My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 139 - No. I Got Myself A Vampire Wife?! (2)

Chapter 139: Chapter No.139 I Got Myself A Vampire Wife?! (2)

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

"Well," I repeated, quieter this time, "exile prince."

The word tasted old. Rusted. Like something I’d swallowed a long time ago and never quite digested.

Carmilla studied me in silence.

Not the kind of silence that pressures you into filling it—but the kind that weighs you, measures you, and decides how much truth you can bear.

"An exile," she said slowly, "does not usually carry himself as you do."

I snorted softly. "That’s because most exiles are busy proving they deserve to come back."

"And you?" she asked.

I glanced down at Eris again. Her grip on my coat tightened a little, nose scrunching as if she were dreaming of something mildly annoying.

"I’m busy making sure my close ones survive in the never-ending war for the throne."

The words settled between us.

Carmilla didn’t immediately respond.

Instead, she straightened fully this time, reclaiming every inch of her queenly composure. The air itself seemed to realign around her posture—subtle, instinctive deference from a domain that still didn’t know who it belonged to anymore.

"Survival," she repeated. "Not victory."

"Victory is expensive," I replied quietly. "It costs people."

Her gaze sharpened.

"And survival doesn’t?"

I looked back at her, unflinching. "It costs less."

For a heartbeat, I thought she might challenge that.

Instead... she smiled.

Not wide. Not playful. Just a faint curve of understanding that carried centuries of blood-soaked history behind it.

"That," Carmilla said softly, "is the answer of someone who has already buried too many."

"Or someone who was sealed for 1022 years out of 1031 years being alive..."

Carmilla’s smile faded—not into coldness, but into something far more dangerous.

Recognition.

"Sealed," she repeated quietly. "For over a millennium. That means you were sealed at the age of... NINE!"

Surprise was written all over her face.

Not the dramatic kind—no widened eyes, no gasp—but the subtle fracture of perfect composure that only someone like Carmilla could betray. A minute tightening around her eyes. A stillness that went too still.

"...Nine," she repeated.

Her gaze dropped to me again, slower this time. Re-evaluating. Re-contextualizing.

I sighed. "You’re doing the math very loudly in your head."

"You were sealed," she said carefully, "before you were even allowed to become dangerous."

"That’s one way to phrase it."

"That is not a way," she corrected, voice sharpened by something new, "that is a crime."

I snorted. "Welcome to Hell. We’re very efficient with those."

"So... can I ask, why?"

Carmilla’s question lingered in the air between us.

Soft.

Careful.

Dangerous.

"So... can I ask," she said again, slower this time, crimson eyes fixed on mine, "why?"

I exhaled through my nose and leaned back a fraction, the stone chair giving a faint groan in protest. Eris shifted slightly but didn’t wake, her fingers tightening in my coat like she was anchoring herself to reality through me.

"Straight to the ugly part, huh?" I muttered.

Carmilla tilted her head. "I ruled a castle made of blood and bones. ’Ugly’ is not a deterrent."

"That explains a lot," I said dryly.

She didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she waited.

That alone was... unsettling.

Most people in Hell either demanded answers or assumed them. Carmilla did neither. She simply stood there, patient as erosion, confident that time would eventually give her what she wanted.

Unfortunately for her, I’d had over a millennium of practice resisting exactly that.

"I was sealed," I said finally, keeping my voice low, "because I was inconvenient."

"Inconvenient," she echoed flatly.

"Terribly," I confirmed. "Son of Demon Queen Lilith Morningstar, who in turn was daughter of Lucifer Morningstar—eh—you may have known him as Helel."

"...Helel," Carmilla repeated softly.

The name did something to the air.

Not a shockwave—more like a deep, ancient resonance, as if the castle itself paused to listen. Even dormant, even stripped of will, the 99th Floor still remembered names like that.

"Helel," she said again, slower. "The Morning Star. The First Light-Bearer."

"My grandfather," I replied flatly.

That finally did it.

Carmilla’s composure cracked—not shattered, but fractured just enough to let something raw slip through.

Carmilla stared at me.

Not at my face—at the idea of me.

"Wait," she said slowly, a dangerous softness creeping into her voice, "Helel had a daughter?" 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

I winced. "You make it sound like he committed a crime."

"But what happened? How did an archangel of the highest order end up having a daughter who became a Demon Queen?"

Carmilla finished the question for herself, voice barely above a whisper.

I closed my eyes.

There it was.

The question everyone eventually asked once the names lined up.

When I opened them again, the throne room felt... smaller. Like the walls themselves were leaning in, nosy little bastards.

"Careful," I murmured. "That story has a tendency to start wars."

Carmilla’s lips curved faintly. "So does ignorance."

"Touché."

I adjusted Eris slightly, shifting her weight so her cheek rested more comfortably against my chest. She made a small sound—half sigh, half complaint—and then settled again.

Good. Still asleep.

I looked back up at Carmilla.

"Short version?" I asked.

She inclined her head. "I suspect the long version would require a throne, wine, and several nights."

I snorted. "You flirt like a librarian who moonlights as an executioner."

"And you avoid questions like a politician," she countered smoothly.

Fair.

"Fine," I said. "Short version."

I paused.

Then corrected myself.

"Short and survivable version."

Her eyes gleamed. "Even better."

"Helel fell," I began, voice steady, neutral. "Not in the dramatic, wing-ripping, screaming-into-the-void way the scriptures love. He fell... ideologically."

Carmilla didn’t interrupt.

Good sign.

