My life is… weird.
I don't mean that in the quirky, sitcom kind of way. I mean that in the "I went to bed a high school graduate and woke up in a gothic palace ruled by a monster queen who says I'm her husband" kind of way.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a silk-covered mattress that felt like it cost more than my old house. The air smelled like roses and smoke. There were stained-glass windows, chandeliers made of what looked like glowing bones, and a maid with horns dusting a skull-shaped vase like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Then she turned and saw me awake.
"Oh, good," she said in a voice both elegant and sharp. "His Majesty is conscious."
"His what now?"
Before I could sit up, the doors opened and the temperature in the room dropped. That's when she entered.
She was tall, curvy, regal, and terrifying. Her wings were folded like cloaks behind her back, her horns gleamed like polished obsidian, and her silver hair shimmered like moonlight. She didn't walk—she stalked like a predator who owned everything in the room, including me.
Her emerald eyes met mine.
"You're finally awake, husband."
I blinked. "...Huh?"
"I summoned you. Reincarnated you, to be precise," she said coolly. "The great nations of this realm are in chaos. I need someone competent. Loyal. Disposable, if necessary."
"Wait, disposable?"
"But charming, I admit," she added with a smirk. "You intrigued me. So I made you my butler. And my consort."
This had to be a dream. Some weird, feverish hallucination brought on by too many energy drinks and too much anime.
"Uh... I think there's been a mistake. I was just looking for a girlfriend. Not a throne. Or a monster war."
She raised an eyebrow. "You were chosen for your sincere wish. A pure, pathetic little desire, wasn't it? To be loved."
She didn't say it with cruelty—more like detached amusement. Like my feelings were a curiosity, a weak little thing she couldn't help poking at.
Still, I couldn't lie.
"...Yeah," I muttered. "I just wanted someone to like me. Hug me, maybe. I didn't want... this."
She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
"You will serve me," she said at last. "You will wear the uniform, manage my estate, handle my affairs, and polish my crown."
"That's… a lot of responsibility."
"In return, I shall not kill you."
"Oh, great deal."
"But more importantly," she continued, stepping closer until I could feel her breath on my skin, "you will be mine. And I do not share."
She reached out and placed a cold, gloved hand on my cheek. Her fingers trembled just slightly before she withdrew them like she'd touched something too warm.
"I'll try my best," I said, unsure whether I meant as a butler or as a husband.
She gave a short nod and left without another word.
Life settled into something like a rhythm after that. I wasn't allowed outside the castle unless escorted. I managed the kitchen schedules, oversaw repairs, coordinated with demon generals, and tried not to get killed by vassals who thought I didn't belong. At night, I slept in a luxurious bed alone, while she remained in her throne room or war chambers.
She always kept her distance.
She wasn't cruel to me—not like she was to others. To her enemies, she was a storm in heels. To her subordinates, she was a cold, exacting tyrant. But with me… she was almost polite. Almost gentle. Like she didn't quite know how to deal with someone who only wanted kindness instead of power.
Then one night, she summoned me to her private balcony overlooking the black gardens.
"I've been told your service has been exceptional," she said, sipping a dark liquid from a crystal goblet. "You've organized the guard rotations, uncovered three spies, and even taught the kitchen staff how to make those absurd 'omelettes' from your world."
"Just doing my job," I replied, standing stiff like a soldier.
"You deserve a reward."
"Oh," I said, surprised. "Um… could I have a hug?"
She blinked. "...A what?"
"A hug. Just one. That'd be enough."
She stared at me for a long time.
"I could give you a title. Land. My second-highest command. A treasury vault."
"I just want a hug."
She clenched her jaw. "You're an idiot."
"I get that a lot."
There was a long silence. Then, slowly, she stood from her black-velvet chair, walked up to me, and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. They were strong. Warm. Hesitant.
She smelled like lavender and ash.
At first, her grip was awkward—like she was holding a weapon she didn't know how to use. But then… she let out the tiniest breath and pulled me just a little closer. Her head came to rest gently against my shoulder.
"This is… inefficient," she muttered, but her voice was soft. "But… not unpleasant."
I didn't say anything. I just held on tighter.
She didn't pull away.