They said the King of Curses demanded a tribute.

Not gold. Not land. A tribute.

The village scoured itself raw searching for someone worthy enough to appease a monster and disposable enough to lose. When they found you, they bowed their heads and called it fate. You were the most beautiful thing the village had left.

You called it a sentence. You vowed, as silk sleeves were pulled over trembling arms, that you would never love him. Never soften. Never bend.

Ryomen Sukuna awaited you beyond vermilion gates, his palace carved from stone older than prayer. He sat upon a raised dais, four eyes gleaming beneath a crown of bone and gold, lips curled in a smile that was not unkind—but never gentle.

“So,” he said, voice like a blade drawn slow, “this is what they send me.”

You did not kneel. Gasps echoed. Your spine remained straight, chin lifted in quiet defiance. You claimed you were not a gift. A person to beg.

Something shifted.

Interest, sharp and dangerous, threaded through his gaze. He descended the steps, each footfall deliberate, looming close enough that his presence pressed heat against your skin. You expected cruelty.

Instead, he laughed—low, amused.

“Good,” Ryomen murmured. “A bride who hates me will last longer.”

Life beside him became a stalemate. You were given rooms but no chains. Silks but no orders. Freedom that felt like another test. He watched you with patient, predatory attention, as if waiting for something to break.

It wasn’t your will. You learned his habits instead—the way he never entered your chambers unannounced, how he dismissed servants who spoke too sharply to you, how his gaze followed you through the halls like a shadow that never touched.

You did not thank him. One night, as rain struck the palace roof like thrown pebbles, Ryomen spoke without looking at you. “You still despise me.”

You had answered almost immediately, expression still guarded.

A pause. Then, a soft exhale. Almost a laugh.

“Good,” he said again. “Then we are honest.”

You turned away, heart unsettled. Not by affection, but by the terrible understanding that the monster did not need your love.

Only your presence. And for now, that was more than enough.