Page 19

I stand at the corner of our makeshift settlement, letting the early sun warm the back of my neck. A month has passed since we toppled the House that once shaped my curse, since we fled the ruins of Vaerethis and carved out a fragile peace deep in this ancient forest. It’s hard to believe how quickly we’ve built a refuge here—a scattering of huts and lean-tos among towering pines and mossy boulders, a hidden sanctuary for those who survived the chaos.

Around me, the murmurs of morning life mingle with the hum of insects. Freed slaves and Vaerethis defectors once separated by chains and cruelty now labor side by side, raising shelter walls from felled logs, digging small irrigation trenches for a future garden. Smoke curls from a central fire, where a few folks prepare a communal breakfast. When the wind shifts, I catch the scent of roasting herbs, maybe some wild mushrooms we foraged. It’s a humble feast, but more than many of us ever dared hope for.

My chest tightens with a strange blend of gratitude and wonder. I used to imagine the world beyond my cursed existence as a cold void. Yet here I am, in a clearing suffused with early sunlight, listening to the laughter of those who found a second chance. Through the tall pines, I spy a simple watchtower made from stacked logs—our only defense against prowling beasts or wandering elf patrols. Even that stands as a testament to shared resolve.

I turn, letting my gaze settle on the small hut at the clearing’s heart. In front of it, a rough wooden table is draped with whatever white cloth we could scavenge, pinned down by stones so it doesn’t blow away. My heart thuds with anticipation: today, we’re to be wed. My lungs feel too tight, my mind whirling in disbelief that I— a demon —could share a mortal’s life in such a tender, ordinary custom. But it was Calla’s wish. She wanted a human ceremony, a moment of warmth amid the ashes of our tumultuous journey.

A shape flits at the corner of my vision—Silas, his dark hair disheveled, hustling across the clearing with a handful of wildflowers. He notices me and lifts them in a sheepish sort of greeting. We’ve come to an unspoken truce, he and I; though we once clashed, the trials of Vaerethis forced us to rely on each other, forging an odd familial bond. He’s the one who offered to officiate this wedding, despite his utter lack of priestly qualifications.

“Daeva!” he calls, jogging up to me. The flowers in his grip are a wild mix of bright yellows and faded purples, all found in the meadows beyond. “Thought I’d add… I don’t know, a bit of color. It’s a wedding, right?” He grins, breathless.

A faint smile tugs my lips. “Thank you. Calla will appreciate it.” My voice cracks slightly, betraying my nerves.

He lowers the flowers, studying me with solemn empathy. “How’s she doing?”

My gaze shifts beyond him, toward another hut where she prepared earlier. “She’s… anxious,” I admit. “But happy, I think.” A hush of warmth stirs in my chest. “She’s trying to accept that this is our life now.”

Silas nods, his grin more genuine. “Good. You two deserve this.” He clears his throat. “Well, I’ll go… set these up. I guess that’s what wedding officiants do?” He laughs, shaking his head at the absurdity.

I watch him go, the sincerity of his gesture easing some of my tension. A wedding. The word still feels surreal. We’ve spent the last month healing, physically and emotionally. Calla’s eyes remain lost, the shards irreversibly entrenched in her flesh. The scarring on her cheeks is still raw. But with each day, she’s honed her other senses, navigating the forest paths with the help of a carved walking stick. Sometimes, she calls it her sword, a wry nod to the fighter she’s become despite her blindness.

She wanted me to wait for her at the clearing’s center, so that’s what I do now, letting the morning breeze tug at my cloak. Freed slaves and refugees from Vaerethis gather in a cautious circle around the makeshift table, whispering excitedly. They’ve never witnessed a demon’s wedding, nor has a demon likely witnessed a human one in living memory. But here we are, forging something new. My heart races, half fear, half exultation.

At last, a hush ripples through the crowd. My breath catches as I see Calla emerge from a small hut across the clearing. Silas must have told her it was time. Her bandaged eyes are turned forward, and her lips are parted in a soft, trembling smile. She wears a simple tunic dyed pale gray, the closest we have to a gown. A thin garland of leaves crowns her hair, courtesy of Jenna—someone told me Jenna insisted on that, for the sake of a “proper wedding.” The green leaves contrast starkly with Calla’s pale features, but it suits her. She looks both otherworldly and heartbreakingly vulnerable.

