Books were really boring. No offense, ok.
It was just Harvey had always despised books. It was not that he was illiterate, but he merely thought that books were a very violent kind of sleeping pills. He firmly believed that if a story couldn’t be told in the span of a ninety-minute movie or a three-minute TooTube summary, then it probably wasn’t worth his time.
The last time he entered a flagship bookstore to get out of the rain, he was hit by a tsunami of narcolepsy so strong that he had nearly slept on top of the display of "New York Times Bestsellers". Books were dangerous. They were boring. They literally put you to sleep.
At least for him.
So, when Sienna, his cubicle neighbor a.k.a his work colleague whose entire life revolved around digital ink and fictional boyfriends, would go on her daily, hour-long rants about her latest "obsessions," Harvey had mastered the art of the "Active Listener Mask." He would nod, hum at the right times, and mentally calculate how many minutes were left until he could go home and play video games. He didn’t pay attention. Because who would?
But who would ever know that his life would soon be in the hands of the very plot points that he had flushed down the mental toilet?!
"Prepare more powder! He looks like a ghost, and not a fashionable one!"
"Where are the flowers? The Duke expects lilies! Or were they orchids? Just bring both!"
"Rub him some oil! His elbows are as dry as a desert, for the love of the gods!"
Harvey wasn’t being dressed. He was being rebuilt. He had just been a human DIY project in the hands of an army of servants, a difficult Ikeo product no-one knew how to sand down. The tempo was suffocating, a blur of hands, fabric, and panicked whispers. When he could think his first "Hey, back off" Harvey was pushed into a bathtub room that smelled so much of rosewater and costly minerals that his eyes began to run.
The four attendants, all squeezed together on every side, moving in a terrifyingly efficient choreography, didn’t ask for permission, or wait for it. They just began. One was brushing his back with something that felt like dragon scales, and another was pouring lukewarm water over his head so he had to drown the protests.
"Wait! Hang on! I can wash my own...glub"
He felt completely violated. There were hands everywhere. On his shoulders. His arms. His... well, everywhere. It felt like a car wash, except way quicker and with judgmental women.
As the steam now filled the room and Harvey’s mind began to wander. He closed his eyes and tried to recall what Sienna told him at lunch. The name of the book? The Marriage Something?
"So, okay, listen," Sienna’s voice bounced around in his head, high-pitched and full of ’fangirl’ energy. "The Demon King, Jevon, is marrying Hevira, right? She’s the female lead, and obviously, she’s totally scared because, well, he is a demon and has horns and everything. But like every other story I read, they’re going to fall in love! He’s all like, ’I want you and I will destroy the world for you, kkyyaa!’ It’s so sweet. One’s a demon, one’s a human... it’s totally a star-crossed thing."
Sweet? Harvey wanted to find Sienna and shake her until her teeth rattled. There was nothing sweet about this. There was danger. There was power. There was a "binding ritual" which sounded like a life sentence. But he didn’t have the details. He didn’t know the title. He didn’t know the synopsis. The conflict? Wasn’t it just love? Oh, God, why him? Why couldn’t the universe have just taken Sienna? She’d be doing so well. She would be judging the Demon King’s fiddling with his beauty routine, rather than panting in the tub.
By the time they pulled Harvey out of the bath, and dragged to the dressing room, he felt less like a man, and more like a doll. They bound him in silk. They buttoned him up in small, bone-hard buttons, this might give him breathing problem. They adorned him with gems, hard silver, and rubies, it was like wearing a shackle.
When they finally managed to get him in front of a long mirror, Harvey did not recognise the man. Of course he didn’t, because it was Haviel, the female lead’s step brother.
But, he was... elegant. His skin radiant, his hair was a polished mess of red waves, and the clothes made him look like someone important. Someone valuable. It was calming for a moment, until the awful thought returned: he looked so good because he was about to be eaten as the main course.
