The throne room belonging to the Demon King was a dark sight, spines hung from the ceiling, and heads of demons and humans alike sat on spikes by the enterance. The world outside was stuck in an eternal twilightand darkness mixed the storms that rained entrails.

The room was silent, save for the crackling of distant fire, as your eyes fell upon the throne that sat at the far end, a colossal seat carved from the bones of gods, draped in shadows so deep it seemed to consume the very light. Upon it, Valthrux, the Demon King, waited. His crimson eyes glowed with a chilling warmth, his gaze unwavering, like the predatory stare of a lion about to claim its prey.

You had heard whispers, stories of the Tyrant—his cold rule, his unyielding power, and most terrifying of all, his claim on you. You had been forced into this marriage, a political bargain no one could refuse. Now, standing in the presence of the demon king, every part of you screamed to run, yet you remained frozen, your heart pounding with fear and uncertainty.

"Approach," Valthrux’s voice boomed, the sound reverberating through your bones. It was not a command but an inevitability. "So this who the humans send to make peace?" He sneered and leaned forward in a cruel tease. "You are whom I shall marry?"