THE DEMON LORD'S ACCIDENTAL TENTH WIFE

"Boom!"

The sudden noise behind her sent a jolt through Evelyn's body, her foot slipping on the damp ground. She barely caught herself before landing awkwardly, a small wince escaping her lips.

A low chuckle followed. "Didn't mean to startle you, little star."

Her breath hitched. Little star?

She turned sharply, her brows furrowing as she met Lord Azrael's golden gaze. His smirk was ever-present, amusement dancing in his eyes as he took a casual step forward.

"My Lord," she murmured, quickly lowering her head in respect.

Azrael tilted his head, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "Are you hurt?" He reached out, his fingers barely brushing her hair as he tucked a loose strand behind her ear. "I was only trying to get your attention. Apologies, morning star."

Evelyn stiffened. There it was again. That name. A name too soft, too… intimate.

She swallowed, stepping back. "My Lord… is there something you need?" Her voice was steadier than she felt. "I—I should be with the King right now."

Azrael's smirk remained, but his silence stretched.

Azrael let out a thoughtful hum, watching her with the lazy curiosity of a predator that had all the time in the world. "I suppose I should make it up to you," he mused. "For startling you."

"There's no need, My Lord." Evelyn's voice was quick, almost too quick, as she smoothed down her skirts.

"But I insist." His golden eyes gleamed. "How about a gift? Something to make amends."

Evelyn's fingers clenched at the fabric of her dress. "My Lord, that would be improper. It is—"

"A sin?" Azrael finished for her, a slow smirk curving his lips. "And what sin would it be, little star?"

She hesitated, heart pounding. "I am already bound in marriage."

Azrael's expression didn't change, but something dark flickered beneath the surface. "Bound?" He let the word roll off his tongue like it was something bitter. "A cage is still a cage, no matter how gilded."

Evelyn's breath hitched, but she said nothing.

"I don't see you as something low, Evelyn." His voice was softer now, coaxing. "Not a maid, not a servant. You stand before me, and I see something… rare."

A traitorous warmth crawled up her neck, heat blooming on her cheeks despite herself. She clenched her jaw, willing the feeling away.

Azrael chuckled, clearly pleased. "Meet me tonight, beneath the oak tree."

Evelyn's eyes widened. "I—I can't."

"You can."

"My Lord, I serve the King. If he finds out—"

Azrael leaned in just enough to steal the breath from her lungs. "Then let's not let him find out."

His words slithered around her like silk and shadow, impossible to ignore.

And as he turned, disappearing into the corridors like mist, Evelyn knew she had just stepped into something dangerous.

Evelyn exhaled, pressing a hand to her chest as she steadied herself. The lingering sensation of Azrael's presence clung to her like an unwanted spell, seeping into her thoughts.

She shouldn't have spoken to him for that long. She shouldn't have let his words coil around her like that.

Shaking the feeling off, she turned on her heel and made her way back to the King's wing.

As she entered, she lowered her head respectfully. "My Lord."

Lucifer barely spared her a glance before his nose wrinkled in distaste. "What in the hells is that stench?" His gaze snapped to her, sharp as a blade. "Is that you?"

Evelyn stiffened, her grip tightening at her sides. The dirt on her dress, the dampness clinging to her skin—it all suddenly felt unbearable under his piercing stare.

"My apologies, My Lord," she said softly, bowing her head deeper.

Lucifer clicked his tongue. "Get out of my sight. I don't keep filthy things in my presence."

His words cut deeper than they should have.

She clenched her fists, willing herself to remain composed. Azrael's voice whispered in the back of her mind.

"I don't take you as something low."

Evelyn inhaled sharply and nodded, retreating from the room without another word.

Minutes later, freshly cleaned and composed, she returned. Her steps were careful, controlled. She would not give him another reason to look at her with disdain.

Lucifer was seated at his grand desk, his crimson eyes scanning over a sea of documents—scrolls of war records, tax collections, border disputes. The weight of a kingdom rested in his hands, and yet, he held it with effortless command.

Evelyn moved silently, pouring wine into his goblet before stepping back.

Lucifer didn't acknowledge her at first. The air between them was heavy, thick with something unspoken.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Did I tell you to return?"

Evelyn met his gaze, steady this time. "No, My Lord."

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, eyes dark with something unreadable. "And yet, here you are."

"I serve you," she answered simply, hands clasped in front of her. "It is my duty to attend to you."

A long silence stretched between them.

Lucifer tapped a gloved finger against the wooden desk. "Duty," he repeated, almost as if testing the word on his tongue.

Evelyn swallowed, heart pounding in her chest.

Then, to her surprise, Lucifer let out a quiet chuckle. It wasn't kind. It wasn't warm.

It was something else entirely.

As the fire crackled in the hearth, Evelyn quietly arranged the documents on the king's desk, her fingers brushing against the fine parchment. Lucifer sat across from her, his sharp gaze scanning through a scroll, his jaw tense.

"You've been hovering for too long," he muttered without looking up. "Say what you want, or leave."

She hesitated, then straightened. "I have nothing to say, my lord."

"Then why do you look like you're dying to speak?" He set down the document and leaned back, regarding her with mild amusement. "Do you even know what these are?"

She cast a fleeting glance at the neatly stacked papers—decrees, economic records, trade agreements. Power written in ink.

"I do."

Lucifer raised a brow. "Do you?"

He pushed a parchment toward her. "Tell me, then. If you were king, what would you do with this?"

Evelyn swallowed. It was a test, but more than that—it was a trap. If she said something foolish, he would sneer. If she said something too clever, he would suspect her.

She picked up the parchment, skimming through its contents. A taxation order. A matter of grain shortages in the southern territories.

"Raise the tax, and they will revolt," she murmured. "Lower it, and the treasury suffers."

Lucifer's expression was unreadable. "And?"

She traced a finger along the parchment's edges, thinking. "The nobles hoard more than they need. A well-placed rumor that grain supplies will be seized might force them to release it at a cheaper price before that happens."

The room was silent for a moment. Then, a slow, humorless chuckle left his lips.

"Clever." He leaned forward, resting his chin against his fist. "That wasn't the answer I expected from a little maid."

Evelyn set the parchment down carefully. "I only answered because you asked, my lord."

His red eyes gleamed with something unreadable—something like curiosity. Noted, his gaze seemed to say.

Evelyn lowered her head and stepped back, but she could feel it—his stare lingering, considering.

Perhaps she had made a mistake.