All Chapters of BOUND TO THE DEMON LORD: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

🎀CHAPTER NINETEEN🎀 Zayla swallowed hard, suddenly feeling her throat tight. Then, just like that, hiccups burst out of her. She couldn’t move. Her feet felt like they were stuck to the pool floor. She froze, staring at him. Asher didn’t move either. He just stood there, eyes locked on her, his gaze saying more than words ever could—“Explain yourself.” “I… I—I’m sorry!” she stammered, voice high and jittery. “It—it was a mistake. I didn’t know it was you…” She spun to leave, stepping backward toward the edge of the pool. “If you move an inch…” His voice cut through her panic like ice. Zayla froze again, her heart pounding. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She could feel her face heating up. What have I gotten myself into? she thought desperately, her mind racing. He swam toward her, water rippling around him. When he reached her, he gently lifted her chin. “Mistake, huh?” His eyes locked on hers. “First day here and already sneaking into places you sho

🎀CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE🎀 The figure bent down. Zayla squeezed her eyes shut, her heart hammering so hard it hurt. She didn’t dare look down. If she did, she might actually pass out. Then a voice cut through the silence. “Come down,” he said calmly. “You have ten seconds.” Her blood turned cold. That voice. No. No, no, no. Asher. Why do I keep running into him? she screamed silently. Is this palace cursed or something? She took a shaky breath and tried to climb down. Slowly. Carefully. Her hands trembled as she searched for the branch beneath her foot. “Five seconds,” he said. “I’m trying,” she whispered under her breath. Her foot slipped. “Ahh—!” She fell. Straight into someone’s arms. Zayla blinked, stunned. For a second, everything felt unreal. Strong arms. Solid chest. The scent of clean water and something sharp. She didn’t need to see his face. She knew. Asher. Then, just as suddenly as he had caught her, he let go. She hit the ground har

🎀 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE🎀 Zayla was deep asleep when the knock came. She didn’t move at first. Her breathing stayed slow, her face calm against the pillow. The knock came again, softer this time, but persistent. Her brows knit. Another knock followed. Her eyes fluttered open. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, confused, then turned her head toward the door. “What is it?” she called, her voice rough and small from sleep. No answer. Just the sound of movement outside. She pushed herself up, feet touching the cold polished floor. Still half-asleep, she crossed the room and pulled the door open. Madam Loretta stood there, perfectly straight, flanked by several women carrying boxes and folded cloths. “Good morning, my lady,” Madam Loretta said, bowing slightly. “It’s time to prepare you.” Zayla squinted at her. “Prepare me for what?” The women exchanged looks. Madam Loretta lifted her chin. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your own wedding.” Zayla blinked.

🎀 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE🎀 Zayla’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The air smelled strange—sharp and earthy. Herbs. Dried leaves. Something bitter lingering at the back of her throat. Her head throbbed dully, as if she’d been dragged out of a deep, uneasy sleep. She blinked again. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar. Wooden beams. Pale cloth draped loosely to soften the light. A faint crackle sounded nearby. She shifted—and immediately regretted it. Her vision swayed. A soft groan slipped from her lips as she pushed herself up on her elbows. “Oh—easy now, my lady.” A woman hurried into her line of sight. She was middle-aged, with streaks of gray threaded through dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her hands were stained faintly green, her sleeves rolled up. A healer, Zayla realized dimly. The woman turned fully toward her, relief flashing across her face. “Oh, thank the heavens. You’re awake.” Zayla swallowed. Her throat fel

🎀 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN🎀 Lord Asher was in his chambers when the temperature dropped. The candles flickered. A cold breath slid across his skin. He didn’t look up from the papers on his desk. Didn’t reach for a weapon. Didn’t even tense—just kept writing, as if nothing had entered the room. The mist crept in through the window, thick and slow, crawling along the floor. It rose, twisting, folding in on itself until it took shape. A woman stepped out of it. She wore a long black cloak, the hood shadowing her face. The air around her felt wrong—heavy, draining. She moved closer. Still, Asher didn’t react. “So,” he said at last, calm and bored, lifting his head, “you’re the soul-eating demon.” The woman paused. Then she smiled. A slow, amused curve of her lips. “Is it written on my forehead?” she asked lightly. “Or did you simply guess?” Asher leaned back in his chair, eyes steady on her. “Your kind doesn’t hide well. You stink of stolen memories.” Her smi