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The news came as the air in the Citadel grew thick with the taste of fire and fate. It spread like ash on the wind, carried by whispers and burning eyes. By morning, it would reach the farthest stone in the Underworld.
Hazel sat still in the obsidian courtyard, her fingers delicately stroking the warm neck of a white hellcat that had wandered to her side. Miriam stood by her, watching her mistress' face closely — searching for signs of strength, or perhaps cracks.
"What did he say again?" Hazel finally asked, her voice almost inaudible.
Miriam cleared her throat. "He said, 'Prepare the Queen Consort. The court must see who sits beside the Devil King.'"
Hazel's breath hitched slightly. "Queen Consort…" she repeated, like the words were too sharp in her mouth.
"He's making it official," Miriam said gently. "He's letting the realms know you're not just his wife on paper. He's putting you in the open — in front of every demon lord, lady, and creature who dares challenge it."
Hazel looked away, eyes trailing the blackened horizon. It felt too fast — too dangerous. Yet somewhere deep inside her, past the layers of fear, skepticism, and foreign memories, something felt right.
That Afternoon – Throne Room of the Citadel
The Citadel's Great Hall was darker than usual, lit only by floating silver embers that danced like spirits. A hundred elite demons stood in rigid silence, faces cloaked in shadow.
At the far end, on the throne of bones and flame, sat Hades.
Hazel walked slowly down the long black aisle, draped in a gown of midnight threaded with starlight — the one Miriam and the seamstresses had tailored after days of sewing, per Hazel's quiet request to modernize her attire. The slit in the gown's side revealed the curve of her thigh, but its high collar and structured shoulders declared royalty.
She looked at no one. But everyone looked at her.
As she reached the steps of the throne, Hades stood and descended, his gaze unreadable.
His voice echoed through the chamber like thunder trapped in a bottle.
"You have seen her. You have whispered about her. You have questioned why a human walks our halls with her head high."
"You forget: she is not just a human. She is the daughter of kings."
"She stood unshaken before witches, vampires, and beasts — and not even the Syren's song could touch her."
"This is no concubine. No pet. No political pawn."
"This is Hazel of Aetheria — and she is my wife."
"From this day forward, she shall be recognized not just as consort… but as Queen of the Underworld."
Gasps rippled through the room.
Some demons bowed.
Some clenched their jaws.
And in the back, hidden by shadows, a familiar pair of eyes narrowed — Nyra, the Syren mistress, lips curling with distaste.
Hazel's heart pounded, but she didn't falter. Not when Hades turned and took her hand. Not when the flames in the room burned brighter at their contact. And not when he leaned down and whispered, just for her:
"Play the part… or look weak. The choice is yours."
'if I faltered, they will tear me apart,' She thought. Although she was scared, there was no way she was going to show it. These demons were power-hungry, they'd definitely come for her head of she appeared weak.
But she had to be careful coming off as too brave, they might mistake it for arrogance.
After the Ceremony
Back in her chambers, Hazel stared at herself in the mirror, the heavy obsidian-and-gold circlet now resting on her brow.
"I look like a weapon," she murmured.
"You are," Miriam said softly. "And now they know it."
Hazel sat down, exhaling. "I'm not ready for this, Miriam. I'm not even sure who I really am."
She had a feeling the body she was inhabiting had a lot of secrets, one she definitely didn't want to be involved with because it was terrifying as hell — She needed rest even for awhile — Even now her dreams were tied to this world, why couldn't she dream of something from her past, why couldn't she dream of Ariana?
Miriam knelt beside her. "Then let them underestimate you. Let them think you're just a beautiful queen on his arm." She paused, then smiled faintly. "And when the time comes… you'll show them exactly who you are."
Hazel sat in silence long after Miriam left, the room dim save for the pale candlelight flickering across her new crown. Its weight still pressed against her skull, not just in metal—but meaning. The title of Queen wasn't ceremonial. Not here. Not in the Underworld.
It was a declaration.
A challenge.
And it had enemies echoing through the walls.
Whispers in the Garden of Bone
"Did you see how he looked at her?"
Nyra's voice slithered like silk over poison as she walked through the dead garden with Lysa and Velia beside her. The Syren's silver eyes were stormy, her gown dragging across ash-covered roses that hadn't bloomed in centuries.
"She's human," Velia hissed, her forked tongue flicking the air. "A weak, useless creature. That crown belongs to one of us."
"And yet, he hasn't touched any of us in moons," Lysa murmured, her succubus beauty dulled by disdain. "He hasn't even summoned me to his chambers."
Nyra clenched her fist. "We need to remind the Underworld who held his interest before a mortal girl stumbled into our realm."
She tilted her head up toward the Citadel's tallest spire, where Hazel's chambers glowed dimly like a second moon.
"She's not one of us," Nyra said coldly. "She doesn't belong in that crown."
"Then we take it off her," Velia whispered.
Below the Citadel — The Training Fields
Lycan stood shirtless, drenched in sweat, his muscles glistening under the red twilight. He struck the steel dummy again—hard enough to send it crashing across the yard.
He hadn't come to the coronation.
He couldn't.
Seeing her there, beside Hades, dressed in shadows and stars—Hazel had stirred something in him that refused to be caged.
"She's your mate," Blaze whispered under his breath.
But she wasn't just his. She was his enemy's queen.
His wolf roared inside him, fighting to surface.
One more day of this, and he'd lose control.
Elsewhere – The Wine Chamber
Ares watched the announcement replay in the glowing orb mounted above the bar, swirling bloodwine in his glass.
He scoffed at the speech.
"She stood unshaken before vampires," he muttered aloud. "Was that a jab at me?"
Alissa chuckled from the corner, her dark hair pinned into an elaborate updo, sipping her tea with infuriating grace. "You've never handled rejection well."
"It wasn't rejection," Ares snapped, finishing his wine and pouring another. "She just doesn't know what she wants yet."
"Mm," Alissa smirked.
"Why her?" He whispered, staring at the glass in his hand, lost in thought. He downed his drink, growling low in his throat.
But even Alissa could see it now—the flicker in his gaze when Hazel walked into a room. The way he adjusted his cloak, or how he stared too long when she wasn't looking.
Ares, the Vampire King, was falling.
And he hated it.
Later that Night — Hades' Chambers
Hades stood before the mirror, shirt half-unbuttoned, his brow furrowed in thought.
The Queen Consort crown had barely settled before whispers began. The mistresses would plot. The lords would grumble. A storm was coming.
But he had seen it in Hazel tonight. The way she looked down at them all without fear.
She was meant to sit beside him. He knew it more with every breath.
Still… he couldn't shake the feeling that something was rising beneath her skin. Something ancient. Something dangerous.
He traced the edge of the obsidian crown with his fingertip.