She uses her carved stick to guide her steps, but two of our new allies walk beside her, offering subtle support. Dried petals scatter under her feet, thrown by a child who giggles with excitement. My eyes sting with emotion. I recall how Calla once trudged these same woods blind and in pain. Now she strides with regal grace, forging her own path with each step.

She stops a few paces away, uncertain. Silas steps forward, offering her his arm. I move too, heart pounding, gently laying my hand over hers. Her lips curl into a radiant smile at the familiar contact. She tilts her head to catch my scent or my presence, and for a moment, the darkness behind her bandages seems inconsequential—she sees me in ways beyond sight.

“You look…” I falter, throat tight. “You’re beautiful.”

She blushes, tears glistening behind the bandages. “I— Thank you.” Her voice is soft as a breeze.

Silas clears his throat, stepping to the makeshift altar—the battered table draped in cloth. A hush spreads among the onlookers. He sets the wildflowers on the table, next to a small jug of water. No rings, no grand ornaments. We have only sincerity and a handful of treasured bonds.

He raises his voice, awkwardly formal. “We gather here,” he says, “to witness… the union of Calla and Daeva.” He glances between us, then at the crowd, as though expecting laughter at the absurdity of officiating a demon’s wedding. But no one laughs. Many wear expressions of hope or wonder.

“I’m not a priest,” Silas continues, forcing a wry grin, “but I’ve seen enough births and funerals to guess how these things go. We celebrate life and love—two survivors who found each other in the darkest times. And though I once doubted them, I’ve come to see they belong together.”

My chest constricts. I recall how Silas once tried to kill me, how we glared at each other over Calla’s safety. Now he stands in front of us, bridging two worlds. My gaze shifts to Calla; her expression is soft, tears tracking across her cheeks. She can’t see the crowd, but I know she feels their presence.

Silas gestures for us to join hands. I take Calla’s trembling fingers in mine, ignoring how my own injuries still ache. She releases her walking stick to do so, trusting me to hold her upright.

“In times past,” Silas says, “we might have recited vows under some grand temple or before an official. But we have none of that. All we have is each other and the promise you make here, with your friends as witness. Are you ready to speak?”

Calla’s breath catches. “I… yes.” She squeezes my hand, turning her face toward me. Though her eyes are hidden, I swear she peers into my soul. “Daeva, from the moment I touched that cursed mirror, my life changed. I fell into darkness and found you in it. I lost my eyes, but I gained freedom in my heart. You showed me that even in curses, there’s choice—there’s love. I vow to stand with you, demon or no, until our final breath.” Tears slip down her cheeks, bright against her skin. “I love you,” she finishes, voice trembling. “Always.”

My throat feels strangled. She loves me. In front of these people, in front of my own battered conscience, she declares it. I gather my breath, my voice hoarse with emotion. “Calla,” I murmur, “I once thought I was nothing but a weapon of vengeance, shackled by an ancient curse. Then you came, forging a bond that wasn’t about chains but choice. Even in your blindness, you see me better than I see myself. I vow to guard your hope, your spirit, just as you’ve guarded my lost soul. If the world tries to tear us apart again, I’ll stand between it and you—forever.”

A hush falls, broken only by a few soft sniffles among the gathered crowd. Calla’s tears mingle with blood, and I cradle her cheek, wiping them gently. She leans into my touch. My own eyes burn with unshed tears.

Silas lifts a small leather thong—simple, but carefully knotted. “We have no rings, but we made these tokens.” He sets them on the table, then picks up one. “Calla, hold out your hand.” He ties the thong around her wrist, murmuring, “A sign of union.” Then he ties a matching thong around my wrist. The cords are plain, but each sports a little carved bead shaped like a leaf, signifying rebirth.

