You, My Devil - Chapter 1

“Waaahhh!!”

The cheers of the citizens filled the round dome, growing so loud they seemed to pierce through the air. Heina clasped her sweaty hands to her chest, trying to steady her trembling chin and maintain her composure.

“Arzen! Arzen!!”

As Arzen’s horse swiftly changed direction, a fierce cloud of sand billowed into the air. The crowd grew even more frenzied, repeatedly shouting his name. Seated to Heina’s right, the Emperor, Empress, and Arzen’s father, Varis the Grand Duke, watched in tense silence as Arzen drew his sword and plunged it toward the opponent’s horse, aiming for its side. The startled horse reared up in pain, and the prince of the rival nation, seated atop it, tumbled to the ground.

“Waaahhh!!!”

From her seat, closest to the arena, Heina saw the massive, armor-clad body hit the ground with a resounding thud. Convinced of Arzen’s victory, the crowd’s cheers rose to a fever pitch, seeming to reach the heavens. Heina gazed at Arzen, who was expertly pulling his horse’s reins from afar, and swallowed tears of relief.

Since the moment she heard that Arzen had chosen to participate in this brutal contest—an unprecedented, bloody competition held in their own country, known for its reverence for art and literature—Heina had not had a peaceful night’s sleep. Now, with tearful eyes, she stared at the defeated enemy lying in the sand. Falling from that wildly thrashing horse, he was likely left with a broken neck.

“Hopefully, those barbaric tribes will come to realize their place,” she heard her mother, the Empress, murmur softly to the Emperor. Heina looked at Arzen, standing radiant in the middle of the arena in his gleaming armor. She wanted to pull his golden hair from beneath his helmet and kiss him, to promise that she would never let him face such a situation again.

It was at that very moment that the prince of the enemy nation, lying at Heina’s feet, suddenly sprang up and leapt onto Arzen’s horse.

“Oh my goodness!!”

A shocked cry escaped the Empress’s lips just as Arzen, shoved by the enemy prince, was thrown from his own horse.

“Arzen!”

Arzen’s horse, sensing that the person tugging its reins was not its master, thrashed wildly in protest. Meanwhile, the enemy prince clung tightly to the horse, as if he were one with it, refusing to be dislodged. On the ground, Arzen struggled to rise, seemingly unable to stand, as if his leg were broken.

“Stop the match immediately!”

Heina sprang to her feet, shouting. Her voice trembled, almost pleading. Watching her desperate cry, the Emperor of Constance clenched his fist. This was a battle of national pride, but allowing it to continue might lead to even greater brutality. At last, he raised a white flag toward the Emperor of the enemy nation seated across the arena, conceding defeat.

“We’ll end this match!”

Nike.

The empire of Nike, founded by nomadic tribes who once wandered the plains without a homeland, had begun expanding its territory by invading other nations only twenty years ago. Its emperor, Nike, had named the empire after himself, establishing a powerful rule based on a formidable military force that pillaged neighboring lands. The nations he conquered were left in ruin, with the air thick with the smoke of burning bodies. From a young age, Heina had heard of the savage, ruthless nature of Nike’s people, a reflection of their emperor’s own cruelty.

Now, the enemy prince was charging on horseback toward her fiancé, Arzen, who lay fallen on the ground. A fierce sandstorm rose up around the arena.

“Your Majesty! Please stop the match immediately!”

Heina, her face streaked with tears, pleaded desperately with her father. The Emperor’s hand, holding the white flag, trembled pitifully. Across the arena, Emperor Nike of the enemy nation watched this scene with a grin. Raising his goblet high, he called out to his knight atop the horse.

“Yuri! Prince of the Nike Empire! Let me raise my toast in victory!”

At that moment, the enemy prince, Yuri, gripped the reins of his restless horse and sharply turned its direction. In the commotion, Arzen’s horse trampled over its fallen master, the iron hooves pressing brutally on his armored body. Arzen writhed in agony, his entire frame convulsing in pain. The crowd fell silent, stunned, as a cloud of sand rose around the arena.

“Arzen!”

Heina’s scream pierced the quiet as she looked upon her fiancé, lying motionless, trampled by his own horse. At that moment, she watched in horror as Nike’s prince leapt down from his mount and struck at the legs of Arzen’s horse, ruthlessly cutting it down. Her shock was so intense that even her tears seemed to freeze. The horse, its legs buckled, collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from the wound and soaking Yuri’s armor in red. Walking past the dying horse that lay with its eyes wide open, Yuri tossed aside his helmet, revealing his blazing red hair, now burning even brighter under the sun.

A smile crept onto his lips—a chilling expression that seemed to drain all warmth from the air. Sword still dripping blood, Yuri approached the fallen Arzen, and as Heina stared at his back, she felt a chill run down her spine. A line from a forbidden book she had once secretly read in the royal library forced its way into her mind:

When the demon with red hair rises, the sun shall devour the moon. East will become west, the seas will turn to plains, and the world will be engulfed in flames, reduced to a handful of ashes.

