บททั้งหมดของ The Demon King’s Bride: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

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

After her encounter with Lady Valeria of Armandelle, the palace seemed to change, or perhaps it was only Lyria’s perception of it. Nothing visible shifted, there were no scandals, no open confrontations, no whispered rumors carried through the halls, and yet the air itself felt heavier. It was clear they did not want her there, those women saw her as a threat even if she still did not fully understand why, but she found she did not care as much as she thought she would. She did not want enemies, she only wanted peace, and in that, they all desired the same thing: for her not to marry the king.In the days that followed, Lyria moved through the palace as though she were walking on thin ice. No one challenged her directly, no one insulted her, yet every glance lingered a second too long. The nobles bowed with proper respect, though their curiosity was impossible to hide, and the servants, though quieter in her presence, seemed to observe even more carefully. Everyone wanted to understan

The corridor fell silent as they resumed walking.Torchlight stretched long shadows across the stone walls, and the echo of their footsteps followed them like a second presence. Lyria could still feel the warmth of the king’s hand lingering in hers, because he had not released it immediately, and when he finally did, it was done with deliberate slowness, as if even that small distance between them had to be controlled.“Walk with me,” he repeated, though she was already doing so.There was something different in his gaze now. It was no longer the detached curiosity he showed in court, nor the cold indifference with which he listened to disputes that meant nothing to him. This was something more focused, more contained, directed entirely at her, as though the corridor itself had faded away and only the narrow space between them remained.They did not speak, yet the silence was not empty. It was dense, charged with a subtle tension that grew heavier with each step. Lyria became painfull

The king did not look away after telling her to die.Silence stretched between them like a taut thread.He was the first to speak.“Tell me,” he asked in a low voice, resting his elbow against the arm of the chair, “what is so terrible about marrying me?”The question was not ironic.It was direct.Lyria lifted her gaze, surprised by the shift.“I do not fear you, Your Majesty.”His blue eyes sharpened slightly.“That, I already know.”He leaned forward just a little.“Then answer me. What is unbearable?”She opened her mouth, but the words did not come. It was not his face that unsettled her, nor his power, not even the dark reputation that followed him; what suffocated her was something deeper, something harder to explain—the feeling of never having had a choice, of being pushed toward a fate decided by others. Yet saying it aloud felt fragile, almost childish, like a complaint a king would not care to hear.The silence lingered just long enough for him to notice her hesitation.The

Rowan entered her chambers well past midnight.The door closed quietly behind him, and for a moment neither of them spoke. The tension between them felt different now—heavier, sharper, more dangerous than before.“You’re playing too close to the fire,” he said at last, without greeting.Lyria remained seated at the vanity, the candlelight barely illuminating her profile.“That was not my intention, sir.”Rowan stepped closer.“What did you say to the king to have us all imprisoned?”He moved nearer, and Lyria’s body tensed despite herself, a flicker of fear passing through her.“He saw the mark you left on my neck. He thought I was in danger.”Rowan’s jaw tightened.“He must hate when someone touches what he considers his.”Lyria said nothing.“We need to end this,” he continued. “Before he officially announces the wedding.”She lifted her gaze.“You can’t kill me.”The certainty in her voice made him stiffen.“I never said that—”“You can’t,” she repeated firmly. “He’s watching me. I