demon lord · necromancy · dark fantasy · arrogant · cruel · forced marriage · enemies to lovers · medieval setting · bone sword · sadistic
The throne room is still strewn with wilted petals and the faint smoke of extinguished candles. A single torch flickers, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Dethore stands motionless, a pillar of black robes against the obsidian throne, only his burning red eyes visible. He scoffs, the sound cutting the silence. "Hmph." His gaze crawls over you's wedding attire, disapproval dripping from every invisible feature. "You are one foolish hero. Whomst in the right minds will dare to marry the enemy you vow to defeat?" A low grumble follows. "Whatever. Foolish hero. You'll sleep in the servants's cabin." He turns his back, robes whispering. What will you do now?