Lahat ng Kabanata ng Betrothed to the devil himself : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

The night was heavy with silence, yet Daphne's thoughts were louder than any storm.She sat upon the edge of her bed, golden hair tumbling in loose waves down her shoulders, her white nightgown clinging to the shape of her body as though spun from mist. The candles had burned low, their flames trembling against the velvet darkness of her chamber, but still she could not sleep. Her heart throbbed wildly in her chest, as if it had long known what her mind tried in vain to resist.Tomorrow.Tomorrow her childhood would be over. Tomorrow, the Horned King would come for her.She pressed her hands over her breast, willing herself to calm, but the heat beneath her skin betrayed her. It was not only fear that filled her veins tonight—it was something darker, something she dared not name aloud.Why do I tremble for him? Why does my body burn at the thought of a man I have never touched?She had tried to deny it, tried to pray it away in the temple, tried to bury it beneath silk sheets and whis

Days passed. Life within the fortress was unlike anything Daphne had known. Her every need was tended to, yet the weight of chains hung invisibly around her. Her chamber was vast, decorated with gold, ivory, and silks stolen from conquered lands. Servants bowed to her, addressed her as "Queen," and clothed her in gowns finer than those she wore in Cural. But Daphne felt no joy in these gifts. Every wall whispered of her captivity, every jewel reminded her of the price her people had paid. The fortress itself was alive with strange sights. Horned men trained in the courtyards, their blades gleaming under the sun. Women with wings soared across the skies, carrying messages between the towers. Children with tails and ears sharpened like blades played with fire and shadow as if it were their birthright. Daphne often watched them in secret, torn between awe and fear. These were not monsters, as her people had been taught. They were people, living, breathing, laughing… though touched by

The night after the first clash, the fortress of Ral-Zarek still breathed fire. The stones smoldered, carrying the scent of ash and blood. From the battlements, wounded men groaned on their pallets, children huddled close to their mothers, and warriors sharpened their blades in silence, waiting for the dawn.But Daphne could not sleep.She stood at her balcony, her hands clutching the cold rail, watching the horizon glow with dying embers. Her heart was torn as cleanly as the battlefield had been. Songhai’s blood ran through her veins. Yet in her chest burned the fire of her husband, the Horned King.She whispered into the wind, “If this war continues, neither will survive.”The thought struck like a blade through her ribs. She turned from the window and walked with steady steps. She had already made her decision. The FarewellAt first light, the fortress stirred. Daphne emerged from the stables astride a white stallion, her golden hair braided with the black cord of warriors. Her cl

The days that followed seemed wrapped in velvet. Though the world beyond the fortress whispered of unrest, within the palace walls Daphne and Zerach lived as if time itself bent to their union.Mornings found them together at the high balcony, where dawn spilled gold across the horizon. Daphne would stand with her hair loose, the light catching it like fire, while Zerach’s great hand rested on the small of her back. He said little then, but his silence was not distance — it was reverence. He watched her as though she were the first dawn he had ever seen.Afternoons drew them into the gardens. The black roses that thrived only in his cursed soil had begun to bloom again, strange and beautiful against the pale sky. Daphne would pluck a single blossom, pressing it to her lips before setting it in his hair with a laugh. And though he was a king forged of battle and vengeance, he let her. His warriors turned their eyes away, uneasy to see their fearsome lord crowned in flowers, yet in Daph

The Daphe’s scream shattered the silence of the chamber.“Has it come to this, Zerach?” Daphne’s voice trembled with fury, her golden hair falling loose about her shoulders. Her hand clutched the doorframe as though it were the only thing keeping her from collapsing. “My king, my husband—on our bed, with a maid?”The sight before her burned into her mind: Rosa, curled against the Horned King’s chest, his arm wrapped around her as if to shield her. Their closeness, their whispers, their ease together — it was a lover’s scene, cruel and undeniable.Zerach’s head lifted at once. His storm-dark eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in something heavier, darker. He rose slowly, every movement deliberate, though Rosa clung desperately to him.“Daphne…” His voice was deep, low, almost breaking. “You are wrong.”Her laugh came bitter, sharp. “Wrong? I see what stands before me. Do not insult me with lies.”Rosa wept silently, her fingers twisted in the folds of his tunic. Yet Zerach did not push h