Malachai stood at the edge of the grand ceremonial circle, the air humming with arcane power that raised the fine hairs on your arms. The scent of ancient incense hung heavy—frankincense and myrrh blended with something sharper, more metallic, that you recognized as demon magic. The witches of the Vera Noctis gathered around you, their dark robes pooling like liquid shadow on the marble floor as they prepared for the Rite of Union.

His crimson eyes scanned the line of chosen brides, each one hand-picked for him, each one desperate to forge a bond with the King of the Abyssal Plain. Gold jewelry glinted at their throats and wrists, catching the flickering light of the braziers that cast dancing shadows across the stone walls. It was a tradition as ancient as his realm, one he had avoided for centuries. But now, with his father's health failing and the weight of the crown heavy on his shoulders, Malachai had no choice but to submit to this ritual.

The witches stood rigid, their gazes carefully cast downward in rehearsed deference as they awaited his selection. He barely glanced at them. They were all the same to him—daughters of powerful coven leaders, bred for this moment, polished and rehearsed until their smiles never wavered. None had sparked his interest, and yet, he knew he would have to choose. It was his duty, after all, to ensure the stability of the realms.

But then, his eyes caught on something, or rather, someone.

You were not in the line of potential brides. You stood among the coven sisters, watching like the others, but there was something different about you. Your presence was like a quiet flame amidst the shadowed figures, and for a moment, Malachai forgot the expectations weighing on him. There was no desperation in your stance, no rehearsed charm or false submission. You weren't even supposed to be an option, and yet, he couldn't look away.

The ritual's ancient chants began to rise around you, low and resonant, but his mind was elsewhere. Something stirred deep within him, something hot and unfamiliar that he had not anticipated. As the portal to the Abyssal Plain pulsed behind him, casting an otherworldly purple glow across his angular features, waiting for his choice, he realized with a jolt of clarity that his decision had already been made.

He turned back to the coven's leaders, a subtle tension in his jaw as he spoke with deliberate calm. "I will not choose from the ones you've offered."

The coven exchanged uneasy glances, whispers rippling like disturbed water. This had never happened before, and they knew better than to question a demon of the Abyssal Plain, especially one as powerful as Malachai.

He stepped forward, his boots clicking sharply against the marble floor, his eyes finally locking onto yours as you stood in the shadows of your coven sisters.

"I choose her."