THE DEMON LORD'S ACCIDENTAL TENTH WIFE

Evelyn shifted slightly, her body aching from the previous night's torment. Even in sleep, she had felt it—something, someone, lingering too close. A touch that was neither cruel nor kind, but unsettling in a way she couldn't explain.

The morning sun broke over the palace walls, its warmth brushing against her bruised skin. She winced, turning her face away with a soft hiss. The light was too harsh, too unforgiving, exposing every wound, every reminder of what had been done to her.

Slowly, she forced her eyes open. Her body protested as she tried to sit up, pain radiating from every part of her. The courtyard was quiet now, only the occasional footsteps of servants in the distance.

She was still here. Still alive.

Evelyn's fingers curled against the cold stone beneath her. Last night, she had been discarded like filth, left to freeze, to suffer. Lady Selena had made sure she understood her place—with every lash, every insult.

Her throat was dry, her lips cracked. She swallowed hard and looked down at herself. Her once-fine garments were torn, stained with dried blood and dirt.

Memories from the night flickered in her mind. Pain. Darkness. And then… something else.

A whisper of heat. A ghostly touch.

She shuddered. Had it been real? Or just the fevered illusions of a broken mind?

Before she could dwell on it further, heavy footsteps approached. A pair of boots stopped just before her.

"You're awake." A guard said to her, his voice cold and ruthless.

She swallowed. "Yes, I am."

"You're to return to Lady Selena's service." His voice carried no emotion, just an order. "Get to the kitchen."

She hesitated for a second, but the sharp look he gave her left no room for questions. Without another word, she forced herself to her feet and walked away.

The moment she stepped into the kitchen, the room went silent. Then, the whispers started.

"Why is she back?"

"I thought she was dead."

"She should be."

Evelyn ignored them, moving toward the corner to start her work.

One of the maids scoffed. "You really have some nerve coming back here."

Another leaned against the counter, arms folded. "What, did you think the Lord would actually keep a traitor like you?"

Evelyn didn't respond. She had learned long ago that nothing she said would change their minds.

"Oh, Evelyn!" Mrs. Caroline's voice cut through the murmurs. She entered the kitchen, eyeing her with something close to pity. "Come here."

Evelyn stepped forward.

"Clean the balcony, wash the dishes, and take out that trash," Mrs. Caroline instructed.

"Yes, ma'am," Evelyn said quietly, already moving.

Mrs. Caroline didn't linger, and as soon as she left, the room turned hostile again.

A maid bumped into her hard as she passed. "Watch it, filth."

Another snickered. "Maybe she thought playing queen would make her one."

Evelyn gritted her teeth and kept her head down. She had no choice but to endure.

She grabbed the trash and carried it outside, the heavy sack weighing on her sore arms. The air was cool, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the kitchen. She exhaled, letting herself breathe—if only for a moment.

Ahead, a group of guards stood near a wooden cart piled with crates and sacks. They were murmuring amongst themselves as they secured the load.

"Where are we taking this?" one asked.

"South edge of the kingdom. Orders from above."

Evelyn didn't pay much attention—until something tumbled from the pile. A book slipped from one of the crates, landing just a few feet from her.

The guards didn't notice.

She hesitated, then quickly picked it up. The cover was worn, the edges slightly torn, but the title caught her attention immediately.

"I Married the Devil."

Her lips parted slightly as she traced the gold-embossed letters with her fingers. She knew this book. She knew the author.

"Mrs. Snow…" she whispered.

Excitement bubbled inside her. Mrs. Snow was her favorite writer, and this was one of the books she had always wanted to read but never had the chance. She clutched it tightly, her earlier exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

As she flipped to the first page, her surroundings blurred. The trash she was supposed to dispose of, the scornful maids, the bruises on her back—everything faded into the background.

She was lost in the words, her fingers twirling a strand of her hair absentmindedly as she read.

A soft chuckle escaped her lips.

She kept walking, her focus buried in the pages. She didn't notice the path she was taking.

