Marked by the Devil’s Touch.

The room was colder than usual. Not from the temperature, but from the heaviness that lingered in the air—like silence stretched too thin, ready to snap.

Liana sat on the velvet window seat, staring out at the fog that curled against the tall iron gates. Days had passed since the wedding, but she hadn't stepped foot outside the manor. Not once. Every corridor she walked through echoed with whispers, as though the walls had mouths of their own, recounting stories of women who came before her and were never seen again.

She wore black. Always black. Like she was in mourning. For herself. For her freedom. For the girl she used to be.

The door creaked behind her.

Lucivar didn't knock. He never did.

"You haven't eaten," he said, voice low and unhurried.

"I'm not hungry." Liana didn't turn to look at him.

He stood there, silent for a moment. Then, his boots made soft sounds against the floor as he walked closer.

"You'll fall sick," he said.

"I thought you didn't care," she murmured, her voice sharp with hurt she couldn't bury anymore.

Lucivar paused behind her. "I never said that."

"No, you just act like it." Liana turned, eyes flashing. "You locked me in this mansion, bound me to you like I'm nothing but a tool to tame Hell's chaos. You don't speak to me unless it's to control something. And you think giving me food is concern?"

Lucivar's jaw tensed. "I kept you here to protect you."

"From what?" she laughed bitterly. "From Hell's demons or your own?"

His eyes, usually glowing with hellfire, dimmed. For a brief second, she saw something behind them—regret. Pain. Something utterly human.

"I'm not your enemy, Liana."

"You are when you keep me like a prisoner."

Lucivar looked away.

And that silence—that damn silence—was louder than all the screams she'd swallowed these past few days.

---

Later that night, Liana stood in the garden.

It was the only place she could escape to. The thorns here didn't scare her. The Devil's roses, they called them—black-petaled and veined with crimson. Some whispered that the roses only bloomed when a soul cried beneath them.

She touched one now. The petals were cold.

"You should be inside."

She turned. Lucivar stood at the edge of the garden, his coat billowing slightly in the wind.

"I needed air," she said, voice hoarse.

"I know," he replied. Then after a pause, "I used to come here too. When I still believed I could be… more than this."

It was the first time he'd ever spoken like that. With honesty. With vulnerability.

Liana's eyes narrowed. "Then why become this? Why accept a throne built on screams and bones?"

Lucivar walked toward her. Slowly. Carefully.

"Because sometimes," he said, stopping just feet from her, "we are born with blood that already has purpose. And it doesn't ask for permission."

Liana looked up at him. "Then why take me? Why tie me to your cursed fate?"

His gaze met hers. "Because you were never meant to be part of this world… and yet, here you are. The girl who faced the Devil and didn't flinch. The girl who saw her father fall and kept breathing."

Her throat tightened.

Lucivar stepped closer. "You think I chained you, Liana. But these chains—" he gently reached out and touched the invisible mark that bound their souls "—they bind me too."

---

The next morning, the palace of the Underworld stirred with unrest.

Word had spread: a rebellion was forming within the Sixth Circle. Demons loyal to an ancient power—the one Lucivar's father once bowed to—were rising again.

Lucivar summoned his generals.

Liana stood at the top of the staircase, unseen, watching. She heard names she didn't recognize. Heard of battles she couldn't imagine.

But what haunted her was what one of the generals said:

> "Your enemies believe your bride is your weakness."

Lucivar's expression didn't change.

But Liana's heart dropped.

She was a weakness. A flaw. A target.

Later that day, Lucivar appeared in her chamber again. No guards. No arrogance.

He stood by the fireplace.

"There will be war soon," he said.

Liana looked up. "Because of me?"

His eyes burned with frustration. "Because the old forces want control. And they think using you will give it to them."

"Then let me go."

"No." The answer came too fast. Too raw. "If they take you, it will not be a clean death. It will be torment. They will rip you apart—not your body, but your mind. Your soul. I will not allow it."

"Then what?" she snapped. "You'll keep me hidden forever? Guarded like some cursed jewel you regret stealing?"

Lucivar didn't move. But his voice dropped low. "If regret would undo it, I would live a thousand lifetimes regretting it."

Silence.

Then she whispered, "Do you regret me?"

He looked at her. Slowly. And said, "No. I regret that I was born in a world where loving you is a threat."

---

That night, Liana couldn't sleep.

She lay awake, eyes open in the dark. The room was quiet, but her heart wasn't.

She thought of Lucivar's eyes. His voice. The pain buried under his pride.

He was the Devil. And yet… he protected her. Chose her. Again and again.

But protection wasn't love.

Right?

Still, the more she resisted him, the more her heart betrayed her.

She pressed a hand to her chest. Something warm stirred beneath her ribs. Something terrifying.

She was falling.

Not into Hell.

But into him.

---

A knock came at the door just before dawn.

