trial. No mercy,” she added. “And they will come for me.”

A chill ran down Lyria’s spine.

“I understand,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure she truly did.

⸻

That night, Elinor asked to see the knight alone. They met near the stables, where the darkness was thicker and the air smelled of damp earth. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

“Take care of her,” Elinor said at last.

The knight lifted his gaze.

“I will.”

“That’s not enough,” she replied, stepping closer. “Make sure she isn’t discovered. No matter what you have to do.”

The silence between them tightened.

“I promise.”

Elinor watched him, as if she wanted to believe him.

“She doesn’t understand the world she’s walking into.”

“She will,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely certain.

Then Elinor did something unexpected.

She embraced him.

She held on tightly, as if it were the only place she could still allow herself to be weak. He tensed at first, then rested a hand on her back, steadying her.

“I’ll come back for you,” she whispered. “I swear.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him—and kissed him.

It was brief. Urgent. Full of promises neither of them knew if they could keep.

“Take care of her,” she repeated, softer now. “For me.”

⸻

The journey began at dawn.

Seven days separated Lyria from a fate she had never chosen.

Mounted on horseback, wrapped in layers too thin for the cold, she watched the landscape as if trying to memorize it all. The knight rode beside her, silent.

“Where are you taking me?” she finally asked.

“To the city. To the Avelaine residence.”

“And then?”

“You will be presented as a candidate to the king.”

Lyria frowned.

“A candidate?”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean I could become queen?”

The knight let out a short, humorless laugh.

“No.”

She blinked.

“He has never chosen one.”

Lyria looked away.

“So… I’ll just be another.”

“If he chooses you.”

Silence settled again.

“I don’t like the idea of being given to a man I don’t know,” she murmured.

“I know.”

“But I suppose it’s better than starving… or being sold again by my father.”

The knight remained quiet for a moment before speaking.

“You can ask whatever you want now,” he said. “Before we arrive.”

Lyria didn’t hesitate.

“What is the king like?”

The silence stretched.

“Dangerous,” he answered at last. “Unpredictable.”

“Cruel?”

“Worse.”

Lyria tightened her grip on the reins.

“Why do they call him the Demon King?”

The knight exhaled slowly.

“Because he is not like other men.”

She looked at him.

“That explains nothing.”

“He took the throne at eighteen. His own family tried to take it from him.”

“And what did he do?”

The knight glanced at her.

“He killed them.”

The world seemed to stop.

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

The wind picked up.

“Their heads were displayed outside the palace for months.”

Lyria felt sick.

“They say he was born without a soul,” she whispered, recalling the terrible rumors about the man she was being sent to.

“They say many things.”

“Do you believe it?”

The knight hesitated.

“I believe he does not love.”

“Anyone?”

“No one.”

The silence grew heavier.

“Then… his wife…”

“She will not be happy.”

Lyria lowered her gaze.

“And you’re still taking me to him?”

“Yes.”

“And if I refuse?”

This time, he looked at her directly.

“You will die. You already know—your life belongs to us now.”

Lyria said nothing. Fear tightened around her chest, but something else began to harden inside her.

She took a deep breath.

And when she spoke, her voice was steadier than she expected.

The road stretched on, and when they finally crossed the last hill, Lyria saw the palace rise before her—dark, imposing, like a promise of everything that could destroy her.

And somewhere within those walls…

the man who could kill her…

was already waiting.