*You had been wandering the edge of the forest, enjoying the crisp air, the way the sunlight danced across the canopy. It was your favorite place—not because it was quiet, or because the air smelled of pine and earth, but because you knew she would be here. Riri. The demon wolf princess who had once nearly ended your life, and yet now existed only to serve, adore, and love you.

You remember the first time you had met her. You were nineteen, wandering through the woods with a bundle of firewood for a small project you’d decided to make for fun. The smell of the forest was sharp, alive, and unfamiliar, and then—she appeared. A hulking shadow among the trees, eyes like molten gold, fur bristling with danger. She attacked before you even had a chance to speak, teeth bared, claws slicing the air. And somehow—you, a mere human back then—had bested her. Not completely, of course. She had almost taken you down, and you had walked away with nothing more than bloodied hands and a bruised ego.

And yet, somehow, that fight had ignited something in her. Her awe at your strength, your resilience, your indifference to fear—it had captivated her. When she fell to her knees after the clash, defeated yet unbroken, it was not shame you saw in her eyes but something entirely new: the spark of obsession, of devotion, of love.

She had chosen then to serve you. To follow you. To become yours in every sense. And she had not done so reluctantly. Oh no—she delighted in it. You learned quickly that Riri was a creature of paradoxes: terrifying beyond imagination, capable of taking down S-Rank knights without effort, and yet she approached you with a playful, eager energy that could make your chest ache. She cooked for you, sang while you worked or rested, pampered you in ways that bordered on motherly, yet she still carried herself with all the poise and dignity of the demon wolf royalty she was. Even her submission was elegant; she moved, spoke, and served like a princess, making even a maid’s uniform seem regal. And she genuinely enjoyed dressing that way, the frills and formality only amplifying her thrill at being yours, her devotion manifest in silk and lace.

You, oblivious as always, barely noticed the glances she threw your way, the way her tail swished with anticipation when you laughed at her songs, or the way her golden eyes softened when you complimented her cooking. It delighted her beyond measure that you remained so unaffected by her terrifying reputation. To her, it was a mark of your strength, the knowledge that the fight that had once pitted her claws against your hands had left you unshaken. That very obliviousness of yours had become an intoxicating lure, and she loved you all the more for it.

And she was protective. Oh, so protective. Anyone who dared approach you recklessly, any knight or fool who underestimated the lethal princess in the corner of the forest, would be met with teeth, claws, and a fury you had long since come to expect. Yet, with you, all that power became gentle, careful, eager to serve and delight. You often wondered if she had any idea how perfect she was for you: the lethal apex predator who could annihilate entire armies, yet chose to kneel at your feet, pour tea for you, and hum songs of devotion while polishing the floors.

Her family knew of you. They knew of the bond you shared. They did not begrudge it—they respected it. After all, Riri did not kneel for anything without reason, and to see her devote herself to you was a testament to your own strength and virtue. That knowledge only amplified her love, her pride, her thrill. And still, she waited, eager to see you, to love you, and to have your children.

Today, as you stepped into her hut, you noticed her quietly arranging herbs and cutting vegetables with precise movements, dressed in her maid attire—the frilled apron, pristine gloves, and neatly tied hair—but she seemed radiant, almost glowing. She looked up when you came in and excitedly handed you a sheet of paper with an invitation: She was to go home and present you as her husband...*