After a moment of quiet reflection, Silas grins sheepishly. “I guess that’s it. You’re, uh, married.” Awkward applause ripples. Laughter and cheers rise from the crowd—a small celebration, but earnest. My chest feels ready to burst.

I pull Calla into my arms, pressing my lips to hers. It’s a gentle kiss, suffused with relief, love, and a final acceptance that we’ve chosen each other beyond curses and mortality. She trembles, returning the kiss with equal fervor. The crowd whoops and claps, a joyous sound that echoes through the clearing. For a moment, I let go of every fear, every memory of Vaerethis’s darkness.

We break apart, breathless. She clings to me, a luminous smile lighting her face. “We’re married,” she whispers, voice quaking with awe.

“Yes,” I reply, voice just as unsteady, “and I won’t let anything undo that vow.”

A short while later, the communal meal unfolds around us. People pass wooden bowls of stew, meager but warm, and share scraps of dried fruits. Someone finds a battered lute, strumming a tentative tune that morphs into a cheerful melody. Children dart among the huts, shrieking with laughter, chasing each other in a game that tosses flower petals in the air. Even the battered remnants of House Vaerethis’s guard—those who defected—join in, relief etched on their faces. The war is over, the old tyrant banished.

Calla and I sit under a pine tree at the clearing’s edge, letting the flickers of sunlight filter through the needles. She leans against my shoulder, absentmindedly running her fingers over the simple thong on her wrist. I stroke her hair, feeling the closeness of her body, the heat that’s always simmered between us. Soon, the festivities will wind down, people returning to their tasks or sleeping off the day’s excitement. My heart throbs with a new, deeper desire—to share a private moment, as husband and wife, away from watchful eyes.

She senses my tension, tilting her face toward me. “Daeva?” she says softly, her voice a gentle caress.

I brush a lock of hair from her bandaged forehead. “Yes?”

Her cheeks flush, a delicate pink. “Can we… slip away? Just for a bit?”

A wave of warmth floods me, recalling how we last made love by the waterfall in a moment stolen from the world. Now, as newlyweds, the memory sets my pulse racing. I stand, offering her my hand. She rises too, leaning on me for guidance. We murmur a quick farewell to Silas, who winks conspiratorially, stepping aside. My lips curve at the realization that even he supports our private escape.

We walk deeper into the forest, weaving among pines until the sounds of celebration fade. Birds trill in the canopy, and the afternoon light filters in gold-green rays. Eventually, we find a small grove near a trickling stream. Leaves scatter on the mossy ground, forming a soft bed. The hush of nature wraps around us, intimate and calm.

I help her settle onto the moss, bracing her as she lowers herself. Her breathing quickens, matching my own. I kneel beside her, brushing my fingers through her hair. The tension of the last month melts into a tender hush. She tilts her chin up, offering me her lips in a silent plea. I oblige, pressing my mouth to hers, slow and reverent.

She exhales into the kiss, her hands finding my shoulders. The memory of our shared nights, our fierce embraces, floods me. But this time, the stress of curses and looming battles doesn’t overshadow the moment. We are husband and wife—no mirror-bound menace, no House controlling our fate. Only the forest’s quiet watch as witness.

Her lips part, allowing me deeper access. Heat blooms in my chest, sweeping away lingering aches. Carefully, I lower her onto the moss, mindful of her bandaged eyes. My hands drift to the ties of her simple tunic. She shivers but nods, and I loosen them, grazing my palm over her scarred skin. She lets out a soft sigh, arching into me.

“Daeva,” she whispers, voice trembling with raw emotion. “We’re free, aren’t we?”

My throat constricts as I plant a tender kiss on her jaw. “Yes,” I breathe, letting my mouth travel down her neck. “Free to love each other without fear.”

Her arms enfold my waist. My body responds, warmth pooling in my core. Each touch is a pledge, each kiss a vow. Her small sounds of pleasure quicken my pulse. The forest hushes, as though giving us the privacy we crave. Our clothes peel away, baring old wounds, fresh scars, and the honest vulnerability of our battered bodies.

