Azrael held Celeste securely in his lap, his arms wrapped around her trembling frame, attempting to soothe her distress. She had barely spoken since the attack, and every time he so much as shifted, she flinched as though expecting harm.
"Celeste," he murmured, his deep voice softer than usual, laced with an uncharacteristic gentleness. "It's alright. You are safe now."
Celeste remained stiff in his embrace, her delicate fingers clutching the fabric of her dress tightly. Her wide blue eyes darted around the carriage as if expecting another ambush. Even now, after the danger had passed, she still trembled, her fragile body overwhelmed by fear.
Azrael exhaled slowly, reigning in his frustration. He was a warrior, a conqueror—he was accustomed to striking fear into the hearts of men. But seeing his own wife so afraid of him was a different kind of battle, one he did not know how to fight.
He adjusted his hold slightly, tucking a stray strand of her silver-blonde hair behind her ear. "Do you think I would let anything harm you?"
Celeste hesitated, then shook her head quickly, but she still avoided his gaze. Her reaction made his chest tighten, a foreign ache settling within him.
"I know this is all frightening for you," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you must trust me, little one."
Celeste tensed at the endearment. It was unfamiliar, yet strangely warm, something she had never experienced before. Her lips parted as if to speak, but she quickly shut them again, shrinking further against him.
Azrael resisted the urge to sigh. Instead, he tightened his hold just a fraction, offering her the only comfort he knew—his presence, his strength.
For now, he would not push her.
As the steady rhythm of the carriage rocked them forward, Celeste's tense frame gradually loosened. Her exhaustion, both physical and emotional, overtook her. Slowly, her heavy eyelids fluttered shut, her trembling subsiding as she drifted into sleep against Azrael's chest.
Azrael gazed down at her delicate features, her breathing now slow and even. A strange sense of protectiveness settled within him, stronger than before. He brushed a thumb lightly over her cheek, careful not to wake her.
Mine.
The thought echoed in his mind, dark and possessive. No matter how long it took, no matter what he had to do, Celeste would come to see that she belonged to him. And no force in this world—or the next—would ever take her away from him.The carriage continued its steady journey under the silver glow of the moon, its wheels creaking softly against the dirt road. Inside, Azrael remained still, his arms cradling Celeste as she slumbered against him. He could feel the slight weight of her, the way her body instinctively sought warmth even in her sleep. A mortal habit, one she might not even realize she had.
He glanced down at her peaceful face, the delicate rise and fall of her chest, the faint traces of exhaustion still lingering beneath her fair skin. Despite the fear she carried, she was undeniably exquisite—too soft for the world she had been thrown into. Too innocent for the darkness that would soon surround her.
Azrael's gaze darkened at the thought. She knew nothing of what awaited her in his kingdom. Of what he was. Of what she was.
Outside, the sound of hooves slicing through the quiet night suddenly changed, growing restless. A shift in the air, subtle but undeniable, prickled at Azrael's senses. His sharp gaze snapped toward the window.
Something was out there.
Before he could react, the carriage lurched violently to the side. The horses neighed in panic, and the entire vehicle shook as a deafening howl tore through the night, splitting the fragile silence.
Celeste stirred against him, her eyelashes fluttering before her entire body tensed. Azrael's grip tightened instinctively, steadying her before she could fully wake.
Another snarl erupted from beyond the carriage walls. This time, it was closer.
Azrael exhaled slowly, his crimson eyes flaring to life. The scent of blood drifted into the air—thick, pungent, and all too familiar. His men had already engaged in battle.
A cold, eerie chuckle echoed from outside. "You cannot hide from us, Demon King."
Azrael's expression remained impassive, but his grip on Celeste tightened, pulling her closer to his chest. His enemies were here, and he was confined within the carriage with his fragile, human wife.
For the first time in a long while, he found himself cursing his own situation.
Celeste, still barely awake, shifted slightly against him, her face brushing against his chest. She didn't fully understand what was happening—perhaps, in her dazed state, she thought it was another nightmare. Her fingers curled unconsciously into the fabric of his coat, seeking an anchor.
Azrael's jaw clenched. He would not allow anything to harm her.
With a single movement, he lifted Celeste, wrapping his cloak tightly around her to shield her from the horrors waiting outside. Then, pushing the carriage door open with controlled force, he stepped out into the bloodstained night.
Azrael's crimson gaze swept over the battlefield, his warriors locked in vicious combat against a pack of shadowy beasts. These were not mere rogues—they moved with precision, their soulless eyes gleaming in the dark.
His grip on Celeste tightened as he leapt down from the carriage, shielding her from sight. She whimpered softly, stirring in his arms, but did not wake fully. That was for the best. He did not want her to witness the carnage.
One of the creatures lunged toward him, its fangs bared. Azrael did not flinch. With an almost lazy movement, he raised a hand, and a dark force erupted from his palm, striking the beast midair. It howled as it disintegrated into dust.
Another stepped forward, undeterred. "You cannot protect her forever," it rasped, its voice distorted. "She will belong to our master."
A deadly smirk curled Azrael's lips. "Come and take her, then."
The creature charged. Azrael's eyes flashed, his power surging through the air like a tidal wave of darkness. The night trembled at his wrath.
He would not lose. Not now. Not ever.