“…a demon…”

The words slipped from Heina’s lips unconsciously. Then, as she witnessed the demon-like figure plunge his massive sword into Arzen’s chest, grip his head, and decapitate him helmet and all, Heina’s world went black. She fainted on the spot.

* * *

“Aaah!”

Heina jolted awake with a scream. Her bed was damp with sweat. It was the same dream, haunting her for a year now. The realization that she would never again see Arzen’s bright smile brought tears to her cheeks, tears she thought had long dried up.

Arzen.

But Arzen wasn’t all she had lost.

On that day, as she fainted to the sound of trumpets echoing around her, her homeland, Constance, vanished from history. The event, disguised as a friendly competition, had merely served to cover Nike’s advancing troops. Arzen’s death marked the beginning of a brutal war with Nike, a war that robbed Heina of both her beloved Constance and her fiancé, Arzen.

“Are you all right, my lady? Another bad dream?”

A maid from Nike, wrapped in a white cloth, entered her chamber and asked with concern.

Heina lay back down, closing her eyes, trying to shut out the sight of the maid’s bronze skin and dark hair, reminders of the harsh reality of her captivity. She had been confined in the heart of enemy territory, Nike’s palace, for an entire year.

As the maid drew the heavy curtains over the large windows, hiding the thin crescent moon, she spoke again.

“Tomorrow, Prince Yuri will return from his campaign. You’ll be busy preparing to receive him, so you should try to get more rest.”

“Leave me.”

Heina wrapped herself tightly in her blankets and spat out the words through clenched teeth. The maid, halfway to the door, turned back to her.

“If you still can’t sleep, would you like some warm tea…?”

“I said I want to be alone! Get out of my room!”

As Heina raised her voice and sat up, the heavy wooden door swung open, letting in the dry, hot breeze so characteristic of Nike. Her eyes widened in fear—he was here.

“And where exactly is this ‘your room’ that you speak of?”

A man clad in the traditional white cloth of Nike strode into the room, his voice cold and cutting.

“Prince Yuri… at this hour…?” The maid, startled by Yuri’s unexpected arrival, quickly lowered her head and fell silent.

Heina sat frozen on the bed, unable to move. She began to tremble as she looked at the man, his blazing red hair sharply contrasted by his deathly pale face.

This was Yuri, the fourth prince of Nike—the one who had killed Arzen, the one who had reduced her homeland to flames. The red-haired demon walked toward her bed with long, deliberate strides. Heina’s mouth went dry as she forced herself to swallow.

He leaned down, his lips curving into a mocking smirk as he spoke, his voice slow and merciless, lingering in her ears.

“Did you forget that this is the capital of Nike? This palace, this room—everything you wear and eat here, even the air you’re breathing right now—it’s all mine. And yet, a slave of a defeated nation dares to speak of ‘yours’ and ‘mine’?”

A scent, sharp as the smell of blood, drifted from him, filling the air between them.

Heina’s chin began to tremble. Seeing Yuri’s face for the first time in three months, she was struck by how much more imposing he seemed. His red hair now nearly covered his eyes, and his features, sharpened from countless battles, gave him a fully matured look. She couldn’t believe that he was her age.

“D-Don’t come any closer.”

Yuri ignored her shaking voice and sat down heavily on her bed. His mocking smile was as cruel as it had been the day he’d severed Arzen’s head in front of her country.

“Oh, look at you, trembling so pathetically. But here’s the thing—I’m planning to stay here tonight.”

At his chilling words, the maid, who had been standing behind him with her head bowed, retreated without a moment’s hesitation.

“Wh-where are you going? Come back… Come back!”

Heina called out to the closed door, but the maid had already vanished. Cold sweat clung to her palms. As much as she disliked being watched by Nike’s servants every hour of the day, being left alone with this demon was worse than death. She shifted to the very edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on him defensively, dreading any possible contact.

“You look a bit thin,” Yuri observed, reclining against the bed with his arm propped behind his head, eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her. Heina scowled, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

“…What does that matter to you?”

“The rain ritual will begin soon. The gods tend to be angered by unimpressive sacrifices, you know. If the rain doesn’t come, the people of Nike will grow even more furious, and naturally, they’ll take it out on you.”

A sinister smile spread across Yuri’s face, his sharp canine teeth glinting. As his shoulders shook with laughter, the loose white cloth slipped down, revealing his scar-covered torso. Heina quickly turned her head, grimacing.

In a swift, startling movement, Yuri leaned forward, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pushed her down.

“Aah!!”

Heina fell back onto the soft bed, her golden hair spilling across the lavish bedding. The spot where Yuri’s hand gripped her shoulder burned as if scorched. She wanted to pull away, but his cruel, gray eyes were mere inches from hers, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut in helpless defiance.

