Marked by the Devil’s Touch.

Blood still steamed on the stones.

The courtyard reeked of fire and death. Smoke drifted like mourning veils through the scorched air, and the bodies of traitors lay scattered in grotesque stillness. But none of it mattered—not the carnage, not the whispers of terrified servants watching from windows above.

All Liana could see was Lucivar.

Kneeling.

Bleeding.

His wings half-spread and trembling.

His hand clutching her arm like she was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

"I'm fine," she whispered again, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. "You're the one who's hurt."

He looked at her like he didn't believe she was real.

"I felt you scream," he murmured. "I thought—I thought I was too late."

She cupped his cheek, and he leaned into her touch like a starving man.

"You weren't."

Around them, the wind shifted. The soldiers who remained began clearing the bodies. Ravel stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly, watching them with something unreadable in his eyes. Respect? Relief? Or perhaps… regret.

Lucivar rose slowly, wincing as he stood to his full height. Liana's hands hovered, unsure where to touch him without hurting him further.

But Lucivar didn't let go of her.

He kept her hand in his like it was the only thing that mattered.

"Come," he said. "You shouldn't see this place like this."

But she refused to move.

"Lucivar," she said quietly, "how long have they been plotting against you?"

He looked away, jaw tightening.

"Too long," he admitted. "But tonight, they crossed a line."

"They used me."

"They always will."

Her heart sank.

"Then I need to know what I am to you," she said. "I can't be your weakness. Not if they'll use me to destroy you."

Lucivar's eyes flicked to hers—glowing faintly still, but no longer monstrous. Just a man. Wounded. Torn in ways deeper than the flesh.

"You're not my weakness, Liana," he said. "You're the only thing I would bleed for."

And she didn't know whether to cry or kiss him again.

So she simply nodded.

"Then let me stand beside you. Not behind you."

Lucivar looked at her as though she had spoken the unthinkable. A mortal. In the heart of hell's politics. His queen?

He didn't answer her.

Not with words.

Instead, he reached for her hand and guided it to his chest—over his bare, bloodied heart, where the dark tattoos pulsed like ink over a beating drum.

"Swear it," he said, voice rough. "If you stay with me, it's not just kisses and stolen moments. You swear yourself to war. To damnation. To me."

"I swear," she said without hesitation. "To all of it."

Lucivar closed his eyes, and for a moment, he looked like a man who had waited eternity just to hear those words.

---

Later that night, after Ravel tended to his wounds and the blood was scrubbed from the stones, Lucivar led Liana into a part of the mansion she had never seen before.

A long corridor, quiet and untouched by fire.

And at the end—a room made of midnight glass.

He opened the door without a word.

Inside was a chamber unlike any other.

No fire. No stone. No symbols of dominion or power.

Just moonlight pouring through the tall, domed ceiling, illuminating a single black piano in the center of the room. Dust motes danced like stars in the still air.

Liana stepped inside, her breath catching.

"This was my mother's sanctuary," Lucivar said quietly behind her. "She was the last person who saw me as more than the monster I became."

Liana turned. "Was she human?"

"No," he said. "But she loved like one."

He walked toward the piano and ran his fingers over its keys. Not playing. Just remembering.

"She used to sing to me," he said. "Before the wars. Before the curse."

Liana's voice trembled. "What happened to her?"

Lucivar's shoulders stiffened.

"She chose love over power," he said. "And it got her killed."

Liana moved to his side.

"But I'm still here," she said. "Still choosing you."

His eyes met hers, full of a pain that no century could dull.

"Then you're braver than I ever was," he said. "Because I ran from love. Buried it. You… you walk into it with open arms."

She smiled faintly. "Maybe I'm just foolish."

"Maybe you're just exactly what I needed."

Then, as if the room itself held its breath, Lucivar sat at the piano.

And played.

The notes were low and raw at first, like grief given melody. But as he continued, it softened. Became something beautiful. Something only someone in love could play.

Liana stood behind him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as his hands moved across the keys.

For the first time since she came to the mansion, she saw him not as the Devil.

But as a man.

Wounded.

Loyal.

Yearning.

And hers.

When the final note faded, Lucivar turned slightly and pulled her into his lap.

"I don't want you in the shadows anymore," he whispered against her skin. "I want the realm to know you're mine."

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"And I want them to know you're mine too."

He smiled. It wasn't cruel, or cold. It was real.

"Then let them come," he said. "Let the world try to tear us apart."

"Because we'll burn it down together," she finished.

And he kissed her again—

Not like the Devil claiming a soul.

But like a man, finally brave enough to love.

---

The piano's final note still echoed in the quiet chamber when the door creaked open again.

Ravel.

He didn't speak immediately—his face unreadable as always—but his gaze lingered too long on Liana perched in Lucivar's lap. Something shifted in the room. Not disapproval. Not surprise.

Respect. Worry.

