Chapter 12: You like me that much?
At the exact moment his fingertip made contact, Rose felt as though a faint electric current had struck her. She shuddered violently.
“Mmph!”
A suppressed gasp slipped quietly from her throat.
The sensitive skin of her wings instantly flushed with a faint pink, like the first blush of dawn.
What mortified her even more—enough to make her want to die of shame—was that her disobedient tail seemed to develop a mind of its own. Without her permission, it gently pressed against the outside of Restel’s thigh in an almost ingratiating manner, even rubbing back and forth twice, as though silently inviting him!
“!”
A chill shot up Rose’s spine. She yanked her tail back with ferocious force—so fast it stirred a small gust of wind. Her entire face, along with the exposed nape of her neck, turned scarlet!
Damn it! What the hell is wrong with this body?!
Shame and fury nearly drowned her.
“Done.”
Restel’s low voice sounded, carrying a barely noticeable huskiness.
Following the gentle black light that flowed from his fingertips, a warm current enveloped the base of Rose’s wings and tail.
The heavy, burdensome weight vanished in an instant. Her wings and tail seemed to melt back into her body, leaving only a faint lingering warmth on her skin.
Rose let out a breath of immense relief. Like someone scalded, she immediately released her grip and dropped the blanket, wrapping herself up tightly once more—leaving only one blood-red ear tip poking out.
She could feel her cheeks burning, her heart pounding wildly. That inexplicable bodily reaction earlier, combined with the sensation of Restel’s fingertip, left her both humiliated and furious.
No—she had to get away from this terrifying, dangerous man as soon as possible. Rose screamed the thought inside her heart.
“Heh…”
Restel chuckled softly, his voice thick with amusement and teasing. His dark crimson eyes fixed intently on that crimson ear tip.
“What’s wrong? Just one touch and you’re this sensitive? Do you like me that much?”
He deliberately dragged out the word “like.”
“? Ha.”
Rose abruptly poked her head out from the blanket. She had finally managed to put on the dull gray linen dress.
Her small, round, childish face was puffed up with anger, every inch of it screaming “stay away from me.” Her silver eyes glared fiercely at the smug expression on Restel’s face as she snapped without mercy:
“Where did you dig up that trash-heap confidence? Narcissist!”
Even as the harsh words left her mouth, her gaze unconsciously swept over Restel’s features.
She had to admit—he really was extraordinarily good-looking.
Sharp, well-defined features; wild, untamed black tousled hair; deep crimson eyes like a stormy night sky, carrying an eerie, demonic allure.
Among humans, he would absolutely be the type of playboy noble ladies would flock to in droves—yet one that a priest like her would instinctively keep at arm’s length.
The two stared at each other.
Rose noticed that Restel’s gaze wasn’t lingering on her face. Instead, he was frowning, scrutinizing the simple gray dress on her body with clear disdain and dissatisfaction—as though he were watching someone dress his prized pet bird in a filthy burlap sack.
“Tch…”
Restel let out a dissatisfied click of his tongue.
“What the hell are you wearing? You look like some pitiful little maid who crawled out of a back alley!”
He eyed the only dress Rose had on: oversized and ill-fitting skirt hem, coarse fabric with zero texture. It was practically an insult to his Demon King aesthetic.
Yet Rose herself showed little reaction.
As a priest in the past, she had spent years wearing the symbolic white robes of her station. Personal clothing had always been minimal and plain.
To her, having even a barely-fitting garment to cover her body was already far better than staying wrapped in a blanket.
Restel rubbed his chin, looking genuinely regretful.
“Sigh… Unfortunately, my head tailor just ran off to get married. Otherwise I’d drag that guy back right now and have him make you dozens of sets of luxurious, identity-appropriate gowns.”
As he spoke, an expectant gleam appeared in his eyes.
“And our wedding attire, of course.”
At that moment, urgent yet respectful knocking sounded from outside the bedchamber.
“Lord Restel! Urgent frontline report!”
“Frontline?!”
Rose’s heart jolted. She looked toward the door in surprise.
The human army had made a move?
The door opened. A demon guard clad in pitch-black armor strode in, his aura fierce and imposing.
He was about to report when his gaze suddenly landed on the unfamiliar silver-haired little girl standing beside Restel.
He froze instantly—like someone hit with a petrification spell. His eyes widened beneath his helmet; for a moment, he completely forgot to speak.
The guard’s shock was obvious—how could there be a strange young girl in the Demon King’s private chambers?!
Restel observed the guard’s stunned expression and the corner of his mouth curved into a faint, imperceptible smile.
With a relaxed gesture, he casually motioned toward Rose and spoke in a mild yet utterly authoritative tone:
“Oh, I forgot to introduce her. This is Rose—my fiancée.”
“F—fiancée?!”
The guard’s eyes bulged even wider beneath his helmet. His mouth fell slightly open, as though he had just heard the most absurd fantasy imaginable!
He looked at Lord Restel, then at the doll-like, exquisitely delicate silver-haired little girl. The massive shock made his mind buzz!
Overnight?! The Demon King City was getting a queen?! And a juvenile dragon at that?!
This news was more explosive than any frontline report!
Ignoring the guard’s petrified state, Restel asked directly:
“Go on. What’s happening at the front?”
Only then did the guard snap back to reality. Suppressing the raging waves in his heart, he dropped to one knee in respect, his voice still tinged with residual astonishment:
“Reporting, my lord! The human army on the New Orleans Gitte Plains began a large-scale retreat last night. Their main force has now relocated to the New Orleans Kaochi Hills region to set up camp and fortifications.”
“Oh? They’re finally willing to pull back?”
The corner of Restel’s mouth lifted slightly. A sharp, knowing gleam flashed through his dark crimson eyes.
He cast an interested glance at Rose beside him.
She was pressing her lips tightly together. Emotions churned in her silver eyes—shock, worry, and what seemed to be a suppressed thread of unwillingness.
Her small hands unconsciously gripped the rough hem of her skirt.
This appearance—trying so hard to stay composed while turmoil raged inside—struck Restel as endlessly fascinating.
The guard continued his report:
“Lord Grimm, who is commanding the front lines, sent me to request instructions: What should our army do next? Should we seize the opportunity, pursue the routed enemy and press the advantage? Or stay in place, reinforce our defenses, and prepare for a possible enemy counterattack?”
Restel listened without immediately replying.
His deep crimson eyes carried a playful, probing light. Slowly, with unmistakable pressure, he turned toward Rose beside him. A meaningful smile curved his lips:
“My fiancée—what do you think?”
He tossed the question—one that concerned the demon race’s next strategic move and could even influence the course of the entire war—like a delicate toy: light and casual on the surface, yet heavy with consequence.
The atmosphere in the entire bedchamber instantly became subtle and tense.
The guard’s stunned gaze once again fell upon the young “queen.”