Chapter 2 The Kingdom Beneath The Flames

The world dissolved around her.

Light bled into shadow, and sound into silence. For a moment, Elara felt weightless, as though she were falling through water that burned. Every beat of her heart echoed against her ribs like a drum of war.

Then the ground returned beneath her feet.

She gasped, stumbling forward, her silver gown torn and dusted with black ash. The air here was heavy and thick with the scent of smoke and iron. She lifted her gaze and her breath caught.

They stood before a fortress unlike anything she had ever imagined.

It rose from a sea of fire, vast and ragged, its towers carved from obsidian that shimmered with veins of molten gold. Rivers of flame ran through its courtyards, feeding crystal bridges that arched into the dark. The sky above was not sky at all, but a vast expanse of crimson clouds that pulsed faintly, as if the heavens themselves were alive.

“This…” Her voice broke. “This can’t be real.”

The figure beside her turned… no longer a shadow, but as a man.

He was tall, impossibly so, with hair as black as ink and eyes that burned faintly gold, like dying stars. His skin was pale, his mouth unsmiling, and though he looked no older than thirty, something ancient lived in his stillness and power clung to him like smoke.

“It is as real as your fear,” he said softly. “Welcome to my father’s kingdom, Princess.”

Elara took a step back. “You’re….”

“Azael.” He bowed his head, the gesture oddly elegant for someone who didn’t seem entirely human. “Son of the Morning Flame. Keeper of the Infernal Court. Your husband, as of this night.”

The words struck her like ice. Husband. The sound of it made her skin crawl in the worse way possible.

“I didn’t agree to this,” she whispered.

“You took my hand,” he replied. “That was all the pact required.”

Elara’s pulse hammered. “You tricked me.”

Azael’s lips curved but not quite a smile. “Would you have come willingly if I hadn’t?”

Her silence was answer enough.

He stepped closer, his gaze tracing her face with unnerving calm. “You have your mother’s courage,” he said, almost to himself.

Elara’s eyes snapped to his. “You knew my mother?”

Azael’s expression darkened, a flicker of something ancient and painful. “I have known every bride Vareth has sent. Some came weeping, some praying, some fighting. None lasted long enough to ask that question.”

Her stomach turned cold. “What do you mean, lasted?”

Azael looked past her, to the horizon where the fire met the sky. “You will see soon enough.”

He gestured for her to follow, and the ground itself obeyed him… steps of obsidian rising from nothing, formed a bridge across the burning river.

Elara hesitated, but the alternative was staying alone in this endless inferno. So she followed.

The bridge led into the heart of the fortress. The gates parted at their approach, their edges etched with runes that glowed faintly in her presence. She felt their warmth against her skin, not painful, but intimate, as though the stones themselves recognized her blood.

Inside, the castle was… alive.

Walls shimmered faintly, shifting from black stone to mirrored glass. Flames floated in midair, casting no heat, only light. And everywhere she looked, there were faces carved in marble, painted in ash, just watching.

Azael led her through a long hall lined with thrones made of bone and gold. “This is the Court of Cinders,” he said. “Where my father once ruled before he ascended to the higher flame.”

“And where is he now?”

Azael’s eyes gleamed faintly. “Gone. Or waiting. I'll say both.”

He stopped before a set of doors taller than any palace gate she’d seen. With a flick of his wrist, they opened, revealing a chamber vast enough to hold the stars.

A canopy bed of black silk stood in the center, draped in gold. Beyond it, a window looked out upon the infernal horizon, the fires, the rivers, the endless dark.

“This will be your room,” Azael said. “You are safe here. No one will touch you without my word.”

Elara’s throat tightened. “You mean, until you decide to?”

He turned to her, his facial expression unreadable. “I have no interest in forcing what is not freely given.”

For the first time since arriving, she saw something flicker in his eyes, something almost human. Regret, perhaps. Or loneliness. It vanished too quickly to tell.

“Why me?” she asked softly. “Why this?”

Azael paused, his gaze fixed on the flames beyond the window. “Because the world above was built on bargains it doesn't remember,” he said. “And because even the Devil keeps his promises.”

Before she could reply, he stepped back. “You’ll find food and clothing here. Rest while you can. The court will want to meet their new queen at dawn.”

Then, without another word, he vanished, not in smoke, not in fire, but in silence.

Elara was alone.

She stood in the middle of the room, trembling, her reflection staring back at her from the black marble floor. In that reflection, the crimson light made her eyes look strange, almost as if a part of her had already begun to change.

And far beyond the glass window, somewhere in the infernal depths, something stirred, she could feel it in her bones.

Elara turned from the firelight, her heart a knot of dread and defiance.