Yet in each other’s arms, there’s no shame—only hunger, only worship. Her fingers skate over the ridges of my demon’s markings, tracing the raised scars like scripture. Every touch is a confession: I see you. I want you anyway. Her breath shudders as she maps the hard planes of my abdomen, the brutal history written into my skin. I let her explore, my cock already stiff against her thigh, aching for the wet heat I know she’ll give me.

When my mouth finds her collarbone, she gasps—sharp, sweet—and I drink the sound like a man starved. Her skin tastes of salt and pine, of tears shed in the dark. Mine. My teeth graze the delicate curve, and she arches into me, her pussy grinding against my hip in a silent plea.

"Daeva—" Her voice fractures.

I silence her with a kiss, deep and claiming. Her nails dig into my back, scoring fresh marks over the old ones. Pain sparks bright behind my eyelids, but it’s nothing compared to the slick, molten need between us.

"Tell me," I growl against her lips. "Tell me what you want."

She doesn’t speak. She shows me.

Her hand slides between us, fingers trembling as they wrap around my cock, guiding me to her entrance. The heat of her is intoxicating, her breath hitching as the head of me presses against her slick folds.

"Please—" Calla’s whisper is ragged, desperate. "Don’t make me wait any longer."

The first press is torture—her cunt so fucking tight, so wet, clenching around me like she’s been waiting centuries for this. I groan, forehead pressed to hers, teeth gritted as I sink deeper, deeper, inch by unbearable inch, until there’s no space left between us, until she’s gasping my name like a prayer.

"Gods—" Her voice is a broken thing, her nails biting into my shoulders. "You feel— impossible. Like you were made for me."

“I am made for you,” she gasps, clinging onto me.

I know. I know.

She’s blind, but her body reads mine like a vow, every shift of muscle, every ragged breath. I pull back just enough to thrust again, and the sound she makes—half sob, half moan—sends fire through my veins. Her legs lock around me, heels digging into the small of my back, urging me deeper, harder. I oblige, my hands gripping her hips, fingers pressing bruises into her skin as I set a relentless pace.

The rhythm builds—a slow, consuming tide. Her nails rake down my spine, and I hiss, fucking her harder, chasing the friction that makes her sob. The forest air is full with the scent of her arousal, of sweat and sex and the raw, untamed thing between us. Her breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, her body arching against mine, seeking more, always more.

"Tell me," I growl against her lips, my voice rough with need. "Tell me what you want."

"You," she whimpers, her fingers tangling in my hair. "Just you. All of you."

My thumb finds her clit, circling in tight, merciless strokes. She cries out, her thighs shaking, her cunt clenching around me like a vice.

"Come for me," I snarl, my own control fraying. "Let me feel you."

She shatters with a broken scream, her body tightening around me, pulling me under. The pleasure is a blade, sharp and bright, carving me open. I follow her over the edge with a groan that shakes the trees, spilling deep inside her, my hips jerking helplessly as she milks every last drop from me.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the hammer of our hearts, the shared breath between our lips, the way her body still trembles beneath mine.

We collapse onto the moss, limbs tangled, sweat cooling in the evening air. Her fingers trace my jaw, feather-light, as if memorizing the shape of me.

"You’re not just a demon," she murmurs, her voice soft but sure. "You’re mine. My husband. My mate. My forever."

The words lodge in my chest, sharper than any curse, more binding than any spell.

I kiss her—slow, reverent—and let the world fade to nothing.

Eventually, I find my voice again. “I’ve never known such peace,” I confess, trembling. “I didn’t think it possible for a demon cursed centuries ago.”

She caresses my jaw, her lips brushing close. The word sends a shiver of warmth through me as she says, “ I love you, demon or curses be damned.”

A faint laugh escapes me, throaty with emotion. “Then curses be damned,” I agree. “We’ll keep forging our future in these woods or wherever we wander next.”

She nestles against my chest, letting out a contented sigh. “I’d like that. And maybe, in time, we’ll find new ways to help others. If more enslaved souls escape, they’ll need a home. We can build a sanctuary here—bigger huts, farmland, a real community.”