“But I’ll forgive you since your hair has grown back,” he murmured.

Yuri buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply, pressing into her thick golden locks. A year ago, when she had cut her hair short in secret, using a shard of glass she’d smuggled past her maid, Yuri had nearly strangled her in rage.

“Just kill me already,” she whispered bitterly.

In response, Yuri gripped her nape tightly, his voice dripping with venom.

“Maybe I’ll kill your parents first, right in front of you, and feed their corpses to the dogs. Then I’ll kill you… or perhaps I’ll reverse the order. Let’s make it your choice: live as my slave, or die alongside them. Decide, Princess of Constance.”

The maid who had once served Heina her tea hadn’t been seen since that night. Heina had no idea if she was alive or dead, too afraid to ask.

“Doesn’t matter… you’ll kill me in the end anyway, won’t you?”

Heina bit her lip hard as she looked up at Yuri, who was perched over her. Pale moonlight seeped in through a gap in the curtains, casting a ghostly glow across the room. In a week, when the moon was full, the Rain Ritual would begin—the most important ceremony in Nike, where rain was precious and scarce. Heina knew all too well that her fate was to be offered as a live sacrifice.

“When the ritual begins, I’ll offer you up as the sacrifice,” he had told her countless times since taking her captive. “If the gods see such a beautiful offering and bless the desert with rain, it will be a truly magnificent day.” And because of his threats to execute her parents if she tried to end her own life, she no longer dared to cut her wrists with a broken teacup.

The Rain Ritual.

It was the very reason Yuri had kept her alive all this time. He lifted his head slowly from her neck, staring intently at her. In the dim moonlight, his face looked even paler, almost spectral.

“What’s this? Are you finally feeling the urge to live?” he sneered.

Heina’s golden lashes, lowered until now, gave a slight tremor before her olive-green eyes met his gaze directly.

“No.”

“Then what?”

“If you’re going to kill me anyway, I’d like to know why my hair matters.”

A heavy silence hung between them until Yuri finally let out a faint chuckle. His large hands wrapped gently around her neck, causing her to flinch, her body recoiling from his chillingly cold touch.

“Why not just beg me to let you live?”

Yuri’s grip tightened slightly, her delicate throat twitching under the pressure of his hand. Heina struggled not to tremble, forcing herself to remain steady.

“I won’t stoop to begging a demon for my life,” she said defiantly.

“Quite the pride you’ve got,” he sneered, twisting his lips into a mocking smile. His fingers trailed up to her face, brushing lightly across her crimson lips.

“Think it over carefully until the ritual. If the once-haughty princess of Constance lowers herself to beg like a slave at my feet, I might just be generous enough to spare you.”

He added this with narrowed eyes, as if he doubted she would ever do such a thing. Heina gave a low, bitter laugh.

“The Emperor would rather see me take my own life.”

It was true. In Constance, honor was valued above life itself. To become a slave in an enemy nation was bad enough; to grovel at his feet would be the ultimate disgrace. She would sooner die than throw away her last shred of dignity.

Yuri’s gray eyes hardened, his expression turning ruthless as he clamped his hand over her mouth. The killing intent emanating from him stole her breath, and her heart pounded wildly with terror.

“You have a reckless tongue, speaking of things that should never be uttered,” he growled.

“Mmph…!”

Yuri lowered his head and whispered slowly into her ear.

“Don’t make me angry. Because if you do something foolish, I’ll hunt down every last Constance citizen hiding here in Nike and kill them, young and old alike. You might even like the idea—having some companions to join you on the journey to the underworld.”

Heina knew all too well that Yuri’s words were no empty threat. He had driven a sword through Arzen’s heart and then beheaded him, as if the first act hadn’t been enough—right in front of the citizens of Constance, as if to ensure there would be no doubt about his cruelty.

“And, naturally, those who’ll follow right after you will be your dear parents, the former Emperor and Empress of Constance. I’ve been quite clear about what kind of fate awaits their corpses, haven’t I? I’m sure you remember every detail.”

“Mm…!”

Shame, humiliation, and a terror deeper than either of those overwhelmed her, making Heina’s green eyes waver uncontrollably. Finally, a tear—a drop of crystallized fear—slid down her cheek, touching Yuri’s hand where it covered her mouth.

“Still thinking about taking your own life?”

Heina shook her head with her mouth still covered, and Yuri, satisfied, allowed a smile to creep onto his face as he lay his blazing red hair across her bed. He pulled her close into a tight embrace, and soon, his breathing steadied as he drifted into a deep, untroubled sleep.

As always on the nights when Yuri returned from his campaigns, Heina couldn’t sleep a single moment. The night stretched endlessly, filled with a blend of fear and humiliation.

Oh, God. If You truly exist, wipe out this demon’s entire bloodline. If it would bring about their ruin, I would willingly walk toward death, pretending to feel no fear that clings so heavily to my very bones.

* * *