THE DEMON LORD'S ACCIDENTAL TENTH WIFE

"You have to swing your body up and down," Marianne instructed, her movements slow and hypnotic as she demonstrated the seductive rhythm. Her hips swayed in perfect harmony, a fluid dance that seemed to command the very air around her.

Evelyn crossed her arms, her face burning. "This is ridiculous," she muttered, brushing her loose hair back as if that could shield her from the absurdity of it all.

Marianne chuckled, folding her arms. "It's just a dance. Show a little leg—what's the crime in that?"

Evelyn shot her a glare. "Might as well be treason."

Marianne stepped closer, tilting her head with amusement. "You're overthinking it. Power isn't just in words, Evelyn. It's in a glance, a step—the way you breathe." She gestured at her. "Loosen up."

Evelyn sighed, glancing at her feet. Slowly, hesitantly, she mimicked the movement, but her body remained stiff.

Marianne groaned. "You have to swing your body. Like this." She moved again, slow and deliberate, her hips rolling effortlessly. "Just let go."

Evelyn tried again, her movements jerky, unnatural. Frustration burned in her chest. "Why does this even matter?"

Marianne smirked. "Because looking like a frightened rabbit won't get you anywhere. You want to be noticed? Own your space." She gave Evelyn's gown a pointed look. "And for the love of the gods, stop hiding behind all that fabric."

Evelyn huffed. "It's just a dance, you said. But this feels like a battle."

Marianne grinned. "Then fight better."

Evelyn took a deep breath and tried again, loosening her shoulders. Marianne watched for a moment—then burst into laughter. "That was… gods, that was horrible."

Evelyn laughed too, shaking her head. "Told you."

Before Marianne could reply, a maid rushed in, looking slightly out of breath. "Evelyn, the Lord will be done with the council soon."

Evelyn's stomach clenched. "Already?" She turned to Marianne. "I have to go."

Marianne waved her off. "Go, go. We'll work on your lack of rhythm later."

Evelyn hurried out, dashing into the King's wing before slipping into the kitchen. The heat and scent of roasting meat hit her instantly.

The moment she stepped in, the other maids turned to her with scowls.

"If you're always going to be late, why even bother showing up?" one sneered.

"We don't have time to wait on you, princess." Another rolled her eyes.

Evelyn swallowed the sting and bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

The lead maid scoffed. "Sorry doesn't serve the food."

Evelyn nodded, grabbing a tray. "I'll help."

With a few more grumbles, they let her follow. She straightened her back, steeling herself. The King's brunch had to be perfect—no mistakes.

The maids knelt in perfect rows, heads bowed, eyes cast to the marble floor. Not a whisper, not a breath out of place. Only the faint crackling of the torches filled the silence.

Then, the great doors swung open.

Lucifer entered, his presence shifting the very air in the room. His long strides carried him to the grand table, where he lowered himself onto the gilded chair with an exhale. He didn't speak—he never needed to. The maids knew their roles.

One stepped forward, carefully lifting the jeweled decanter. She poured the deep red wine into a golden goblet, the liquid swirling under the dim light. Not a single drop spilled. She stepped back into place without a word.

The grand hall was silent, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and burning embers. The maids knelt in neat rows, their heads bowed in perfect submission. The only sound was the slow, deliberate clink of silver against porcelain as Lucifer ate, his every movement controlled, unhurried.

The doors creaked open.

"Lady Seraphina approaches."

Seraphina stepped forward, her silk gown whispering against the marble. She did not hesitate as she walked toward him, her head held high, her expression a perfect mask of calm. But as she knelt before him, she felt the weight of his gaze settle on her like a tangible force.

Lucifer said nothing. He merely watched.

She reached for the jeweled decanter and poured his wine, her hands steady despite the rapid thrum of her pulse. She placed the goblet before him, her fingers grazing the cool metal for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"My Lord," she said, her voice soft, deliberate. "Do you remember the night we wed?"

Lucifer lifted his goblet but did not drink. His crimson eyes remained fixed on her, unreadable.

