The bells of Diandrik rang through the capital that morning — low, thunderous, and ancient. Each toll echoed across the marble courtyards of King Fukudo's palace, signaling not only the union of two souls but the birth of a political bond forged in shadows and blood.
The corridors shimmered with crimson banners bearing the royal insignia — a serpent devouring the sun. Courtiers gathered like ghosts in embroidered robes, whispering rumors of the strange young man about to marry the princess.
Roze Apocalypse, chained to destiny and bound by royal decree, walked through the hall without flinching. His crimson eyes betrayed nothing. Only the faint scar under his chin — still new — spoke of the chaos that had led him here.
Before the ceremony, he was taken to a chamber draped in dark silk.
King Fukudo's priests awaited him, their faces hidden behind bone-white masks. One of them stepped forward, voice hollow as it echoed through the room.
"By the command of His Majesty, you shall be purified through the ancient rite of the Blood Oath."
Roze said nothing.
A bronze basin was brought forth. A servant slit a goat's throat over it; thick red blood pooled within. Without hesitation, the priests poured it over Roze's head. The warm liquid ran down his body, staining his pale skin in streams of scarlet. The metallic scent filled the chamber.
He neither resisted nor spoke — just stared forward as if waiting for the ritual to end.
Next came the ashes — dark, grey powder mixed with sacred oil. The priests smeared symbols across his face, his chest, and both arms. "For strength, for endurance, for loyalty," they chanted in monotone.
Finally, they drew small cuts across his elbows with a silver blade. The pain was shallow but sharp. Blood welled up, mingling with the goat's crimson trail.
When it was over, Roze stood there — a figure half human, half myth, glowing under torchlight.
King Fukudo entered then, wearing a robe lined with gold and emeralds. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "You bear pain well, boy. That is good. Only those who endure the blade can rule beside my bloodline."
Roze met his gaze coldly. "I'm not here for comfort."
The King chuckled. "And that is exactly why you are worthy."
He gestured for the guards. "Bring in my daughter."
The grand doors opened, and Princess Anne Fukudo appeared — radiant, elegant, her pale lilac gown flowing like moonlight. She walked with gentle grace, but her eyes burned with something deeper than royal composure — a fascination.
When she saw Roze, covered in dried blood and sacred ash, she froze for a moment — then smiled.
"So this is the one father promised me," she said softly, approaching. Her voice trembled with emotion. "The goddess of beauty must have been merciful when she created you."
Roze blinked slowly, unsure how to respond. Anne stepped closer, her hand hovering near his cheek but not daring to touch. "You're different from anyone I've ever seen," she whispered.
Fukudo clapped once, and the priests began the final rites.
They circled Roze and Anne, chanting the words of binding. The ceremony's language was older than kingdoms — harsh syllables that twisted in the air like serpents.
As the chant reached its final verse, the priests declared, "By the command of His Majesty, by the will of the gods, these two shall become one."
Anne turned to Roze, eyes gleaming with both innocence and longing. "My king," she said softly, and then pressed her lips to his.
The hall erupted in cheers and bells.
Roze didn't respond to the kiss; his face remained unreadable even as the crowd roared for celebration. To him, this was not love — it was survival.
That night, the palace dimmed. The guests retired, the candles burned low, and the royal attendants withdrew quietly.
Roze entered the grand chamber he now shared with Anne — an opulent room with white drapes, silver mirrors, and a great bed covered in petals.
Anne stood there, smiling nervously. She approached him slowly. "Roze… tonight, we are truly bound," she said, voice shaking with both affection and fear. "I wish to be close to you."
Roze didn't answer. His crimson eyes met hers, unreadable.
When she reached out to touch him, he moved sharply, pushing her away. The motion wasn't violent — but firm enough to send her stumbling onto the bed. She looked up at him, shocked.
"Roze—"
He turned his back to her, breathing heavily. "Don't," he said coldly. "You don't understand me." While doing self satisfaction Roze said , "That's how I reject you!"
Anne's expression softened with confusion and pain. "Then help me understand."
Roze remained silent for a long moment. Then, his tone lowered — almost a whisper. "You want closeness, but you know nothing of me. You see a crown. I see chains."
Anne stood, trembling slightly. "I'm not your enemy, Roze."
He turned his head just enough for her to see his eyes — red, glowing faintly in the dim candlelight. "You are now my wife because your father wanted a weapon strong enough to breed power. I am not a husband — I'm an experiment in his eyes."
Anne's lips parted, but no words came.
Roze stepped closer, his voice calm now but chilling. "He said he wants a heir from us soon. But I know what that means. The moment I give him that, I'll become useless. And useless men don't live long in royal halls."
Anne swallowed hard. "You think he would—?"
"I know he would," Roze interrupted.
He walked to the window, looking out at the moon. "That's why, Anne… I'll find another way. You'll still be queen, you'll still be by my side, but I won't give your father the satisfaction of controlling me."
Anne hesitated, then whispered, "What do you mean… another way?"
Roze turned, his voice lowering like a dark vow. "I'll study you — your magic, your bloodline, your mana resonance. If I must create life to fulfill the King's wish, I'll do it through alchemy or enchantment — not submission."
Anne took a small step back, her heart pounding. "You'll… experiment?"
"Yes." Roze's tone softened, strangely compassionate. "You'll be part of something greater than his order. I'll protect you. But I'll do it on my terms."
The words lingered in the air, heavy and final.
Anne's hands trembled, but she nodded slowly. "If that's your will… then I'll trust it. I'll trust you."
For the first time, Roze looked at her with something close to empathy. "Good," he murmured. "Because from now on, you belong to my path — not your father's."
The candles flickered violently, then went out one by one, leaving only moonlight illuminating their faces — two figures bound by fate, love warped into necessity, and vows painted in ash and blood.
Outside, the night wind carried the faint echo of the King's voice from distant halls — announcing that the kingdom had found its future rulers.
But within that silent room, the truth was darker:
The marriage had begun not in devotion, but in quiet rebellion.
And Roze Apocalypse, once a student of shadows, was now stepping fully into them.