Weeks passed.
Peace held across Eldoria.
No more raids. No more screams in the night.
Elara began to see more of her husband. Not as the Devil King — but as Malakar.
She discovered he spent long hours in the Hall of Records, studying ancient treaties and celestial movements. She learned he despised unnecessary violence and punished cruelty among his own kind with ruthless precision.
One evening, she confronted him.
"Why did you truly demand a bride?"
He stood at the balcony, overlooking the molten sea.
"You think it was conquest?"
"I think you could have destroyed us."
He did not deny it.
"There is a prophecy," he said at last. "One written before my reign. It speaks of balance restored when flame weds breath. Demon and human bound not by war — but by choice."
Elara's heart quickened.
"You believe I am part of this prophecy?"
"I believe," he said quietly, "that endless war benefits neither realm."
"And marriage does?"
"It forces connection."
She stepped beside him.
"You could have chosen any noble demon."
"Yes."
"Why me?"
He met her gaze. For the first time, the fire in his eyes softened.
"Because you volunteered."