Chapter 35
Korithax
Aknock at the door jerks me awake.
Fuck. My head is splitting. I blink at the ceiling, trying to piece together where I am. I’m sprawled sideways across the bed, my shirt wrinkled, boots missing.
Oh. Fuck.
I left them in Daisy’s room after I drunkenly stumbled there last night like some godsdamned lunatic.
I’d spent the entire day after we’d been separated drinking myself stupid on anything I could get my hands on.
I’d needed to just numb everything whirling around in my brain.
I’d needed the company of the intoxicating liquids.
The separation from her had gotten right under my skin the second she’d closed the door to her room.
I groan, rubbing a hand down my face. What a mess. I had made the decision two bottles deep not to force her into being shackled to me, but she still said she’d go through with the marriage anyway.
“I made a deal.”
Her words still slam into me like a blade to the chest. I don’t know why I wanted her to want to marry me. I don’t know why I expected her to choose me—not after everything I’ve done. The way I treat her, I’m lucky she doesn’t stab me in my sleep. I was just so angry, and I’d taken it out on her.
But I wasn’t angry at her; I knew she hadn’t made a move on Kaelith. Daisy isn’t like that. She’s too sweet, too soft. Too good. I saw the way our kiss shook her to her core. Her blushing cheeks, her glassy eyes—gods, if that was her reaction to a kiss, I can’t even imagine how she’d react if I—
Another knock cuts through my thoughts, saving me from what was about to be another completely inappropriate fantasy of the golden-haired girl who haunted my dreams.
“What?” I bark, my voice raspy.
“Sire, I am here to assist you with your morning preparations for the wedding.”
Right. My fucking wedding.
“Come in,” I mumble, rising out of the bed.
Two attendants enter—a tall, androgynous male with dark bronze skin, and a female with radiant brown skin, her eyes molten gold. The male carries a large garment bag; the female balances a tray of food with practiced ease.
“Your suit, shoes, and breakfast, Lord Korithax.” The male says with a respectful nod.
“Do you require assistance dressing, sire?” The girl asks, her cheeks flushing a soft rose gold as her gaze lingers far too long.
I scowl. “No. Get out. I’m perfectly capable of getting myself ready.” She lowers her head in embarrassment.
“How long do I have?” I grumble, praying to whatever god that’s listening that it’s at least a few hours.
“An hour, my lord. I will knock again when it is time to leave and escort you to the ceremony.”
I internally groan and watch as they bow and exit. The girl’s lingering look irritated me more than it should. I’m used to flirtation; hell, normally I’d return it. Maybe even take it further. But lately… I haven’t even looked at another woman, never mind considered fucking one.
I eat the breakfast they left behind—a plate of Solaran sunfruit slices drizzled with honey, spiced flatbread with a golden glaze, and a warm drink that tastes like cinnamon.
It’s pleasant, but not enough. I reach for the glass bottle of nectarwine—amber-hued, thick like syrup, and sweet enough to burn the throat.
I shoot it back in one gulp, but I know it won’t help the emotional turmoil swirling inside my gut and head.
I sigh, stepping over to where the garment bag is draped over a chair next to a large, leaning mirror.
I dress quickly, ignoring the uneasy feeling flitting in my chest. The suit is a tailored black ensemble with subtle red undertones.
The collar is edged in blood red; my sigil is stitched into the lining in crimson silk.
My shirt is fitted and is as black as night, a matching coloured thin tie hugs my throat.
My pocket square is a soft yellow, embroidered around its edges with glowing golden thread.
The boutonnière is a bundle of wild daisies and golden wheat, intertwined with sprigs of solthera—a fragrant green plant native to Solara, similar to eucalyptus, but with sunlight-kissed leaves that shimmer faintly.
My boots may be gone, but the shoes they brought are polished to a mirror shine.
Gods, I hate them. I tie my hair back into a knot at the back of my head in the middle.
I didn’t like it in a low knot; I looked like a pretentious asshole.
A few loose strands hang at the side of my face.
