My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 138 - No. I Got Myself A Vampire Wife?! (1)

Chapter 138: Chapter No.138 I Got Myself A Vampire Wife?! (1)

[Location: 99th Floor Of Vampire King’s Castle]

For my question, she only tilted her head forward, almost touching mine.

"I... I want to give myself... to you."

"..."

Silence.

Not the heavy, suffocating kind that presses down on your lungs.

The kind that makes the world lean closer, waiting to see which way you’ll fall.

Carmilla’s forehead hovered a breath away from mine. I could feel the faint chill of her skin, the slow, controlled rhythm of her breathing—steady, deliberate, nothing like the storm that statement should’ve carried.

"I... I want to give myself... to you."

Eris slept on.

Unaware that several ancient laws of Hell had just tripped over themselves and fallen down a staircase. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

I didn’t answer immediately.

Because shock didn’t even begin to describe my state.

The words hung there.

Not dramatic.

Not trembling.

Carmilla didn’t blush. Didn’t avert her gaze. Didn’t dress it up with poetry or desperation. She said it the way someone states a conclusion after centuries of calculation.

And that was exactly why my brain stalled.

I stared at her.

Then, very deliberately, I looked down at Eris.

Still asleep.

Tiny chest rising and falling. One hand fisted in my coat. A faint line of drool threatens to escape the corner of her mouth.

Good.

At least one person in this room was making sense.

I exhaled slowly and leaned back a fraction in the chair, just enough to put space between Carmilla’s face and mine without waking the child.

"...Carmilla," I said carefully, keeping my voice low, "you’re going to need to explain that."

She didn’t retreat.

Didn’t straighten either.

She just... tilted her head slightly, crimson eyes studying me with unnerving focus, like she was gauging whether I’d break, lash out, or misunderstand her.

"I’m not speaking out of impulse," she said. "Nor grief. Nor lust... yet"

Well. That eliminated three obvious options.

"I am speaking as a vampire queen," Carmilla continued calmly, "who has lost her king, her lineage, her daughter, and her purpose—yet remains."

I frowned. "That doesn’t automatically lead to marriage proposals."

A corner of her lips twitched.

"Good," she said. "Then you’re not an idiot."

That earned her a look.

She finally stepped back half a pace, giving me space—giving Eris space. Her hands folded neatly in front of her, posture straight, dignified, the image of an immortal noblewoman who had ruled monsters longer than most civilisations had existed.

"In vampiric law," Carmilla said, "when a sovereign is erased, the domain does not simply dissolve. It searches."

"For what?" I asked, already suspecting I wouldn’t like the answer.

"For an anchor," she replied. "A will strong enough to prevent collapse. Blood enough to stabilise. Authority enough to be acknowledged."

I narrowed my eyes. "And you think that’s me."

"I know it’s you."

That certainty hit harder than arrogance.

"Carmilla," I said slowly, "I didn’t conquer this place. I didn’t even want it. I sealed Alucard because he was a problem I couldn’t leave unresolved."

"And yet," she interrupted gently, "you rewrote the interaction layer of a dominion forged by a Vampire King who consumed a dragon of greed."

She looked around.

"The castle still stands."

"Only until I leave this space."

The words settled uncomfortably.

I know she ignored that part.

The Crimson Dominion was no longer alive, no longer hostile—but it hadn’t crumbled either. The wards were inert, yes, but the structure remained. The 99th Floor hadn’t collapsed. The domain... lingered.

Waiting.

"I am the last pillar," Carmilla continued. "But I cannot be the core. Not anymore. Not after Ophis."

Her gaze flicked to Eris again.

Softened.

"She reminds me of my daughter," Carmilla said quietly. "That alone would have made me follow you, even if the laws didn’t demand it."

My grip tightened slightly around Eris.

"Follow," I repeated. "Not give yourself."

Carmilla met my eyes again, fully this time.

"In my culture," she said, "those are the same."

I leaned back further, chair creaking faintly.

"...You realise I’m not a vampire."

"Of course."

"I’m a half-demon, and supposedly half-angel."

"Am not racist."

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Neither of us blinked.

Finally, I sighed. "You’re serious."

"Yes."

"And this isn’t revenge."

"No."

"And this isn’t some grief-fueled rebound decision."

She shook her head once. "Grief taught me caution. Not recklessness."

"...And you’re aware that if I accept something like this," I said, choosing my words carefully, "...it will change everything."

The words came out quieter than I expected.

Carmilla didn’t flinch.

Didn’t rush to reassure me, didn’t push forward, didn’t dress it up with vows or promises. She simply inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the weight of the statement like a seasoned ruler acknowledging the cost of war.

"Yes," she said. "That is the point."

I stared at her for a long moment.

Then I huffed a quiet, incredulous laugh and rubbed my face with my free hand, careful not to jostle Eris.

"Stars above and below... I seal a Vampire King, nearly die, traumatise half my shadow army, wake up with Eris crying her eyes out on my chest—and now I’m being proposed to by a vampire queen because the castle thinks I’m furniture."