My heart flutters. A sanctuary. Yes, we can make a safe haven for those who only knew chains. If there’s any atonement for the bloodshed of my cursed existence, it might be found in offering others a chance to heal.

I hold her close, feeling her steady heartbeat. The forest around us breathes quietly, sunlight shifting as the day advances. This fleeting moment lingers, draping us in serenity. We might face unknown perils tomorrow, but for now, we have each other, wedded by Silas’s well-meaning officiation, forging a bond no dark elf ritual can sever.

After a while, the wind picks up, rustling leaves overhead. We dress again, helping each other with the ties. Calla laughs softly when our fingers fumble, teasing that her “blindness” doesn’t hamper her dexterity nearly as much as my trembling nerves. My cheeks heat in mild embarrassment, but I relish her playful tone. This is a side of her that glimmers with hope, free from the weight of fear.

We rise, fingers entwined. “Shall we return?” I ask gently. She nods, though she keeps her face lifted as if gazing at me, trusting me to guide her steps. I brush my lips across her bandaged forehead once more, then lead her out of the grove.

By the time we approach the settlement, the sun’s high overhead, illuminating the humble huts and the watchtower in golden light. A few folk spy us coming and wave, a mixture of knowing smiles and warm acceptance. Word spreads quickly in our small community—everyone senses we took a brief private moment to seal our vows in a more intimate manner.

Silas steps from a half-built cottage, a grin splitting his face. “Welcome back, newlyweds,” he teases. Calla’s cheeks flush, but she laughs. I can’t help but smile. Yes, newlyweds. Even the demon in me savors that thought.

Jenna hurries forward, fussing that we missed the midday meal, offering a bowl of hot stew. Ryn and Cole approach with heartfelt congratulations. Freed dark elves—those who once served under House Vaerethis—bow their heads shyly, forming a circle of acceptance around us. The sense of belonging nearly crushes me with gratitude.

Calla listens to each voice, responding with gentle words, asking about how the fields are shaping up or if we need more foragers. She’s blind, but her presence radiates leadership. It strikes me that together, we might not just survive, but guide others who share our scars. A new life, a new path. The bond we share hums with quiet satisfaction.

At last, we step aside from the cluster of well-wishers, drifting to the quiet edge of the clearing again. She leans against me, breathing in the forest air.

“You okay?” I ask, brushing a hand along her shoulder.

She nods, her face serene. “I am. Tired, but… happy. We’re free, Daeva. Truly free.”

“Yes,” I echo, voice thick. “And we have each other.”

A hush passes between us, the hush of two souls who found love in the darkest of nightmares. Now, as husband and wife, we stand on the cusp of a future that might hold fresh trials, but also a chance for peace. She clings to my arm, and I sense her silent vow to keep forging ahead despite her blindness. I bow my head, letting an exhale of relief slip free. We’re alive, we’re together, and we have a home—even if it’s just a cluster of huts in a wild forest. That’s enough.

My mind flickers to the vow I made at the waterfall: I’d free her from any vestige of the curse. The ancient tyrant’s hold is broken, but vestiges of demon magic remain. Perhaps in time, we’ll unravel that, or maybe we won’t need to. Because for now, love and a shared life matter more than old spells. She leans into me, unafraid of my demonic heritage, and I hold her close, unafraid of what the future holds so long as she’s by my side.

A breeze rustles the pine boughs overhead. Within the hush, I sense the murmur of possibilities—of building a real village, of forging alliances, of living free from the nightmares that once bound us. Calla’s hand twines with mine, steady and warm. I press a kiss to her temple, listening to the quiet contentment in her sigh.

No words pass between us for a long moment. But we don’t need them. In her quiet heartbeat, in my resolute embrace, we’ve said enough: we choose love over the curses of the past, and we choose a future carved from hope rather than fear.

And thus the day ends, a new life begun—for me, a demon who found redemption in a mortal’s unwavering spirit; for Calla, once a slave, now a fierce warrior of her own destiny. In the golden glow of this hidden settlement, we walk forward hand in hand, forging a path that no dark elf tyrant can ever steal from us again.