Seraphina smiled faintly, a wistful thing. "It was storming that night. The temple was cold. The priests whispered, their voices barely carrying over the rain." She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You stood before me, silent, unmoved. I remember wondering if you even heard the vows being spoken."

Lucifer finally moved, setting his goblet down with a quiet clink. "And yet, you still said yours." His voice was smooth, edged with something she couldn't name.

Seraphina let out a soft breath, a quiet laugh that held no humor. "Yes. I swore my life to you, my loyalty, my devotion. And you, my Lord…" Her gaze flickered up to meet his. "Did you take me as a wife? Or as a duty to be fulfilled?"

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, studying her with an intensity that made the air in her lungs feel heavy. "Does it matter?"

A flicker of something crossed her face, gone in an instant. "It should," she murmured.

Silence settled between them, deep and unyielding.

Then, she reached for her own goblet, trailing her fingers along its rim. "I do not ask for riches, nor power. I do not ask for love." Her voice was steady, but there was something raw beneath it. "But I ask for time." She exhaled slowly before meeting his gaze again. "One night. That is all."

Lucifer's fingers drummed lightly against the table. His expression did not change, but something about him felt sharper, as though her words had reached some unseen part of him.

"What do you hope to gain from it?" he asked.

Seraphina's lips parted slightly, but she hesitated. The answer sat on her tongue, bitter and unspoken.

Finally, she settled for the truth. "I do not wish to be forgotten."

The hall was silent, the maids still as statues.

Lucifer studied her for what felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.

"Tonight," he said.

Seraphina's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, her fingers curling around the stem of her goblet.

She lowered her head. "Thank you, my Lord."

Lucifer did not reply. But as she rose to her feet, she felt his gaze remain on her, burning into her back.

Tonight, she would not be invisible.

---

Evelyn could swear she felt something shift inside her—something unfamiliar, something dangerous.

She had dressed the Demon Lord countless times before, just as she was doing now, fastening the clasps of his night robe with careful, steady hands. It had always been routine. Mechanical. Emotionless.

But tonight was different.

Her fingers brushed against his skin, and a strange warmth spread through her chest. She swallowed hard, refusing to let the feeling settle. It shouldn't matter. It couldn't matter.

Yet, as she adjusted the folds of his robe, she found herself lingering.

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the quiet power in his posture. His crimson eyes flickered downward, watching her. And for a brief moment, she wondered if he could feel it too—the strange pull between them, the unspoken shift.

She had only been his bride for a few weeks, a last-minute replacement for the one who was meant to stand beside him. But in that time, she had spent more moments at his side than she ever imagined. Enough to notice the way his voice dipped lower when he spoke to her. Enough to recognize the rare glimpses of something softer beneath his cold exterior.

And enough to realize that she was falling for him.

The thought sent a jolt through her, sharp and unwelcome. No. That couldn't be true. It was too soon, too foolish—too dangerous.

But then, why did it ache when she thought of where he was going tonight?

The fourth wife's chamber loomed ahead, its golden lanterns glowing softly against the darkened halls. Evelyn followed as she always did, stopping at the corridor where she and the other maids would wait. The doors opened. He stepped inside.

And then the light went out.

Her heart squeezed, her breath hitching in her throat.

Why did it hurt? Why did she care?

The truth came like a whisper in the dark.

Because he wasn't just her Lord anymore.

He was something more.

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

"Tch." A scoff pulled her back to reality. "Are you crying?"

Evelyn blinked, barely registering the younger maid's sneer.

"You're just a substitute bride," the girl continued, her voice laced with contempt. "Did you really think he would ever—" She scoffed. "You're pathetic."

Another maid smirked. "I hope she gets pregnant."

"That's all she wants anyway," the queen's maid chimed in.

Evelyn barely heard them.

Because no matter how cruel their words were, they weren't nearly as cruel as the truth.

She had fallen for a man who would never be hers.

And now, she had to find a way to live with it.