Todos os capítulos de The Demon King’s Bride: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

The country house was surrounded by soft hills and clean air, a place where silence was not suspicious but natural. There was no marble or gold, no forced curtsies, no political whispers echoing through corridors. Only wind, earth, and days that seemed to blend into one another.Elinor Avelyne of Valmere woke without bells announcing her presence and without maids waiting for instructions. For weeks, it had felt like a gift.Freedom.And yet, that morning, something unsettled her.She stepped toward the simple mirror leaning against the wall and studied her reflection, not as a lady adjusting her appearance, but as someone searching for an answer.Her face.The same face another woman now wore in the palace.The same face looking upon the Demon King, unaware of the truth behind it.Elinor frowned slightly.The resemblance was not mere similarity.It was exact.The shape of the eyes.The curve of the chin.The line of the lips.It was impossible.It could not be coincidence.For days,

The library was silent when Edrion entered.Lyria stood by one of the tall windows, watching the gardens as if the perfect symmetry of the hedges might offer her clarity. She had not expected him that afternoon, and yet the moment the door opened, she felt the air shift before she even heard him.“Your Majesty.”He closed the door calmly and stepped into the center of the room.“I’ve come from the council.”He offered no further explanation.She waited.Edrion studied her for a few seconds, as if deciding how much needed to be said—and how much she already knew.“I have set the date of our wedding.”Lyria’s heart lurched.“The… date?”“In one month.”She placed the book down on the table slowly.This was the moment.She rose with quiet grace and stepped toward him.“Then in one month, our lives will be bound together.”Edrion watched her closely.She held his gaze longer than usual—not as a subject, but as a woman. Her voice lowered just slightly when she spoke again.“I want you to b

The next morning, the great dining hall was filled with light.Elinor’s brother could barely contain his excitement.“One month!” he repeated for the third time, raising his cup. “It’s more than we could have hoped for.”Lyria forced a smile as she absently traced the edge of her utensils against her plate.“I’ve already sent messengers to our family,” he continued without pause. “Father will be ecstatic. This will secure our name for generations.”He spoke of alliances, of prestige, of celebrations that would elevate their house for generations, each word carrying the thrill of a future he already imagined in full detail, as if he could hear the wedding bells echoing across the kingdom.But Lyria barely heard him.Her mind was elsewhere, far from embroidered linens and gleaming silver, following instead the path of a man fleeing down dusty roads while the king’s soldiers spread across the realm with clear orders.She thought of the possibility that Rowan might survive and return one

The next morning arrived too soon.Lyria had barely slept. The conversation with her brother, the soft laughter of the concubines, and the weight of the accusation against Rowan continued to circle in her mind like a storm with no release. Yet among all those thoughts, one had risen above the rest with quiet certainty.If she wanted to survive, she had to act.She could not wait for the king to come to her.She had to go to him.Standing before the mirror in her chamber, she studied her reflection with deliberate attention. The dress she had chosen was simple by the palace’s standards, but it draped softly over her figure, and the subtle neckline revealed just enough of her collarbone to draw the eye without offering too much.Mariel’s words echoed in her mind.Do not show everything. Make him imagine.She took a steady breath, then turned and left the room.The palace corridors were quieter at that hour, filled only with the muted movement of servants who passed swiftly and silently,

Lady Valeria of Armandelle sat beneath the white stone pavilion with the serene elegance of someone who had belonged in that place long before Lyria had ever set foot in the palace. The tea table before her looked too perfect to have been arranged in haste: fine porcelain, carefully placed fruit, and a silver teapot still releasing thin curls of steam.The wind stirred the pale curtains surrounding the pavilion, and the afternoon light fell over Valeria in an almost unreal way, softening the edges of her figure without diminishing the quiet authority that radiated from her.Lyria immediately felt the urge to leave.She did not want another confrontation disguised as courtesy.She did not want to sit across from a woman who looked capable of smiling while slowly sliding a dagger between someone’s ribs.But Valeria spoke before she could retreat.“It would be discourteous to run away.”The smile on her lips never changed.“Come. Join me for tea.”Mariel glanced discreetly at Lyria, wait