THE LETTER FROM THE DEMON KING (1)

Arella was busy packing the next evening, the letter from the Council of Angels mocking her from her dining table. Every moment she thought about the letter or the fact that the angels were practically selling her to the demons.

Her wings twitched with restless energy, their golden edges catching the dying sunlight filtering through her window. This was the first time in a long while that she was not staring out the setting sunlight.

She had flown earlier that morning, trying to clear her head. Even as she flew to the castle, she could not escape the frustration that was eating her from the inside out. Her mind spun with ridiculous excuses as to why the demon king wanted her to marry him. The situation itself was absurd. It couldn't be because he had fallen in love with her at first sight. After all, they had never even met, so the idea that he might have fallen for her was as laughable as it was infuriating.

Therefore, the only logical conclusion was that he wanted her as a hostage. Yes, it was all political. After all, she was the precious child of the great Camael of the Angels of Water and Lailah of the Angels of Fire.

Yeah. That sounded ridiculous even to Arella.

So, what game was the demon king playing?

Forgetting the packing she was doing, she paced the cottage, frustrated that her thoughts were not taking her anywhere. In fact, they might have very well been making things much worse. She stopped at the dining table, looking at the parchment that seemed to be mocking her. The letter glared back up at her, as if it was daring her to defy it.

Tearing her gaze from it, she looked up at the wall across from her, where a mirror sat. Her reflection stared back at her.

Her figure in the mirror had not changed much in the last century. She had cut her hair to shoulder length, of which she was sure her mother was going to give her an earful, and her emerald green eyes were the same as before. The halo above her head gently bobbed up and down with her breathing. It was a symbol she had always taken pride in.

The golden halo was something that angels attained once they achieved a mid-tier two level. It was a sign that the heavens had acknowledged your presence as an angel. All angels worked hard to achieve it, some even getting it after centuries had passed.

It was a reminder of her angel heritage and was something she had worked hard for.

However, at this moment, the thing that once felt like a comfort and a sign of how hard she worked felt more like a shackle, choking her. It was a visible reminder of the weight that her heritage placed upon her shoulders.

She reached up, her fingers brushing the band of gold. It felt warm, as it always did. The halo was always pulsing with holy energy and was a clear sign of an angel being alive. The stronger the angelic powers one had, the brighter the halo shone. Instead of offering comfort, it only deepened her frustration.

Her fists clenched, and a low growl of frustration escaped her lips. "Why me?" she muttered to the empty room.

The council was taking away the peaceful existence that she had found living among the humans, and she doubted she was going to forgive her father for allowing it to happen while he was on the council himself.

She picked up the letter and scanned the contents once more. As if that was going to change the contents.

Echo whined at her feet, obviously sensing her distress. It had been hovering around her all day since Solan came to their home. Arella crouched down and ran a hand over the creature's fur. The warmth of its body soothed her nerves ever so slightly. "You don't understand why I am like this, do you?" she muttered, picking a leaf off of his fur. "This marriage... it is not like I can make my own choice on the matter. I cannot run away." It felt as if she was trying to convince herself rather than the creature. "They are handing me over like a pawn, and I cannot even fight it."

There was silence in the room for a while since the creature obviously couldn't answer her. "If the delicate distribution of power between hell and heaven lies in the balance, and I am the only thing that can keep that balance, neither side will let me go."

The creature tilted its head, as if it were contemplating her words, but it still remained silent.

"No matter what happens, you will remain by my side, won't you, Echo?" She sunk her face into the side of the creature. He let out a yip, which Arella took as acceptance.

After a few more minutes, she stood up slowly, taking in a deep breath. She could not allow herself to wallow in uncertainty. It certainly wasn't her style to wallow in self-pity. "Mother would scold me if she saw me like this."

Her best bet was to do what the Council of Angels wanted. Only then would she figure out why she truly had been chosen. There was no way they would have accepted the proposal from the demon king. There was something else that she was sure they did not want her to know.

As if that was going to work.

Her future husband had always been someone that Arella wanted to pick for herself, someone who she could fall in love with. The romance between her mother and father was one that she had always been envious of and one that she had looked up to. Her husband had to worship the very ground she walked on, give her the respect that she deserved, and she would also accord him the same.

However, demons were a totally different breed. Who knew how they treated their women? The demon king Varziel himself was a mystery. He rarely left his castle. All the skirmishes between angels and demons were left to his generals. Arella had overheard once how the power of a demon king was so strong that only high-tier angels could deal with him.

If he was that powerful, then refusal of the proposal was in no way an option.

A soft knock on her door broke her from her thoughts. She was almost scared to open it, seeing as the last time she had a guest over, she was given a marriage proposal. The second knock was a little louder but insistent.

She glanced at Echo, whose ears were perked up. The creature gave her a knowing look, as if it was telling her to answer the door. A hundred years was long enough to get some cues that her silent friend gave her.

She rolled her eyes at it, but crossed the room and opened the door—and froze.

It wasn't an angel or another messenger bearing more bad news.