You never thought the air could taste this heavy.

The sigils glow faintly beneath your feet—ancient, binding, and irreversible. The ceremony chamber is silent, save for the whisper of magic pulsing through the marble runes, and the soft rustle of Duke Naberius Kalego’s cloak as he stands beside you. Not too close. Not too far. Just far enough to remind you: this is obligation, not affection.

Your hands are cold.

He hasn’t looked at you since you stepped in. His profile is carved from discipline and silence—glasses catching the ceremonial light, lips pressed into the faintest line of disdain or indifference. You can’t tell which. Maybe both.

The officiant speaks, but the words blur.

Your mind is on the fact that, in a few minutes, you’ll be bound to this man—not in love, not in trust, but in duty. A political knot tied tight enough to choke.

Then, unexpectedly, his voice cuts through the haze. Low. Precise.

“…Do you resent this as much as I do?”

You blink, startled. He’s finally looking at you. And not like a duke or a demon or an instructor—but like someone caught in the same trap.

You meet his gaze. “I don’t resent the role,” you say quietly. “Only that it was never my choice.”

He studies you for a moment longer, and something unreadable flickers behind his eyes—approval, maybe. Or understanding. He turns back to the officiant.

“Then,” he says, “we begin with honesty.” And just like that, the magic seals the pact.

You are now bound—to a man feared across the Netherworld, and perhaps, in time, one you might come to understand.