Derek's mother was called a witch, accused of witchcraft, and so she was forced to live in seclusion, far from the other inhabitants of the capital. His father died fighting for the crown, but his exploits were quickly forgotten, as was he. Everyone forgot that Vidar Mørskverd was as strong as his son. Black rumors spread through the kingdom that Derek was the son of a witch and a devil, that his strength was given to him by the hellhole, and the disgust of the angels only reinforced these rumors. The angels never opened the gates to their heavenly city to anyone but their own race, and after Derek's coronation, trade relations between the two kingdoms came to a halt.
***
Silence reigned in the hall.
"Damn whore, how dare she look into the king's eyes!" – Bergil's consciousness was screaming with indignation and anger, and he was about to draw his sword to blow the demoness's head off, but Derek grabbed his arm and gave his friend a cold stare.
– Apparently my fiancée has finally realized where she belongs and is waiting for my permission to enter! – Derek deftly remedied the situation and didn't miss the opportunity to jab the demoness. The room was filled with the loud laughter of the warriors. – Well, come on in! Your feet must be freezing! Don't worry, Kaldwind will make you some nice quality shoes. Apparently rich Flammehav didn't have a single gold coin to buy you even a pair of leather shoes.
The noise intensified. It seemed that tears were about to come out of the eyes of King Merkswerda's subjects, and only Sylvia remained as cold as ice.
The girl was hurt to hear such things, her honor was being trampled on, but she had no choice, and had to endure these humiliations, gathering her inner strength into a fist for the sake of her people and kingdom.
– It is a shame that you so disrespect your choices, my king. By humiliating me, you humiliate yourself. Do the subjects of your country dare to laugh at your preferences and future queen? – replied the Flammehav heiress calmly.
This phrase made people stop laughing, and the hall suddenly became quiet.
– Well, you're right about something, future queen. – Derek said the last word in syllables, through clenched teeth. – Have a seat. – He pointed to Queen Varma's empty neighboring throne and gestured for the musicians to continue playing.
Chapter 6
"Rude ignorant dork! – thought Sylvia, treading slowly across the cold, stone, reddish floor towards the one who had left her no choice but to give him herself, her body and her honor. After all, he was the victor. A conqueror. Her magic had no effect on him, and she had no way to penetrate his thoughts, his soul, but his behavior and attitude toward her and her parents spoke for themselves: he was a scoundrel, a tyrant, an ignoramus. – And this miserable creature, this proud man will soon be my husband? Consort… What a strange word! I am the heiress of Flammehav, a demoness, and this cruel usurper! He'll make me queen of his kingdom, but I don't want that! I want nothing to do with him! But do I have a choice? Alas, not even my father, the mighty Lamar Rossi can protect me!"
She staggered toward the throne where Derek Merkswerd sat, the light scarlet dress swaying to the beat of her steps. The girl's wavy black, raven-winged hair was braided into a high, elaborate style and adorned with modestly sized blood-red sapphires that emphasized her large red eyes framed by long, black, thick lashes. Sylvia walked slowly, with a perfectly straight back and raised chin, showing that her pride had not left her despite the fact that she had heard nothing but mockery and insults from her future husband.