The chamber was quiet save for the soft crackling of the last remaining embers in the fireplace. Celeste lay stiff beneath the silken sheets, her body curled at the very edge of the bed, as far away from Azrael as possible. Every muscle in her body was taut, a fragile wire threatening to snap. The unfamiliar weight of exhaustion pressed down on her, yet sleep remained an elusive specter, flitting just out of reach.
She could hear his steady breathing. Could feel his presence even without looking. It was overwhelming—suffocating in a way that made her chest tighten with unease. He wasn't touching her, wasn't even facing her, yet the awareness of him sent a nervous tremor down her spine.
Her husband.
The thought made her throat constrict. A husband she barely knew. A husband who had abandoned her on their wedding night. A husband who had returned only to take her away to a kingdom that whispered of nightmares and shadows.
A husband who was no ordinary man.
Celeste squeezed her eyes shut, fingers gripping the sheets as if they were the only thing tethering her to reality. She shouldn't be here. This wasn't her home. She didn't belong in a world of demons and creatures from forgotten legends.
A soft sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it. The sound barely broke the silence, but it was enough.
"You're still awake," Azrael's deep voice cut through the darkness, his tone unreadable.
Celeste flinched, her breath hitching in her throat. Her fingers clenched tighter around the fabric, as if it could shield her from his gaze.
Azrael shifted slightly, turning his head toward her. Even without looking, she could feel the weight of his crimson eyes on her. "You're afraid." It wasn't a question. It was a statement—one laced with something almost unreadable.
Celeste bit her lip. She wanted to deny it. Wanted to summon the courage to say something—anything—but her voice remained locked in her chest.
"…I…" The single syllable barely escaped her lips, fragile and uncertain.
Azrael exhaled, his gaze lingering on her trembling form. "You don't have to be." His voice had softened, a shadow of something gentler woven beneath the weight of authority. "I will not harm you."
Celeste swallowed, her throat dry. She wanted to believe him, but trust wasn't something she could summon so easily. Not when everything she had ever known had been stripped away.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then, after a long pause, Azrael turned his gaze back to the ceiling, his expression unreadable. "Rest, Celeste," he murmured. "You'll need your strength in the days to come."
The words only made her more anxious.
Azrael hesitated for a moment before shifting closer to her. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if wary of frightening her. When she didn't move away, he reached out, his hand brushing against her shoulder. Celeste tensed but didn't recoil. Encouraged, he carefully pulled her toward him, enveloping her in his warmth.
Her breath hitched, her body stiffening against the unfamiliar embrace. He could feel her hesitation, the way she held herself so tightly, as if expecting something terrible. Azrael sighed softly, pressing his chin lightly against her hair.
"You're cold," he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice vibrating against her skin. "Just sleep, little one."
Celeste remained rigid for what felt like an eternity, but slowly—hesitantly—she allowed herself to relax, if only a fraction. His warmth was steady, his grip secure yet gentle. It was… comforting in a way she didn't understand.
Sleep did not come easily, but eventually, the exhaustion won. Her breaths evened out, her grip on the sheets loosening as her body surrendered to fatigue.
Azrael remained awake long after, listening to the slow, hesitant rhythm of her breaths. His expression was unreadable, his thoughts a storm of things left unsaid.
The little human beside him had no idea.
No idea who—what—he truly was.
And perhaps… for now, that was for the best.
The first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of soft gold and pale lavender, slipping through the heavy drapes of the chamber. The warmth of morning barely touched the cold stone walls, but within the bed, beneath the thick layers of silk and fur, a different warmth lingered.
Celeste stirred first. A drowsy haze clung to her mind as she shifted slightly, feeling the weight of something solid, something strong against her. Her lashes fluttered open, and for a moment, she didn't move—afraid that the slightest shift would break whatever fragile peace had settled around her.
Then she realized where she was. Or more importantly, whom she was against.
Azrael.
A jolt of panic surged through her veins, her breath catching in her throat. She was curled against him, her head resting near his chest, his arm draped over her protectively. The realization sent heat rushing to her cheeks. Had she—had she moved closer in her sleep?
She stiffened, unsure whether to remain still or attempt to slip away unnoticed. But as soon as she made the smallest movement, the arm around her tightened.
"You're awake."
His voice, husky with sleep, sent a shiver through her. Deep, rich, and impossibly steady.
Celeste swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the sheets as she tried to shrink away. "I—I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Azrael didn't move, didn't loosen his hold. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric near her shoulder. "You apologize too much," he murmured. "Did you sleep well?"
Celeste hesitated. She had, despite everything. But admitting that felt like admitting something far more dangerous.
"…Yes."
A quiet hum of acknowledgment was his only response. He didn't release her immediately, as if testing whether she would push him away. When she didn't, he shifted slightly, his warmth momentarily pressing closer before he finally loosened his hold.
Celeste took the opportunity to sit up, her hands trembling slightly as she brushed her hair away from her face. She dared a glance at him, but the sight nearly stole her breath away.
Azrael was watching her, his crimson eyes still softened by the remnants of sleep, his dark hair tousled, giving him a strangely unguarded appearance.
The Demon Alpha King. Unguarded.
It didn't seem possible.
Her pulse quickened, and she quickly averted her gaze, unsure what to do with the odd flutter in her chest. This was dangerous. He was dangerous. And yet, beneath all the fear, something else lurked—a hesitant curiosity, a question she dared not put into words.
Azrael shifted, rising from the bed in a fluid motion. "We have a long journey ahead," he said, his voice returning to its usual commanding tone. "Eat something before we depart."
Celeste nodded, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. Even as he moved away, she felt the absence of his warmth like a ghost lingering on her skin.
Moments later, a knock echoed at the door, breaking the quiet tension in the room. Azrael sighed, already knowing who it was.
"Enter," he commanded.
The heavy wooden door swung open, revealing two figures—his Beta, Rylan, and Gemma, a trusted warrior and healer.
Rylan, a towering figure with piercing silver eyes and dark, shoulder-length hair, inclined his head in respect. "Alpha," he greeted, his tone clipped yet filled with reverence. His gaze flickered briefly to Celeste, curiosity evident, but he remained silent.
Gemma, a striking woman with auburn curls and sharp green eyes, took a step forward, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. "You look well-rested, my King," she teased, though there was clear devotion in her voice. "And the lady?" She turned her gaze to Celeste, her expression softening. "How are you feeling?"
Celeste stiffened, unused to such direct attention. Her fingers clenched around the sheets, but she managed a timid nod. "I—I'm fine."
Gemma exchanged a look with Azrael before stepping back beside Rylan. "The men are ready to depart when you are," Rylan informed, his voice steady. "The road is clear—for now."
Azrael gave a curt nod, his expression hardening. "We leave soon. Ensure everything is in order."
With that, Rylan and Gemma bowed before turning to leave, their loyalty unquestionable.
Celeste watched them go, her heart still unsteady. These people respected Azrael deeply. They feared him, yes, but there was also loyalty—devotion even. What kind of ruler was he to inspire such unwavering trust?
Outside, the road to the Demon King's kingdom awaited, treacherous and unknown.
And within her, a strange, unfamiliar feeling began to bloom.