“I called in a favor,” she says sweetly. Then she winks. “And my plus-size section is divine, babe. You know that.”
Slade appears from the hallway like he’s been summoned by the words wardrobe and plus-size section. His eyes flick to the bags. Then to me. Then back to the bags. All while never blinking.
Rhea notices and smirks like the devil’s favorite cousin. “Well hello, tall dark and demon-y. Do you approve?”
Slade’s gaze never leaves me. “I’ll approve once she tries them on.”
My entire face goes nuclear. “Absolutely not!”
“Yes,” Rhea says, earning a glare from me. “Youhaveto. You need etiquette guidance so you don’t accidentally curtsy to a lesser demon and start a blood feud.”
I glare at her. “Why would that be a thing?!”
“Because demon nobility is petty,” Slade answers dryly.
I throw my hands up. “Great. I’ll go to Hell, insult someone accidentally, and die in a glittering explosion.”
Rhea slaps a dress bag into my chest. “Try it. Now. Before you panic yourself into hives.”
Slade leans against the doorway, arms crossed, looking maddeningly pleased.
I snatch the bag. “Fine! But not because either of you asked. I’m doing this because—because—”
“I have superior fashion instincts?” Rhea offers.
“Because you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of demon royalty,” Slade adds, voice low and amused.
I whirl on him. “You didn’t tell me they’d beroyalty… royalty.”
He lifts a brow. “I assumed that was implied.”
“It was not!!!”
Rhea cackles. “Go. Change. I’ll wrangle Newt.”
Newt meows like,good luck, mother.
***
Tucked away in my bedroom, I pull out the first gown. It’s crimson, velvet, and hugs every curve like it was custom-made for me. I look in the mirror and nearly pass out.
Oh… Oh NO.
I step out slowly. Slade straightens like someone hit him with divine lightning. His gaze drags over me—slow, reverent, hungry—and he very visibly forgets how to breathe.
Rhea fan-gasps. “Okay, bitch, you are a PROBLEM.”
Slade says nothing. But his hands curl at his sides like he’s physically restraining himself.
“Say something,” I whisper, heat crawling up my throat.
Slade’s voice is rough velvet. “Turn.”
My knees wobble, but I obey. The curse stirs instantly—lights flickering, warmth sliding across my skin like invisible fingertips.
Slade watches every inch of my spin with dark intensity. “That,” he says quietly, “would start a war.”
I freeze. “What?! Why?!”
