The wedding feast began the moment Liora and Lucien left the hall.
Feast might not have been the right word—it was less a banquet and more a carnival of shadows. Great tables appeared, laden with foods both tempting and terrifying. Platters of roasted phoenix with feathers still glowing faintly. Goblets of crimson wine that smoked when touched. Fruits shaped like hearts that pulsed as though alive. And yet, among the grotesque, there were simple things too: bread soft as cloud, honey that smelled of wildflowers, and water so clear it sparkled like crystal.
Liora sat at Lucien's side on the throne of silver thorns. She didn't eat, though hunger twisted in her belly. She wasn't sure if mortal food would still nourish her—or if it would turn to ash on her tongue.
Lucien noticed. "The food is safe," he said quietly, tilting a glass of dark wine in his hand. "Some of it, at least."
She smirked faintly. "Comforting."
"Everything here has a price. Some costs are sweet. Others… less so."
Her eyes roamed the crowd. Demons whispered in corners, some in humanoid forms, others shifting shapes like smoke. A woman with wings of ash plucked harp strings that sang with the voices of children. A serpent as large as a horse coiled around a pillar, its eyes glowing gold. Liora's skin prickled, but she kept her chin high.
"I feel like a lamb thrown into a den of wolves," she murmured.
Lucien leaned closer, his silver gaze steady. "Then show them you have teeth."
His words lingered in her as the night drew on.
---
When the feast ended, Lucien guided her through a corridor of endless doors. Each shimmered faintly, some glowing with fire, others with whispers.
"These are yours," he said. "As Queen, you may claim chambers, gardens, or vaults. Some contain treasures. Some contain nightmares. All answer to your will."
She paused at one, its surface carved with vines and roses of iron. When she touched it, the door melted into mist, revealing a room bathed in moonlight—though no moon hung above. Inside, roses bloomed in colors she had never seen: violet fire, silver petals, blossoms that hummed with song.
"This… is beautiful," she whispered, stepping inside.
Lucien followed but kept his distance. "The Realm reshapes itself to its ruler. This is yours."
Her fingers brushed a rose of crimson flame. It burned but did not hurt. She plucked it, and the stem twisted into a crown of thorns.
When she looked at Lucien, he gave a small smile. "Fitting."
"Does everything here bite?" she asked.
"Yes. Even beauty has teeth."
She set the crown aside. "And what about me?"
Lucien's gaze lingered. "You bite hardest of all."
---
Days—or perhaps weeks, time was strange here—passed in the Underworld. Liora explored her gardens, her halls, her chambers. She discovered a library where books whispered secrets when touched. She found a mirror that showed not her reflection, but her choices—each version of herself, some cruel, some kind, some broken.
And always, the court watched her. Some demons bowed respectfully. Others tested her, leaving small threats: a snake curled in her bed, a whisper in her ear at night. She handled them not with fear, but with wit and steel.
One evening, she returned to her rose garden to find a figure waiting.
A demon lord, tall and armored in shadows, his eyes like burning coal. He bowed mockingly.
"My queen," he said, his voice a hiss. "Forgive my intrusion. I wished to see if the mortal bride was real—or just another illusion our master conjured."
Liora raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like an illusion?"
The demon grinned, showing fangs. "Illusions can bleed." He drew a blade of obsidian, its edge dripping shadow.
Lucien was nowhere in sight. The court was silent. This was her moment.
Fear pricked her skin, but she did not step back. Instead, she reached into the rosebush beside her. Thorns pierced her palm, blood mixing with flame. The bush writhed, and a thorned whip of fire uncoiled into her grasp.
The demon sneered. "Brave. But foolish."
"Try me," she said.
He lunged. Steel met fire, shadow met thorn. Their clash lit the garden with sparks and screams of roses burning alive. Liora fought clumsily at first, but each strike of her whip burned hotter, sharper. The crown on her head pulsed, guiding her movements. She wrapped the whip around the demon's blade, yanking it from his grasp, and pressed the thorns to his throat.
The demon froze.
The court, which had gathered in silence, erupted in roars of approval and rage. Some cheered her name. Others hissed in fury.
Liora's chest heaved, sweat beading on her brow. "Do you yield?"
The demon's coal eyes flared, but at last, he knelt. "I yield, Queen of Thorns."
She released him, and he vanished into smoke.
From the shadows, Lucien appeared, watching with unreadable eyes.
"You didn't intervene," she accused.
"I wanted to see," he replied calmly.
"See what?"
"If you would bend… or if you would break." He stepped closer, his gaze warm like molten silver. "You did neither. You ruled."
Her whip dissolved into roses. She met his eyes steadily. "I'll never be just your shadow."
Lucien's lips curved in a rare, genuine smile. "Good. I never wanted a shadow. I wanted fire."
---
That night, as she lay in her chamber, Liora stared at the crown of thorns on her bedside table. It pulsed faintly, alive. She closed her eyes, the echoes of the court still in her ears: Queen, Queen, Queen.
And for the first time since stepping into the Underworld, she felt something strange.
Not fear.
Not defiance.
But belonging.