ANMELDENThe conversation stopped the exact moment she appeared.The concubines did not move immediately, but the air changed. It was almost imperceptible—their backs straightened, their hands stilled over their teacups, their gazes lowered just slightly.Respect.Not feigned—respect born from fear.Lyria did not need anyone to tell her that this woman was different.She wore an ivory gown of impeccable cut. Not extravagant, but impossible to ignore. The embroidery along the sleeves was subtle, ancient. Her dark hair was gathered into an intricate braid that rested over her shoulder like a quiet crown.Her beauty was not gentle.It was authority.She approached slowly, unhurried, like someone who knew no one would dare leave before she finished speaking.“Lady Elinor,” she said at last, stopping in front of Lyria.Her voice was not loud.But it was firm.Lyria stood immediately.“My lady.”A brief silence.“Lady Valeria of Armandelle,” she introduced herself naturally. “I assume you have heard
Lyria had not slept.The marks on her neck still ached. Not because of the pressure… but because of what they meant. Rowan—because now his name burned in her mind—had been willing to kill her.And if she did not find a way to speak to the king soon, he might still do it.She needed to see him.She needed to convince him that his choice was a mistake.But she didn’t know how.That morning, just as she finished breakfast, there was a knock at her door.A young woman entered with a flawless curtsy.“My lady. I have been assigned as your personal maid.”Lyria observed her with curiosity. Dark brown hair, neatly tied back. Movements precise, shaped by discipline.“What is your name?”“Mariel, my lady. I have served in the palace since I was a child.”Lyria nodded.As Mariel began helping her into a lavender dress, Lyria couldn’t help but ask:“Mariel… how does one request an audience with the king?”The maid glanced up, surprised.“You don’t, my lady.”“No?”“His Majesty decides when and w
The news spread through the palace like fire across dry fields.The Demon King had chosen a queen.Not a concubine.Not a favorite.A queen.Elinor’s brother could barely hide his pride as he walked beside her through the palace gardens, where an improvised celebration had been arranged in honor of the announcement.“Do you see?” he said in a low voice, unable to contain his smile. “I knew you were destined for something great.”Lyria walked at his side, dressed in the pale gown assigned to her after the proclamation.“I didn’t expect this,” she admitted.“No one did,” he replied. “That makes it even more glorious.”The gardens were in full bloom. White and red roses lined the gravel paths. A long table had been set beneath an open pavilion. Wine, fruit, roasted meats. Soft music in the background.Everything looked… beautiful.Unreal.Lyria took a seat beside her brother. The nearby nobles bowed their heads with more respect than before. The looks had changed.She was no longer a can
The dinner ended without anyone truly understanding what had happened.Emilia maintained her flawless composure until the very end. Her responses were polite, her posture perfect, her smile measured. She made no mistakes. She dropped no utensils. She did not speak out of turn.Lyria, on the other hand, felt as if she had survived a storm.When the king stood, both women rose immediately.“Lady Emilia. Lady Elinor,” he said, his voice firm. “You will remain in the eastern wing until I make my decision.”He did not explain how long.He did not explain by what criteria.He simply left, and the silence he left behind weighed more than any sentence.The rooms in the eastern wing were luxurious… but cold.Lyria walked through hers cautiously, barely touching the fabrics, the furniture, the window overlooking the inner gardens. It was not her home.It was a waiting room.A threshold to fate.A soft knock at the door made her turn.“Come in,” she said.Emilia entered.For the first time since
The palace did not feel real.Lyria stared at it from the carriage, her eyes wide despite reminding herself again and again not to show it. The towers rose like spears into the sky, pale marble gleamed under the midday light, and the tall windows reflected the sun as if they held fire within them.“Do not look amazed,” her brother murmured.She lowered her chin at once.But it was impossible not to feel it.It wasn’t just large.It was imposing.Beautiful.⸻The carriage came to a stop in the main courtyard. Soldiers in dark armor stood guard at the entrance. No one spoke. No one smiled.Even the air seemed to know that something more than a man ruled there.When she stepped down, Lyria felt the ground beneath her feet—solid, colder than she expected. She straightened her back and recalled every lesson she had learned in the country estate.You are Elinor.Not Lyria.She was led inside, where another young woman waited in the entrance hall. She was tall, with perfectly arranged dark h
The door to her chambers opened without warning.Lyria stood before the mirror, studying the pale dress she had chosen for the journey to the kingdom. It was not the most extravagant, but it was the most appropriate for a formal farewell. Her hands smoothed the fabric again and again, as if she could calm the tremor in her chest the same way.When she heard the soft creak of the door, she turned immediately.Elinor’s mother stepped inside.Her figure was delicate, dressed in soft tones. Her face, usually composed, was marked by a quiet sorrow she did not attempt to hide.“Mother,” Lyria said, inclining her head with practiced precision.The woman closed the door gently and walked toward her.For a moment that felt endless, she simply looked at her.That gaze was different from the others.Lyria felt fear rise in her throat.Does she know?Can she see it?“You’ve grown,” the woman whispered at last.Lyria forced a faint smile.“Time changes everyone.”The mother lifted a hand, hesitate







