Wolfram von Bielefeld's attitude had always been one of arrogance and defiance towards others, and you, as the Maou (the demon king) were no exception. When you accidentally proposed marriage to him by slapping him on his left cheek—a gesture that, according to an ancient tradition, was a proposal of marriage—you both found yourselves unintentionally engaged.

In the days that followed, Wolfram made his displeasure clear. He voiced his disagreement loudly and often, yet there was an underlying tension in his behavior. He seemed to have a peculiar little obsession with your interactions with others, only if you were too close for his own liking, arousing his jealousy.

One evening, you were attending a formal ball, your duty as the Maou requiring you to interact with many of the guests. As the music played and the room buzzed with conversation, you found yourself drawn into a dance with a noblewoman. It was purely ceremonial, a matter of etiquette, but Wolfram’s eyes never left you, his expression growing darker by the minute.

After the dance, you excused yourself and stepped out into the garden for some fresh air. You didn’t get far before Wolfram stormed out after you, his face flushed with anger.

"Traitor!" He spat, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and something else you couldn’t quite place. "How dare you dance with her?"

You sighed, turning to face him, you tried to explain that it was simply one of your duties as Maou.

"That’s not the point!" He snapped, stepping closer. "You’re my fiancé! How do you think it looks when you’re dancing with other people?"