"Speak," Lucivar said, his arm still wrapped around Liana's waist.

"There's been movement," Ravel said. "In the Ninth Ring."

Lucivar stiffened.

"Who?" he asked.

"Scouts say it's Asmeryel."

Liana's brow furrowed. "Who's that?"

Lucivar's fingers twitched.

"She's a Highborn. And once... she was my betrothed."

Liana blinked.

Lucivar's voice lowered. "Before the wars. Before I became what I am. Our union was arranged by blood, not by choice. When I refused the throne of bone beside her, she swore she'd make me regret it."

"And now she's coming?" Liana asked.

"No," Ravel corrected. "She's not coming for war. She's calling a Gathering."

Lucivar's jaw clenched. "Of course she is. A public display. One I can't refuse."

"What's a Gathering?" Liana asked.

Lucivar looked at her then, the weight of centuries in his eyes. "It's a formal trial. Ancient law. A challenge to the right of power. She wants to humiliate me in front of the old houses. She knows I can't decline without looking weak."

"And she's using your… relationship with me as leverage," Liana whispered.

"She'll try," Lucivar said. "But she won't succeed."

Ravel cleared his throat. "There's more. She's not alone. The Iron Marquis has pledged his allegiance to her cause. Along with the Bone Witches and the House of Cinders."

Lucivar stood, gently setting Liana aside. "Then let them come. I'll burn them all."

Liana stepped forward, placing her hand on his. "No. Not this time. Let me help."

"You've already helped more than you know," Lucivar said, his voice soft.

"Then let me stand beside you at this Gathering," she said. "Let me be seen. Let me speak."

Lucivar looked at her, torn. "They will try to shame you."

"I've survived worse."

"They will insult your blood."

"I bleed like everyone else."

"They may try to kill you."

"Then I'll stand beside the devil who kills back."

Silence.

Then, slowly, Lucivar nodded.

"Very well," he said. "You'll need to be prepared."

"Prepared how?"

"You'll need a symbol. One that shows the realm you are not just my… affection. You are chosen."

Ravel stepped forward. "There is one rite that has not been performed since the fall of the Third House," he said carefully. "The Mark of the Infernal Consort."

Lucivar's eyes darkened. "It's irreversible."

Liana didn't flinch. "Then let it mark me."

Ravel glanced between them. "It must be done by fire. And blood. And truth."

Lucivar turned back to her, one final moment of hesitation burning in his eyes.

"If I do this," he said quietly, "you'll belong to me—not just in name, but in bond. My soul will tether to yours. My pain… will become yours."

Liana stepped closer. "Then let me carry it. Like you've carried mine."

Lucivar closed his eyes.

And when they opened—burning with power and love—he nodded.

---

The rite was performed in the Hall of Cinders.

An ancient chamber carved from the volcanic rock of the Sixth Ring, it pulsed with heat and whispered with ghosts. Columns of obsidian twisted upward like blackened ribs. Firelight danced from veins of emberstone in the floor.

Lucivar stood shirtless, blood still bandaged from the courtyard battle, his horns crowning him in full demonic regalia. Liana stood across from him, cloaked in ceremonial red, her bare arms trembling—but not from fear.

From the weight of choice.

Around them, a circle of witnesses watched in silence—old lords, generals, and shades sworn to Lucivar's banner. Even the walls seemed to lean in.

Ravel stepped forward between them, holding a black dagger and a bowl of white ash.

"By ancient law," Ravel intoned, "the Mark shall bind your fates, your flames, and your truths."

Lucivar took the blade first.

Without hesitation, he sliced across his palm, and his blood—dark and glimmering with power—fell into the ash.

Ravel handed the blade to Liana.

Her grip didn't waver.

She cut herself, and the red drop sizzled as it joined his.

Ravel stirred the ash and blood until it turned crimson-gray, then knelt, dipping two fingers into the mixture.

"The Infernal Consort bears the symbol of union," he said. "Carved not by chains, but by choice."

He stepped toward Liana and drew a mark over her heart.

It burned like fire.

But she didn't cry out.

Didn't flinch.

She stood tall.

Lucivar's hands reached out, steadying her shoulders, and as the mark seared into her skin—a black flame etched into flesh—his magic surged around them like a storm.

The bond snapped into place.

A pulse echoed through both their chests.

Liana gasped as a piece of him settled inside her soul. His pain. His past. His truth. And something else—

A feeling she hadn't expected.

Loneliness.

So much loneliness.

And now, a flicker of hope.

Lucivar's hands didn't let go.

"You are mine now," he whispered. "In fire. In fury. In forever."

"And you are mine," she said. "In shadow. In strength. In love."

That night, the realm stirred.

The sigil appeared above the Devil's palace—a burning seal in the sky, visible from every ring.

The Devil had chosen.

The Gathering was called.

And this time, he would not stand alone.

---

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