The demon palace was full of noise—scheming, shouting, laughter born from mockery—but for Kujo, his chambers were always quiet.
He rarely left them. Not because he was forbidden to roam, but because no one wanted to see him. His siblings ignored him unless they needed a scapegoat. The guards never acknowledged his rank. Servants looked past him like he was a ghost haunting his own home.
Only one voice ever called for him with warmth.
"Master~" Dimara sang as she curled against him on the long velvet couch, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Want me to braid your hair? Or polish your boots? Or lay across your lap like a pillow? I'm great at all three."
"You say that like it's a résumé," Kujo said flatly, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Dimara purred and nuzzled her face against his side. "I'm your number one girl, right? So I have to be useful."
He didn't reply. But his hand gently stroked her hair, and that was enough.
Eventually, he needed fresh air. Dimara clung to him all the way down the halls, refusing to let go even when he stepped into the palace garden—a vast marble courtyard surrounded by fountains and illusion-glass flora.
That's when he heard the voices.
"No means no, even for you!" a woman cried.
Kujo turned toward the noise and saw the scene unfold just beyond the archway: A female demon knight was cornered near the edge of a blood-lily pond. Her short dark blue hair clung to her sweat-soaked face, and her deep matching eyes darted back and forth with desperation. Towering over her, smirking like a fool, was one of Kujo's older brothers—Damas, the third prince, and an arrogant bastard with far too much freedom.
"Come on," Damas said, his tail flicking behind him lazily. "You look like you need some 'discipline.' I'm offering you a chance to serve a real demon. That's rare for your kind."
The woman bared her teeth. "I said no."
"You don't get to say that to royalty."
Kujo's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"She just did."
Damas turned, sneering. "Well, well. Look who finally slithered out of his cave."
Dimara stepped beside Kujo, her glare sharp. "You're harassing a knight."
"She's a fallen angel," Damas scoffed. "Not a real demon. No rank. No bloodline. No voice."
Kujo stepped forward. "She's still a person."
Damas laughed and cracked his knuckles. "You want to fight me over this, half-blood?"
"If it'll make you shut up," Kujo said, rolling his eyes.
The duel was short.
Damas lunged with a flaming spear. Kujo sidestepped it, tripped him with one sweep of the leg, summoned a chain of shadow from his sleeve, and whipped his brother across the back, pinning him to the ground.
"Yield," Kujo said.
Damas screamed. "You cheat! You trained behind our backs!"
"I breathe behind your backs too. Want to cry about that?"
Damas scrambled up and ran off. "I'm telling Mom and Dad! This is abuse! You'll regret this, Kujo!"
Kujo sighed and dusted off his gloves.
Dimara giggled beside him. "You're hot when you're mean."
The knight approached, brushing her short hair behind one ear. She was a busty woman with short dark blue hair and matching eyes. She wore a tight, revealing armored bodysuit in shades of purple and violet, designed with feather-like patterns. Her outfit featured wing-shaped accents on her shoulders and head, and large open chest armor with clawed tips. A long, cape-like skirt extended from her waist, covered in sharp, angular feather motifs. She also had high-heeled boots with winged decorations at the ankles.
She bowed low.
"Thank you again… Kujo."
He blinked. "Again?"
She smiled faintly. "You don't remember me, do you?"
He narrowed his eyes. "You look familiar, but…"
"You saved me from a beating three months ago. One of your sisters caught me looking at a holy scripture. She said I was betraying the demon realm and tried to burn my wings off. You stepped in."
"Oh," he said, recalling the vague memory. "That was you."
"And again, a few weeks after that, you handed me a potion when I was bleeding out behind the training barracks."
"That was… you again?"
She nodded. "I thought you were strange. Kindness doesn't come from demons. Especially not royalty."
Kujo shrugged. "Guess I'm defective."
"No," she said. "You're different."
Then, without waiting, she dropped to one knee and placed her palm over her heart.
"My name is Kyrie. I pledge my loyalty to you, Prince Kujo. Not your house. Not your throne. Just you."
Kujo blinked.
Dimara blinked twice.
"What?" he asked.
"I've been watching," Kyrie said. "The way you protect people beneath you, even when it costs you. I thought it was weakness. But I see now—it's strength no one else has. And I want to follow that."
"You're serious?" Kujo asked.
She nodded. "To the end."
Dimara huffed and leaned against him. "You've got competition now."
He stared down at Kyrie, confused, surprised… and maybe a little hopeful.
"…Fine," he said. "But don't kneel. Not to me."
Kyrie smiled, stood, and offered her hand instead.
And Kujo… took it.