All Chapters of The Demon King’s Bride: Chapter 41 - Chapter 48

They had been riding for hours.The forest had welcomed them with dense shadows and narrow trails, and Rowan did not slow the horse until he was certain no one was following them. Only then did he ease the pace, guiding the animal toward a small clearing between the trees where the wind barely stirred the leaves.By the time they finally dismounted, night had already deepened.Elinor was exhausted.Rowan helped her down from the horse before tying it near a tree so it could rest. Then he walked several meters into the woods with a knife in his hand.Elinor watched him in silence.She saw him moving through the trees, alert and quiet, exactly as he had always been. Minutes later, he returned with a small game animal hanging from his belt.He knelt beside a circle of stones and began preparing a fire.The sparks rose slowly into the darkness as the flames grew.Elinor remained seated in front of the fire, her arms wrapped around her knees.She watched him closely, following every moveme

The journey resumed at dawn.The forest gradually began to thin, giving way to wider roads and unmistakable signs of civilization. In the distance, through the lingering morning mist, the first towers of the castle came into view.Elinor rode behind Rowan, holding on to him as her thoughts remained tangled between what had happened the night before and the uncertainty of what awaited them. Rowan, meanwhile, sat rigid in the saddle, alert and tense, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.It was Rowan who spotted them first.A group of riders emerged on the road before them, impossible to mistake for anything but trouble. They advanced in a disciplined formation, their dark cloaks billowing in the morning wind while the steel of their weapons caught the sunlight, casting cold flashes between the trees.Royal guards.“Damn it…” he muttered.He jerked the horse around sharply, pulling hard on the reins to change direction, but the moment he did, he realized it was already too late. The riders

Shortly after, in the midst of the celebration, the atmosphere shifted subtly when the musicians slowed the tempo and the room’s attention began to center on them once more. The laughter and conversations faded little by little, not by command, but by the very presence of the king rising from his throne. Lyria was guided a few steps toward the center, still surrounded by the gleam of chalices, golden fabrics, and the hushed murmur of the guests who now watched intently. The celebration remained alive around her, but at that moment, everything seemed to revolve solely around her. Edrion took a crown. Even amidst the bustle, the piece commanded respect: dark gold crafted with precision, embedded with stones that caught the torchlight and threw it back in warm, almost hypnotic flashes. He held it for a moment, as if that gesture drew an invisible line between what had been and what was about to become. Then, with a firm and confident movement, he placed it upon Lyria's head, sealing

The rest of the celebration continued as though nothing had happened, with music filling the hall and goblets being raised again and again. Yet something had changed in a way that was impossible to ignore—a subtle tension that slipped between the laughter and conversations, as if everyone sensed that beneath the glittering festivities, something dark had just taken root.Although the music continued to play and the toasts never ceased, the atmosphere was no longer the same. The news had spread in whispers: the prisoner, the execution, the way the king had acted without hesitation. No one spoke of it aloud, but everyone felt it.And on the throne, elevated above all those present, the king no longer smiled. His expression had hardened into something nearly unreadable, as though the celebration surrounding him no longer held any meaning.Edrion remained rigid, cold, and distant, barely responding to those who approached him. His gestures were brief, his gaze dark, as if his mind were el