I stare into the mirror, deeply inhaling.
“This is it, Korithax,” I murmur on an exhale. “No going back. You’re about to marry the mortal girl who flipped your entire world upside down.”
A knock at the door interrupts my self-loathing. The male attendant, standing on the other side, clears his throat.
“It is time, my lord.”
My palms are sweating, and I don’t know why. This is just a formality. Just a contract. So why the fuck does my heart feel like it’s about to crack open in my chest?
Sariya has truly outdone herself.
Despite it being bright as fuck—and nothing like what I’d ever imagined my wedding would look like—it’s beautiful. Painfully so. And exactly what Daisy would choose.
The ceremony is set outside, under the endless Solaran sky that bathes everything in golden light.
The aisle is a soft path of ivory stone, flanked by swaying grass and wildflowers that bloom in riotous colours—sunset orange, soft blush, buttery yellow.
Canopies of sheer fabric ripple gently overhead, strung between tall white columns.
The altar is a small sunstone podium nestled beneath a golden arch woven with vines and hanging blossoms. Pale pinks and golds, brilliant oranges and warm reds, all layered like fire caught mid-bloom.
Sariya stands beneath it all, glowing as always, wearing a long golden gown that drapes across one shoulder like a sash, a small book resting in her hands. There’s no crowd, no audience. Just me, her, and soon, Daisy. Thank the gods.
I stride down the aisle, my shiny fucking shoes crunching lightly over scattered petals. When I reach the arch, Sariya greets me with a kiss to each cheek, her perfume warm and floral.
“This is beautiful,” I murmur. “Exactly to her taste. Thank you for all your hard work, Sariya.”
She waves a dismissive hand, smiling. “Ah, it was just my idea. My incredible staff are the true hands behind it all. How are you feeling, sweet child?”
“Fine,” I reply, too quickly.
Not fine. Absolutely not fine. Was I… nervous?
Was that what this was? My hands are sweating, my jaw won’t unclench, and I swear my pulse is racing fast enough to rival a battle drum.
I don’t get nervous. I’m the heir to Hell, the most feared ruler of all the realms. I have battled beasts, witnessed centuries of torment and pain—and somehow, the idea of marrying this soft, stubborn mortal girl has my heart clawing at my ribs.
“You’re sweating, Korithax. And I don’t think it’s the heat,” Sariya teases.
I laugh under my breath. “Okay. Maybe I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s understandable,” she says, smoothing out her dress with one hand. “Daisy is a beautiful woman. You’re a very lucky devil.”
“Again with the puns,” I mutter, my face deadpan as I pick at a piece of invisible lint.
She grins. “I hope you don’t mind,” she adds, lifting the golden-edged book in her hands, “but I’ve designated myself officiant of this wedding.”
I smile softly at her, truly grateful for everything she’s done. “I couldn’t think of a better person.”
We stand there in silence for a moment, and I crack my neck to release the tension coiling through my body. My hands itch, and my heart slams over and over as I wait for what feels like an eternity.
“It’s time to see your bride, Korithax,” Sariya says gently.
I glance toward her, her radiant face beaming at me. Soft harp music begins to play from somewhere unseen, the notes drifting through the warm air. I turn my gaze from Sariya and watch the end of the aisle, my eyes unblinking. Then I see her.
She turns the corner, standing at the end of the aisle, her arm laced through someone’s whom I immediately recognise.
Standing there, arms linked with hers in a black form-fitting suit and a bowtie, is Aran.
Of course, it’s Aran. The soft bastard adores her, just like everyone who meets her instantly adores her.
Gods… my mouth goes dry. She’s not just beautiful. She’s not just radiant. She is sunlight—wrapped in silk and hellfire, spun into flesh and flame. And she’s walking toward me, toward forever, toward damnation. And she’s doing it like she was born to be a queen of Hell.
If I live to be fifty thousand years old, I’ll spend the entire time never understanding how the stars bent so violently in my favour as to place her in my path.
For the first time in my long, wretched life… I feel unworthy.