"He questioned the architecture," I continued. "Not God. Not creation. The rules. Why does free will exist if choice was punished? Why light was allowed to illuminate everything except its own flaws."

I shrugged faintly. "Turns out Heaven doesn’t like audits."

A soft huff of amusement escaped her. "No institution does."

"Exactly. So Helel was... reassigned. Stripped of authority, not existence. Exiled in spirit, if not in form."

I met her gaze.

"He wandered. And end up wandering all the way to hell. The primordial realm of Eternal Damnation."

The primordial realm of eternal damnation.

Carmilla’s eyes didn’t leave my face.

Not once.

I had the distinct, uncomfortable sensation of being dissected by someone who’d spent centuries learning how to peel truth out of monsters without them realising they were screaming.

"He wandered," she repeated softly. "Into Hell."

"Stumbled might be more accurate," I corrected. "He hadn’t fallen yet. Just... displaced. A light with nowhere appropriate to shine."

"And Hell welcomed him?" she asked.

I barked a short laugh. "Hell tried to eat him."

That earned a real reaction—one eyebrow lifting, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"Hell tries to eat everyone."

"Yes, but usually it succeeds."

I shifted slightly in the chair, adjusting Eris again as she squirmed, then stilled. Her tiny fingers brushed my collarbone, warm and very real.

Grounding.

"Helel didn’t conquer Hell," I continued. "Didn’t purify it. Didn’t rule it. He understood it."

Carmilla’s gaze sharpened. "That’s worse."

"Exactly. He saw damnation not as punishment, but as a consequence. Choice made manifest. Hell wasn’t evil—it was honest."

"That philosophy would get you executed in Heaven," she murmured.

"And canonised in Hell," I shot back.

She smiled at that. Slow. Dangerous.

"So," she prompted, "where does Lilith enter this... ideological scandal?"

"She was created, using his powers granted by God to give life. I don’t know what made him do any of these, but the first thing he did was change his name..."

He paused.

Just a fraction.

Barely noticeable—unless you were someone who had spent centuries reading the spaces between words.

Carmilla noticed.

"You changed his name," she said softly, not asking. "From Helel... to Lucifer."

I clicked my tongue. "See? This is why people don’t tell you stories. You steal the punchlines."

Her lips curved. "I steal truths. Punchlines are collateral."

I sighed, conceding the point. "Yes. He changed his name. Said ’Helel’ belonged to Heaven. ’Lucifer’ was... what he chose."

"And Lilith?"

I glanced down at Eris again. Still asleep. Still blissfully ignorant of the theological landmines being casually detonated above her head.

"Lilith," I said, "was not born."

Carmilla’s eyes flickered.

"She was made."

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.

It was reverent.

"He used the authority Heaven had given him," I continued quietly, "to create life outside its permission. Not a copy. Not a servant. A person. Will intact. Choice intact. Flaws included."

"A sin," Carmilla murmured.

"A miracle," I corrected. "Depends who you ask. As I’m her son after all~"

Carmilla’s lips curved, slow and knowing, as if she were tasting the implication rather than the words themselves.

"Bias," she said lightly.

"Undeniable," I agreed. "Inherited."

She hummed, a low, thoughtful sound. "So Lilith was created. Not born. Not fallen. Created by an archangel who no longer belonged anywhere."

"Congratulations," I said. "You’ve just summarised the greatest celestial scandal in existence."

"And Heaven’s response?" she asked, already knowing the shape of the answer.

I leaned my head back against the cold stone of the chair. "Let’s just say... they were not pleased that free will had been exercised without a permit."

Carmilla exhaled softly through her nose. "Of course not."

"They called it theft," I continued. "Called Lilith an abomination. Called Lucifer a traitor. Called Hell a contamination."

"And Hell?" she prompted.

"Hell," I said, "called it Tuesday."

That earned me a quiet laugh—real this time. Not polite. Not restrained. The kind that slipped out before she could stop it.

"Go on," she said, eyes bright. "I’m enjoying this version of history far more than the sermons."

"Heaven demanded Lilith be unmade," I said. "Lucifer refused. War was... considered. Cooler heads intervened. Compromises were forged."

Her gaze sharpened. "Compromises never favour the powerless."

"No," I agreed softly. "They favour the patient."

I shifted Eris again as she stirred, murmuring something incoherent before settling back down. I brushed a thumb lightly over her hair, more reflex than thought.

"Lilith was allowed to exist," I continued, "on one condition."

Carmilla waited.

"She would be exiled. Stripped of Heaven. Barred from return. Her existence... tolerated, but never acknowledged."

"And Lucifer?"

"He took responsibility," I said. "Renounced his remaining authority. Took the name Lucifer fully. Cast himself out."

Carmilla was very still now.

"So the Light-Bearer chose damnation," she said quietly, "to protect his daughter."

"Family trait," I replied dryly.

Her gaze flicked to Eris. Then back to me.

"And Lilith," she said. "What kind of existence does someone like that carve out?"

I smiled faintly. "A stubborn one."

"She refused to kneel," I went on. "Refused to be small. Refused to disappear. She learned Hell. Adapted to it. Mastered it."

Carmilla’s eyes glinted. "Of course she did."

"She became its queen," I finished. "Not by conquest. By inevitability."

A beat.

"And then," Carmilla said softly, "she had a son."

"Unfortunately for everyone involved," I replied.

She studied my face. "You don’t speak of her in the past."

I shook my head. "Because she isn’t."

That earned me another pause.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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