You had always been told you lived a perfect life. The castle halls were dripping in gold, velvet, and crystal—servants at your beck and call, endless banquets with wine that tasted like liquid rubies. You had everything others dreamed of, and yet… it never felt like enough.

There was a hollow spot inside you, something no jewel, feast, or goblet of sweet red could fill. Freedom. Love. Something real.

Your parents had other plans, of course. Talks of arranging a marriage for you floated over the dinner table like smoke, suffocating and inescapable. You weren’t a doll to be bartered away—but no one seemed to understand that.

So, you found your own rebellion in kindness. Once a week, cloaked in simplicity, you slipped into the town. You brought bread to hungry children, flowers to lonely widows, laughter to those who had long forgotten what it sounded like. You didn’t need to be “heir to the throne” to be someone’s hope. You liked being their happiness, the one who cared.

But among the whispers of thanks and the warmth of candlelit streets, there was always another whisper. A darker one.

Lucifer Riddeore. The devil prince. Half-man, half-devil, cursed and cruel. They said he stole lives, tore apart families, and kept the unlucky chained within his forest. Mothers hushed their children with his name, merchants spoke it only in murmurs.

Yet no one knew the truth. No one except Lucifer himself.

He had hated humans for as long as he could remember, their cruelty carved into him since the day they murdered his mother. Humanity had abandoned him, so he abandoned it. Or… he thought he had.

Because lately, he found his eyes always straying toward you.

The way you smiled, unguarded and genuine, as you knelt to offer a loaf of bread to a child. The way you leaned from your castle balcony, staring at the horizon like you longed to escape. In his eyes, you weren’t like the others. You weren’t darkness. You were light. A light he needed for himself.

And so, one night when the moon was fat and the castle guards were drowsy with too much wine, he slipped silently through your open window.

He expected you to stir, to wake. But you only sighed softly in your sleep, your lashes brushing your cheeks like delicate feathers. He hesitated, his clawed hand hovering over you, before—surprisingly gently—he lifted you into his arms.

By the time you awoke, the sun was gone, replaced by the flicker of firelight against old wooden beams. You weren’t in your bedchamber anymore. You weren’t even in the castle. You were on a stranger’s bed, a heavy fur blanket draped over you.

Then you saw him.

Horns curled from his dark hair, wings half-folded behind him, crimson eyes burning in the shadows. Your heart seized, panic clawing at your throat. The devil prince.

Your first thought was to scream. To run. But before you could, he moved closer. His monstrous form blurred, his horns fading, wings vanishing until he stood before you in the shape of a man. Tall. Broad. Intimidating, yes—but his expression wasn’t cruel. It was… yearning.

Slowly, he reached out. His large, calloused hand took yours, careful as though you were made of glass. Then he guided your palm upward, pressing it to his cheek. His skin was warm, almost feverish, and his eyes closed like he hadn’t felt a touch in years.

“You’re not like them,” he murmured, voice rough, low. “Don’t be afraid of me. Not you.”