A Flustered Hubby.

Elliott sat in his room, his head pounding as he replayed King Melvin's words over and over again. But if he were being honest, that wasn't even the main reason for his current headache. No, the real cause of his distress was what Azreal had done and said just moments after his encounter with the king.

It was Azrael.

Azrael and his infuriating presence.

A shiver ran down Elliott's spine just thinking about it. He could still feel the demon king's breath on his neck, still hear that taunting, velvety voice whispering things that made his brain malfunction. Damn it, why did that man have to say things like that? Elliott groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Earlier after King Melvin had dismissed him, Elliott wasted no time in leaving the royal chamber. He had no intention of lingering in a place filled with people who had just been debating his execution. However, what he hadn't realized until now was just how high up the royal palace was—perched atop the towering mountains that stretched into the clouds.

It was only when he stepped outside and stared at the never-ending flight of stairs leading down that he fully grasped his predicament. The royal council chamber, where the rulers of the mortal realm convened, was connected to the ground by a treacherous staircase consisting of at least ten thousand steps.

Ten. Thousand. Steps.

"Who even builds this?!" Elliott had exclaimed as he stood at the top, staring down at the endless stairs spiraling into the horizon. "Who in their right mind needs this many stairs?!"

For the powerful mages and cultivators who resided here, those stairs were nothing but a mere decoration. They never used them. Instead, they simply manipulated their spiritual energy or mana to soar through the air effortlessly, bypassing the arduous climb entirely.

But Elliott?

Elliott, who had been forcefully escorted here by the royal messengers—who had flown him up without a second thought—was now expected to descend on his own. The problem? He lacked even the most basic level of spiritual energy or mana. His body was practically a vegetable in terms of cultivation, an unfortunate circumstance caused by the original owner's neglect of any form of training.

Now, faced with this impossible descent, Elliott's mind went blank.

Had these bastards seriously dragged him all the way up here only to abandon him when it was time to go back down?

He cursed inwardly. Figures.

If he embarked on this journey it would take him weeks probably even months or years to get through with it.

Unfortunately, he had no other choice.

With a deep breath, he straightened his back, puffed out his chest, and declared with sheer determination, "I will do this."

Five minutes later, Elliott was hunched over, gasping for air like a dying fish, sweat pouring down his face.

He felt like he had just run a marathon barefoot, uphill, in the middle of a desert.

"At least I'm halfway..." he panted, trying to encourage himself.

Then, against his better judgment, he glanced down.

His heart plummeted.

He wasn't even close.

Not even remotely.

If anything, he had barely made any progress at all.

His gaze darted upward, and a dramatic whimper escaped him. He still had just as many—if not more—stairs to go. It felt as if he hadn't moved an inch.

The realization hit him like a boulder to the chest. There's no way I can do this. At this rate, he would die of exhaustion before the king or Azreal even had the chance to kill him.

I should just throw myself down the stairs and get it over with.

But just as despair began to take hold, he felt it.

A presence.

A chilling, dark energy that prickled at his skin and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Azreal.

His husband.

The walking source of all Elliott's problems.

Elliott immediately stiffened, his entire body locking up in fear and unease. The events from earlier flashed through his mind, particularly his conversation with King Melvin. Guilt settled in his chest like a heavy stone.

Then came the voice. Smooth, deep, and laced with dark amusement.

"You seem stranded, hubby. And most importantly, you seem to need my help again."

Elliott flinched as Azreal's breath ghosted over his neck, sending an involuntary shudder down his spine. The demon king was standing right behind him, close—too close.

The casual way he said "again" made Elliott's face burn with frustration. Again. He was clearly referring to the fact that he had intervened earlier to stop Elliott's execution. A gesture that, at first, Elliott had misunderstood entirely.

For a fleeting moment, he felt the urge to thank him.

But then he shook the thought away.

No, he reminded himself stubbornly. It's his fault I'm in this mess in the first place.

Swallowing down the conflicting emotions swirling inside him, Elliott forced a strained smile and turned to face the demon king. "Sneaking up on me like that is scary," he muttered, trying to keep his tone light, careful not to say anything that might offend the man before him.

Azreal, however, merely smirked.

"Oh, hubby," he purred, his silver eyes gleaming with amusement. "The blush on your cheeks betrays your words. You like it."

Elliott's breath hitched. His blush deepened.

What blush?!

Before he could process what was happening, Azreal took a step forward, closing the remaining distance between them. In one swift motion, he grabbed Elliott's wrist and pulled him flush against his body.

Elliott froze.

Oh.

Azreal was warm. His body was solid, his strength undeniable. His scent was intoxicating, a mix of something dark and rich, laced with an underlying heat that sent an unfamiliar shiver down Elliott's spine.

And worst of all?

His heart—his traitorous, foolish heart—was pounding so loudly in his chest it felt like it would burst.

"Thump, thump, thump."

Elliott's heart betrayed him.

FUCK.

Damn it! Elliott screamed internally. What the hell is wrong with me?!

Ever since summoning the demon king, he had felt too many emotions, one's he didn't understand, all in one day, and he didn't like it.

He squeezed his eyes shut as Azreal lifted them off the ground, effortlessly carrying him through the air. Elliott's short dark hair was blown in every direction, while Azrael's long, perfectly styled silver hair flowed majestically in the wind like he was some celestial deity gracing the mortal realm with his presence.

Seconds later, they landed.

Elliott opened his eyes.

He was down.

Just like that.

He stared in disbelief.

No more endless stairs. No more struggling. No more impending death by exhaustion.

Just solid, blessed ground.

"Yes!!" he nearly shouted in victory.

But then—he felt it.

Azreal was still holding onto him.

Realizing their close proximity, Elliott immediately pulled away, putting as much distance between them as possible. His skin burned with embarrassment, and he refused to look the demon king in the eyes.

Azreal chuckled. Low, deep, and knowing.

He definitely noticed how Elliott had reacted.

And he definitely noticed the faint redness on Elliott's cheeks.

His tone dropped into something low and teasing.

"Now tell me, hubby," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. "What exactly was said in there after I left that's making you so flustered around me?"