Chapter 1: The Wedding of Thorns

The chapel was too quiet.

Not the kind of silence that brought peace.

This was the silence of endings.

Elira Hale stood at the altar, the hem of her gown soaked in centuries-old dust and something darker she didn’t want to name. Her hands trembled beneath sheer lace gloves, and her breath fogged in the cold air. The black dress she wore clung like a second skin — woven with silver threads and ancient runes that pulsed faintly with every heartbeat.

The walls loomed high around her, scarred by time and forgotten prayers. Candles floated in the air, flickering weakly against the heavy darkness above. There were no guests, no music, no whispered blessings. Just shadows... watching.

And him.

The Devil stood at her side — silent, still, and terrible.

His face was hidden beneath a dark hood, but his presence filled the room like smoke. She felt it pressing against her skin, sliding down her spine, curling into her thoughts. Her instincts screamed to run.

But she had no choice.

This was the price of saving her sister.

Two weeks ago, Liora had collapsed — cursed by a spell no healer could undo. Her body was sealed inside a glass coffin, breathing shallowly, suspended in a twilight between life and death.

No priest, mage, or scholar could break it.

Only him.

The Devil had offered a deal. A single, terrifying promise: "Marry me, and I’ll bring her back."

So here she stood.

At the end of the world.

Becoming his bride.

She glanced down at her bouquet — black roses with edges dipped in silver flame. Even the flowers were cursed.

“Do you, Elira Hale,” the officiant asked, his voice dry as parchment,

“take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

“I... I do,” she whispered.

The Devil turned to her.

Slowly, deliberately, he pulled back his hood — revealing a face too perfect to be human. Pale skin like moonlight, lips curved in something between amusement and sorrow. His eyes... they glowed like embers, and behind them burned a knowledge older than death.

She gasped. Something flickered in the back of her mind — a memory she didn’t recognize.

He reached for her hand.

When their skin touched, the runes on her dress flared gold, and magic surged through her like a firestorm. Her breath caught. The ground beneath them pulsed once.

The pact was sealed.

A soft cracking sound echoed behind her.

She spun around — and saw the glass of Liora’s coffin glowing. Then, miraculously, her sister’s chest rose. A slow inhale. Color returning to her face.

Elira’s heart clenched.

It had worked.

And now... she was his.

The Devil leaned closer. His breath brushed her ear.

“This time,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk,

“I won’t let you leave me.”

Elira’s blood turned to ice.

Because she saw it in his eyes now —

He remembered her.

And that meant…

This wasn’t their first wedding.

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