It was rare. Lucivar never knocked.

Liana rose from her bed, fingers brushing sleep from her lashes as she moved to open it. A cold draft swept in as she unlatched the heavy wood.

But it wasn't Lucivar.

It was a demon—tall, cloaked, his face half-concealed in shadow. His eyes were slitted like a serpent's, glowing dimly.

"My lady," he said, voice rasping like dried leaves. "His Majesty requests your presence in the West Wing. Now."

Liana hesitated. The West Wing was sealed the day she arrived. Rumors of curses, whispers in the corridors—servants never spoke of it.

Still, she nodded and followed him through the dark halls. The air grew colder with each step, not from temperature but from something older. Forgotten.

The demon stopped at a double door carved with burning thorns. He bowed and vanished like smoke.

Liana stepped inside.

The room was a war chamber.

Maps stretched across ancient tables. Sigils glowed faintly on walls made of stone that pulsed with magic. And at the center, Lucivar stood before a blade—a black one that shimmered with something that felt… alive.

He turned slowly when he heard her enter. There were shadows under his eyes.

"You summoned me?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "I want you to see something."

He walked over and handed her a sealed parchment. Liana broke it open with shaking fingers. Inside, a single word was written in blood-red ink:

"Betrayer."

"It was nailed to the outer gate last night," Lucivar said. "An insult to you. A threat to me."

Liana's pulse quickened. "They know I'm here."

"They know you're important to me," he corrected.

She looked up, heart thundering. "You think I'm your weakness?"

"No," Lucivar said, his voice sharp. "They do. That's their mistake."

Silence.

Then he added, lower, "But if they try to take you… it will be war. Not just in the circles. In Heaven. In Hell. In everything that exists between."

Liana didn't answer. Her hands trembled, not from fear—but from the weight of being cared for. Claimed.

She looked at the blade on the table. "What is that?"

Lucivar's eyes darkened. "My father's sword. The blade that sealed a thousand souls in torment. If I take it, I accept the fate he tried to escape. But if I don't—"

"They'll kill you," she finished for him.

He nodded once.

And for the first time, Liana realized something terrifying: Lucivar wasn't afraid to die.

He was afraid to lose her.

—

Later that day, she sat in the rose garden again, the black petals brushing against her fingertips like whispers.

She heard him approach before he spoke.

"Do you remember your dreams?" Lucivar asked.

She looked up. "Sometimes."

"What were they before you came here?"

Liana blinked, surprised by the question. She hesitated, then said softly, "To study ancient languages. To travel. To live a life untouched by war or prophecy."

He sat beside her, surprisingly close. "And now?"

She hesitated. "Now… I just want to be free. Not from here. From the weight of not knowing what's real."

Lucivar said nothing.

Then, quietly, he took her hand.

It startled her more than a hundred demons ever could.

"You are real to me, Liana," he said, barely above a whisper. "The only thing that is."

The wind stirred, and for once, the roses bowed gently instead of trembling.

—

That night, the rebellion struck.

Screams shattered the stillness. Magic rippled like a storm. Liana was jerked from sleep by the crash of iron doors thrown open.

Lucivar's second-in-command burst in. "They're inside. A dozen shadows—sent by the Circle of Ash. They've breached the eastern wing."

Liana rushed to the hallway, heart pounding.

And then—chaos.

She was grabbed.

A clawed hand wrapped around her throat, lifting her off the ground. Red eyes stared into hers—eyes like fire and madness.

"Pretty little bride," the demon hissed. "Let's see how strong the Devil really is when we break his favorite toy."

Before Liana could scream—

Lucivar appeared.

He didn't speak.

He didn't shout.

He just raised his hand—and the demon exploded into flame.

Liana fell, choking, into his arms.

He held her close, cradling her like something fragile, something breakable. But when he spoke, it wasn't to her.

It was to the shadows watching from the darkened halls.

"If you ever touch her again," Lucivar growled, his voice thunder and ice, "I will burn the Circle of Ash until not even memory remains."

—

Later, when the halls were cleared and the dead were gathered, Liana sat beside the hearth, shaken and silent.

Lucivar knelt before her.

"You're safe," he said.

"No," she whispered. "I'm not. I never will be."

He closed his eyes for a moment. Then, reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small obsidian charm—shaped like a flame.

"This will shield you. From their magic. From any binding spell. As long as you wear it, you cannot be taken from me."

She took it with trembling fingers.

"And if I want to leave?" she asked, eyes piercing his.

Lucivar's expression faltered.

"Then you will still be protected," he said. "Even if it kills me."

The words didn't solve everything. Didn't erase the pain, the fear, the broken promises.

But they did something else.

They planted something in the dark.

Hope.

And for the first time in days, Liana breathed deeply.

Because maybe… just maybe…

The Devil's mercy wasn't a lie after all.

---