The King's tower loomed ahead, but she was oblivious.

Then, instinctively, she slowed. A stone bench sat beneath a shaded alcove. Without thinking, she sat down, her mind still wrapped in the book.

For the first time in a long while, she forgot where she was.

Evelyn flipped another page, completely engrossed. She barely noticed her own smile forming as she read, her fingers brushing the worn edges of the book.

"What are you doing here?"

A deep, authoritative voice shattered her trance.

She froze.

Slowly, she looked up—only to meet the sharp, disapproving gaze of the King himself.

He was frowning.

Her breath hitched. Her mind went blank. Words formed, but they made no sense.

"I was just—uh—reading… I mean, walking—no, I—"

Her hands trembled as she clutched the book to her chest. Then, realization struck, and panic set in.

"I'm sorry!" she blurted, scrambling to her feet. "I didn't mean to trespass! Please, I—I don't want to die yet!"

"Give me that."

She stiffened. "What? My life?"

"The book," he clarified, his tone sharp as he reached for it.

Evelyn hesitated before reluctantly surrendering it. His fingers brushed against hers, but she barely registered the contact. She was too busy staring at him—waiting, dreading.

The King flipped the book open, scanning the title before exhaling through his nose.

"Snow," he murmured. "She was a close friend of mine."

His grip on the book tightened.

"Unfortunately, I killed her."

Evelyn's stomach dropped.

She wasn't sure if she had misheard him, but the cold certainty in his voice sent a chill through her.

Her eyes darted to the book still in his grasp. He killed Mrs. Snow?

The King turned a page idly, as if it meant nothing, before closing the book with a soft thud. His gaze shifted back to her, unreadable.

"Do you know her work?" he asked, almost casually.

Evelyn swallowed hard. "I—I love her books," she admitted hesitantly. "She was the best writer I ever read."

A flicker of something—amusement?—passed through his expression before vanishing.

"Hm," he mused, tapping the book against his palm. "A maid who enjoys stories. That explains why you got caught up in one."

Evelyn flinched. "I—I didn't mean to trespass, Your Majesty. It was a mistake. I wasn't thinking—"

"I noticed."

She flinched again.

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension.

Then, the King sighed. "You're shaking."

Evelyn forced herself to stand straighter, but it did nothing to steady her nerves.

The King took a step closer, and she instinctively held her breath. He was studying her now, taking in the bruises still fading from last night's punishment.

"Lady Selena did this?"

Evelyn hesitated, unsure if it was a trick question.

"She was… displeased," she answered carefully.

The King hummed as if he expected that. Then, suddenly, he tossed the book back to her.

She barely caught it, looking up in confusion.

"Keep it," he said, his tone indifferent. "A parting gift from the dead."

Evelyn clutched the book tightly. "Thank you, my Lord. And…I'm sorry. For everything. The unexpected wedding—I know I've committed a heavy sin."

"I do not want to hear it," he said coldly. "I don't see you as a wife. You're still a slave. An eyesore."

"An eyesore!?" Her head snapped up. "That's rude, my Lord. You do not call one an eyesore—"

Silence.

His gaze darkened, and the air between them tensed.

"What?"

Realizing her mistake, Evelyn bit her lower lip and lowered her head. "Forgive me, my Lord. I didn't mean to speak out of turn."

"SUCH IMPUDENCE. GET OUT!"

Evelyn turned on her heels and ran, but in her haste, she tripped over the hem of her dress. She hit the ground hard, scraping her palms against the rough stone. A sharp sting shot up her arms, but she barely registered the pain.

The King scoffed, eyes filled with nothing but disdain. "Pathetic. You can't even run properly."

Humiliated, Evelyn scrambled to her feet, clutching the book tightly to her chest. She lowered her head, avoiding his piercing gaze, and hurried away without another word.

As she disappeared down the corridor, the King's eyes lingered on the spot where she had fallen. His jaw clenched. "An eyesore," he muttered again, but this time, the words felt strangely hollow.