THE DEMON LORD'S ACCIDENTAL TENTH WIFE

"Are you defying my orders?"

The Demon Lord's voice was low, edged with warning. His gaze pinned Evelyn in place, unyielding, inescapable.

Evelyn exhaled a shaky breath, her fingers curling into the damp fabric of her dress. "I'm not defying you, my Lord," she said carefully. "But I don't know how to dress a man of your kind. I was only trained to serve queens and noblewomen."

Lucifer tilted his head, crimson eyes glinting with amusement. "Then learn."

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

"Come here."

His command was smooth, deceptively calm. But the weight in his voice left no room for disobedience.

Evelyn hesitated. The air between them felt thick—charged with something she couldn't name. When she didn't move fast enough, he closed the distance himself.

"Must I repeat myself, little rat?"

She stiffened at the nickname, heat rushing to her cheeks. Gritting her teeth, she stepped forward, keeping her gaze fixed on his chest—anywhere but lower.

Lucifer smirked. He could hear the erratic beat of her heart. Fear? Or something else? He let the silence stretch, savoring the way she squirmed. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lifted her chin with a single finger, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Am I so terrifying?"

Evelyn swallowed hard. "You are the Demon Lord."

"And you are my wife now," he reminded her. "You will serve me as a queen should."

She had no response. No escape.

With a flick of his wrist, a dark robe materialized in his grasp. He held it out to her. "Dress me."

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the robe. The fabric was heavy, cool against her skin. She had dressed queens before, fastening layers of silk and jewels with precision, but this… this was different. This was him.

She fumbled, her hands unsteady as she draped the robe over his shoulders. A deep chuckle rumbled from Lucifer's chest.

"Hopeless."

He made no move to help. Only watched.

As she reached to fasten the clasps at his throat, her knuckles brushed against his skin. A sharp breath hitched in her throat. For a fleeting moment, she swore she felt his pulse beneath her fingertips.

Lucifer was watching her. Too closely. Too intently.

Evelyn bit the inside of her cheek and quickly fastened the robe, stepping back the moment she was done.

Lucifer hummed, unreadable. Then, with a smirk, he turned and walked away—

as if the moment had meant nothing at all.

--

Lady Selena burned with fury.

How? How had a mere maid—one who had served under her table—suddenly become queen? Worse, how had she become his queen?

"The King cannot have anything to do with a lowly servant... but they are bound already!" she muttered, biting her nails.

"Is something wrong, my lady? You seem troubled," Xin, her chief maid, observed.

Selena exhaled sharply. "I am troubled, Xin. What if—what if that wretched creature actually makes the King fond of her?"

"That's impossible, my lady," Xin assured, her voice firm.

Selena turned sharply, her gaze cold. "And what makes you so sure?"

Xin hesitated but quickly masked it with confidence. "The Demon Lord does not grow attached, my lady. He takes what is his, uses it, and discards it when he pleases. A mere human—especially a weak one—will be no different."

Selena exhaled, but the knot of unease in her chest refused to loosen. "And yet, he hasn't discarded her."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Xin bowed her head. "Perhaps he is merely toying with her. Once he grows bored—"

"No," Selena cut in, voice sharp. "I know men, Xin. And I know what it looks like when power tilts in the wrong direction."

She turned toward the window, fingers pressing against the cold glass. Down below, the castle grounds stretched into the horizon, but her focus was elsewhere—on the woman who had stolen a place that should never have been hers.

"If she becomes more than just a passing amusement… if he begins to see her as something more—"

Selena's nails dragged against the glass.

"I won't allow it."

Xin swallowed. "My lady, what do you intend to do?"

Selena finally turned, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile.

"I suppose it's time we remind that little rat of her place."

Suddenly a knock came at the door.

Selena barely turned, already knowing who it would be. She exhaled slowly, pressing two fingers to her temple before gesturing at Xin.

"Go see who it is."

Xin bowed and moved toward the door. A brief murmur of voices passed before she returned, lowering her head.

"My lady, Lord Nyx has arrived."

Selena's lips pressed into a thin line. "Of course, he has." She waved a hand. "Send him in."

Xin hesitated. "Shall I—"

"That will be all, Xin."

The head maid bowed deeper this time before stepping away, leaving the Queen alone.

The heavy doors creaked open once more, and the chamber seemed to darken as a tall, hooded figure stepped inside. His cloak dragged behind him like a shadow given form. The torches lining the walls flickered, bending toward him, as if even fire itself dared not burn too brightly in his presence.

Selena moved with purpose, pouring a dark brew into a goblet. She did not look up as she set it down on the table before him.

His hood fell back, revealing a face that had long since forgotten life. His skin, once flesh, had withered into something dry and shrunken, stretched too tightly over the sharp ridges of his skull. Deep creases and cracks ran along his gaunt cheeks, as though time itself had drained him. His lips were thin and colorless, peeling at the edges, and when he grinned, his teeth were sharp, yellowed, and jagged—like something that had gnawed on too many bones.

But it was his eyes that unsettled most. They were not eyes at all—just deep, endless pits of swirling black, shifting like smoke trapped in glass. They devoured the light, leaving nothing behind.

He reached for the goblet before him, his long, skeletal fingers brushing against the rim. His nails were cracked, blackened at the tips, as though dipped in something foul.

Then, he spoke, his voice as dry and brittle as dead leaves. "How is the palace?"

"Why are you here?" she asked, her heartbeat quickening.

The torches flickered as if shying away from the presence standing before her.

"To take that which I've given to you," the man said, his smile stretching unnaturally wide, revealing teeth too sharp, too jagged, as if they had been made for tearing through flesh.

Lady Selena clenched her jaw, gripping the porcelain cup tightly. She did not flinch, though the cold in the air bit at her skin. "You come unannounced."

A dry, rasping chuckle slipped from his throat. "Do I need an invitation? You know what is due. Or have you grown too comfortable in your borrowed power?"

Her fingers trembled, just slightly. "I have not forgotten."

He tilted his head, the movement slow, deliberate. "Then you have what I came for?"

Selena's nails dug into her palm. She had known this moment would come. Knew that deals such as these were never truly free. But giving up ten souls—her own servants, her own people—was not as easy as she had once believed.

"They are not ready," she said carefully.

His grin faded, and for a moment, the air in the chamber felt as though it had been sucked away.

"Then you will make them ready." His voice was softer now, but no less dangerous. His withered face, pulled tight over his skull, seemed to darken in the low candlelight.

Lady Selena swallowed hard. "I need more time."

The silence stretched. Then, he reached for the cup before him, his skeletal fingers brushing against the rim. His blackened nails scraped against the porcelain, the sound grating against her nerves.

"Time," he mused, swirling the liquid within. "A thing so fragile, so fleeting. Very well, Lady Selena." He set the cup down, his gaze locking onto hers. "But do not make me come again unfulfilled. You owe me ten souls, and I will have them."

He turned, his cloak shifting like living shadow. As he moved toward the door, he paused just before crossing the threshold.

"Or perhaps," he murmured, his voice a whisper of something ancient and terrible, "I shall take yours instead."

The doors swung open on their own, and just as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone.

Selena exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her chest. The room felt warmer now, but no less suffocating.

She had to act. Before he returned.