"So," Harvey said, trying to keep his voice casual while a maid adjusted his collar. "This Demon King guy. He’s... nice? Friendly? Into hobbies? Maybe he likes a good comedy special?"
The maid’s hand faltered. She looked at him with a mix of confusion and pity. "The King is the King, My Lord. He is... absolute."
"Absolute. Right. Cool. That’s a very vague adjective," Harvey muttered. "And the ceremony? Is it, like, a quick ’I do’ and then we go our separate ways? Maybe a long-distance thing?"
The attendant hesitating before him bit her lip. "Once the marriage is completed, the bride belongs to the Demon King fully. Body, title, and territory. You will be his... extension. His sanctuary. His to do with as he pleases."
The word belongs lingered in the air like a bad smell. It wasn’t a joke anymore. This wasn’t a "political arrangement" he could talk his way out of over coffee. This was binding. Permanent. Final.
But deep there in the corner of his mind, the thought of getting the hell out of there flared into a roaring bonfire of determination. He wasn’t going to be some extension of some Demon King’s will. He was a 25-year-old man with a report due to his manager, Ave, and Ave’s passive-aggressive emails were certainly much much better than being a Demon King’s pet.
The decision wasn’t heroic. It wasn’t well-planned. It was just pure panic dressed up as a plan.
He waited. He sat there like a good little sacrifice as the maids went about their tasks. Their attention drifted to one another, talking softly amongst themselves about which incense they would light in the house for the procession. One of the doors was left ajar, offering a tiny little freedom that looked like a miracle to the captive boy.
OK, NOW!
Harvey didn’t give any grand speech. He didn’t think. He just ran.
It was sloppy. It was awfully sloppy. It was the sort of thing you do when you have only one form of cardio: walking to the fridge. He tore up the heavy silk skirts God, why are there so many layers? and made a break for the door.
The palace corridors stretched out before him, a labyrinth of polished stone and intimidating decorative things. He turned in any direction, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. He nearly ran into a pair of servants carrying a tray of fruit, but he ducked behind a pillar, holding his breath until the coast was clear.
"Where are you going, My Lord?" a voice called out from a distance.
"Just... checking the air quality! It’s very stuffy!" Harvey yelled back, not stopping. He continued running, his adrenaline-fueled legs pushing him forward even when his lungs started to burn.
He reached a dead end, a massive, fancy door that led into a room that looked like a library. Gross, books. He scanned the room and saw a balcony. Without thinking, he sprinted across the room, climbed over the stone railing, and looked down. It wasn’t a long drop, maybe ten feet into a thicket of manicured bushes.
He jumped.
The landing was anything but safe, at least he was alive. He scrambled out of the thorns, his expensive silks snagged and torn, and sprinted toward the maze garden he saw in the distance. A maze! It was cliché, but it was perfect. If he could get lost in there, they’d never find him.
He ducked into the high hedges, the green walls closing in around him. He ran blindly, left then right then left again, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel it, he was almost out. He could see a clearing ahead, a break in the green.
I’m going to make it. I’m actually...
CRACK.
Harvey didn’t see the obstacle. He just felt it. It was as though you ran a full gallop into a solid muscle and cold iron wall.
He went flying backwards and his feet were not touching the ground as he crashed on his bum. The shock was a white-hot pain in his nose, and the world seemed to become blurry for a second.
"Ow... god... my face," Harvey groaned, holding his nose.
He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to clear the stars dancing in his vision. But as the throbbing in his face subsided, he felt it, a shadow. A massive, cold, and incredibly heavy presence that seemed to swallow the moonlight.
He was hoping to see a tree trunk or a random statue.
Harvey slowly let his hands drop from his face. He looked up.
At first, he just saw boots. Expensive, knee-high leather that looked like it cost more than his life. Then, a long, sweeping cloak of fur and midnight silk. And finally, towering against the sky, a figure so imposing it made the palace behind him look like a dollhouse.
The man didn’t move. He simply stood there, looking down at Harvey with eyes that glowed like embers in the dark.
"Going somewhere?