"That is... an unflattering summary," Carmilla said mildly.

"But not inaccurate."

She actually nodded at that.

I closed my eyes for a second.

When I opened them, the absurdity hadn’t gone away—but the reality was settling in.

"Alright," I said. "Let’s slow this down before my conscience explodes."

Carmilla waited.

Patient. Immortal patience, honed by centuries of court intrigue and quiet suffering.

"First," I continued, "I’m not agreeing to anything right now."

"Understood."

"Second, whatever this is—it’s not ownership."

Her crimson eyes sharpened slightly, not in anger, but interest.

"Explain."

"I don’t take people as compensation," I said evenly. "Not loyalty, not marriage, not bodies, not souls. If you’re standing here, it’s because you choose to. Not because some law, ancient or otherwise, cornered you into it."

Silence stretched.

Then Carmilla exhaled—slowly.

A sound like tension finally loosening from stone.

"That answer," she said softly, "is precisely why the domain acknowledged you."

I grimaced. "I was afraid you’d say that."

She allowed herself a faint smile.

"Third," I said, "there’s a child involved now."

At that, Carmilla’s gaze dropped fully to Eris.

She studied her with an expression that was... complicated.

Not hunger.

Not envy.

Not replacement.

Recognition.

"I know," Carmilla said. "And I would never seek to claim her."

I looked back up sharply.

"Good. Because if you even implied—"

"I won’t," she interrupted calmly. "She is yours. Entirely. Blood or not."

I searched her face.

Vampires were excellent liars.

Carmilla wasn’t lying.

"Fourth," I went on, "I don’t know what the hell I’m doing."

A pause.

"That," Carmilla said after a moment, "may be the most reassuring thing you’ve said so far."

I snorted despite myself.

"Don’t get used to it."

Another silence followed, but this one felt... productive.

The 99th Floor no longer felt like a battlefield, or a throne room, or a tomb.

It felt like a negotiation chamber.

One without witnesses.

Finally, Carmilla spoke again.

"May I clarify something?" she asked.

"Go ahead."

"When I said I wished to give myself to you," she said carefully, "I did not mean it in the simplistic sense of matrimony as humans understand it."

I raised an eyebrow. "That’s not comforting."

She ignored the jab.

"In vampiric tradition," Carmilla continued, "there are three bonds. Blood. Will. Name."

My spine tingled faintly.

I’d heard of blood bonds.

I didn’t like where this was going.

"Blood is obvious," she said. "A sharing. A resonance. But it is the weakest."

"Of course it is," I muttered.

"Will," she continued, "is allegiance. Choice. The decision to stand with another, even when reason suggests retreat."

That... sounded less horrifying than expected.

"And name?" I asked.

Carmilla met my eyes fully.

"Name is legacy," she said. "To carry another’s name—or allow them to carry yours—is to intertwine fate. Not ownership. Acknowledgement."

I leaned back, chair creaking again.

"So you’re not asking me to become the Vampire King," I said slowly.

"No," Carmilla said. "That crown died with Alucard."

"Good."

"I am asking you," she continued, "to allow me to stand beside you, publicly and lawfully."

"Are there vampires in the real world? I mean, did vampires survive in exist outside this sealed space?" She asked while thoughtfully tapping her chin.

The words settled with a weight that had nothing to do with volume.

I stared at Carmilla for a long second before answering the question she’d actually asked.

"Yes," I said quietly. "Vampires exist outside this sealed space."

Her fingers, folded neatly at her waist, tightened just a little.

"In fact," I continued, keeping my voice low so it wouldn’t carry through the still-sleeping floor, "they’re a major fraction in Romania."

Carmilla blinked.

Just once.

It was subtle—but for someone like her, that single blink was the equivalent of a mortal dropping their jaw.

"Romania," she repeated slowly. "Is that the name of a land?"

"Yes."

"A kingdom?"

"A country," I corrected. "Modern. Human-dominated. Technologically advanced. Politically messy."

Her brows drew together slightly. "And vampires... live there openly?"

"No," I said. "Hidden. Integrated. Some rule from the shadows. Some pretend to be nobility. Some are businessmen. Some are relics clinging to old bloodlines."

Her eyes sharpened.

"And they survived," she murmured.

"Yes."

Silence stretched.

Not awkward this time—contemplative.

Carmilla turned her gaze away from me and looked out over the ruined grandeur of the 99th Floor, at pillars cracked by ancient battles and chandeliers frozen mid-collapse by dormant wards.

"So the species endured," she said softly. "Even after Alucard."

"They adapted," I replied. "Those who didn’t... didn’t make it."

A faint, humourless smile touched her lips. "That sounds... familiar."

She was quiet for a long moment.

Then she asked, carefully, "Do they still practice the old covenants?"

I shook my head. "How would I know? I am the prince of Hell, not some vampire historian."

The words came out drier than intended.

Carmilla glanced back at me, a faint crease forming between her brows. "Prince of Hell," she repeated. "You say that as if it were a title you barely acknowledge."

"Well, Exile prince."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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