My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 140 - No. I Got Myself A Vampire Wife?! (3)

Chapter 140: Chapter No.140 I Got Myself A Vampire Wife?! (3)

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

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.

Carmilla didn’t speak immediately.

She turned slightly, crimson eyes drifting toward the shattered arches and frozen chandeliers of the 99th Floor, as though listening for something older than memory—something that might contradict me.

It didn’t.

The castle remained silent.

Waiting.

"...Then she still walks the worlds," Carmilla said finally. Not a question. A statement, carefully tested against reality.

"Yes," I replied. "Just not loudly."

A faint exhale escaped her lips. Relief? Or something closer to vindication.

"Good," she murmured. "If she were gone, Hell would already be burning itself down in grief."

I huffed. "You give Hell too much credit. It burns itself down for sport."

That earned a small, genuine smile.

"So what happened?"

She asked, and I know what she is talking about. Why am I an Exile Prince?

"Well, the moment I drew ’my’ first breath, she was claimed by... Demon Sleep."

She waited for me to elaborate.

"...Demon Sleep is a disease," I continued quietly. "In this disease, the patient falls into a deep sleep and won’t be able to wake up. Then their body gradually starts to become weak... and eventually, they meet death."

The last word lingered.

"...Death," Carmilla repeated softly.

The word didn’t echo.

It sank—like a nail driven into ancient stone.

I didn’t look at her. My gaze stayed on Eris, on the steady rise and fall of her chest, on the warmth that proved some things in this universe still worked the way they should.

"Demon Sleep isn’t fast," I continued. "It’s... cruelly patient. The stronger the being, the longer it takes. Weeks for lesser demons. Decades. Centuries, for someone like her."

Carmilla’s fingers curled, slow and controlled. A queen’s restraint. But there was something sharp behind it.

"And during this... sleep," she asked, "who ruled?"

"For the seven years, Demon King Daemon."

"Only seven years?.... Killed?"

"Spot on~"

The tilde escaped me before I could stop it. Habit. Gallows humour. The kind you develop when the truth is too sharp to hold barehanded.

Carmilla didn’t smile.

She didn’t frown either.

She simply waited.

"...Killed," she repeated, testing the word. "By whom?"

I exhaled slowly.

"The Seven Satans."

The air changed.

Not dramatically. No shockwaves. No screaming echoes of ancient oaths.

But the temperature dropped a fraction.

Even the dormant wards of the 99th Floor reacted—stone veins faintly glowing, then dimming again, like a body flinching in its sleep.

Carmilla turned fully toward me now.

"The Seven," she said. "All of them."

"All of them," I confirmed. "United. Coordinated. Surgical."

Her eyes narrowed. "That alone narrows the list of motives."

"Power vacuum," I said. "Fear. Opportunity. Take your pick. Hell had a Queen in a coma and a King who—"

"—wasn’t born to rule," she finished quietly.

I didn’t correct her.

Daemon was many things. Powerful. Ruthless when cornered. Terrifying in battle.

But he was never meant to sit on a throne shaped by inevitability.

"He held the line for seven years," I continued. "Long enough for Hell to realise two things."

Carmilla tilted her head. "Which were?"

"One—Lilith wasn’t waking up anytime soon. And two—Daemon wouldn’t become her."

Silence followed.

Not awkward. Not heavy.

I’d learned, over time, that some silences were simply acknowledgements.

"And so," Carmilla said slowly, "they removed him."

"Yes."

"And you?"

I glanced down at Eris again. Still asleep. Still breathing. Still blissfully ignorant of how many cosmic disasters had been triggered by people who shared her bloodline.

"I was... inconvenient."

The words left my mouth flat, almost casual—but Carmilla felt the weight behind them immediately.

"I was one of a kind," I continued, voice low, steady. "Born with a talent that didn’t make sense. Monstrous-grade affinity with all seven sins. Not fragments. Not compatibility. Total resonance."

Her eyes widened just a fraction.

"I guess even Lucifer—Helel—didn’t have that," she said quietly.

"No," I agreed. "He specialised. I didn’t."

I leaned back slightly in the chair, stone cool against my spine, Eris still warm and real in my arms.

"My demonic energy reserves... even at seven," I went on, "were obscene. If all Seven Satans pooled theirs together, it still wouldn’t have matched what my body could have grown into."

Carmilla inhaled slowly.

"Potential like that," she said, "isn’t just threatening. It’s destabilising."

"Exactly."

I looked up at the frozen ceiling—at chandeliers suspended in time, mid-fall, like they too had once hesitated.

"I wasn’t just Lilith’s son," I said. "I was the future. And futures scare people who are sitting comfortably on stolen thrones."

Carmilla’s jaw tightened.

"So they didn’t kill you," she said. "They—"

"—couldn’t," I finished. "Not without consequences, they weren’t ready to face."

I smiled faintly. Not a happy smile.

"Even comatose, my mother was still Lilith Morningstar. Killing her son outright would’ve lit a fuse Hell wasn’t prepared to burn down."

"But they were the satans; others’ opinions didn’t matter to them. But when ’she’ stood by my side, they couldn’t dare..." Just thinking of her, my lips curved upward.

"...She?" Carmilla echoed softly.

I didn’t answer immediately.

Not because I didn’t want to.

Because some names—some existences—carry weight even when spoken casually. And saying it aloud always felt like tapping on a sealed coffin, never quite knowing what would answer back.

I lowered my gaze to Eris again, buying myself a second.

"...My maid," I said at last. "Grayfia Lucifuge."

"A maid? She had the power to deter the satans?"

Carmilla stared at me.

Not with disbelief.

With recalibration.

"A... maid," she repeated slowly. "And the Seven Satans hesitated."

I gave a small shrug. "Titles are deceptive. Power rarely wears the clothes people expect."

Her crimson eyes sharpened. "Explain."

I exhaled, leaning back just enough that the stone chair creaked faintly beneath my weight. Eris shifted, wings fluttering once before settling again, her small hand still gripping my coat like an anchor. I adjusted her reflexively before continuing.

"Grayfia Lucifuge," I said, "with titles too many to count, like Silver-Haired Queen of Annigilation, The unmoving Glacier, One-Woman Warcrime... the Executioner of House Morningstar... She didn’t just stop the Satans because she could fight. She stopped them because she existed. Because the moment they considered crossing her, even a little, the cost became unthinkable."

I glanced at Carmilla. "She sealed me for over a thousand years. One thousand and twenty-two, to be exact. Not because she wanted to, not because she could—because she calculated that letting me live even a day outside the seal would destabilize everything."

Carmilla’s expression sharpened. She didn’t blink. "And you... You survived?"

"...Not before getting stripped of everything, they took my talents, my sin affinities... left me nothing but a husk."

I let the words hang. The silence in the room wasn’t empty—it was dense, like molten iron cooling in slow motion.

Carmilla’s crimson eyes didn’t waver. She tilted her head, curiosity and calculation mingling. "And yet... You sit here. Slaughtered every vampire from the ground to the 100th floor. Heh~ if you’re a husk, then I wonder what the original vessel looked like," she finished for herself, voice quiet but sharp.

I let out a humourless laugh, brushing a lock of Eris’ hair back. "You wouldn’t like it. Fragile, pitiful... basically a child they’d underestimated because they didn’t see the threat coming."

Carmilla’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly. "A child who terrified the Seven Satans."

I shrugged. "In retrospect, yes. But at the time? I was a weakling by their standards. A nuisance. Nothing more."

"Well, that’s my story." I leaned back.

Carmilla let the words settle, the faintest hum of acknowledgement vibrating through the ruined hall. Her crimson eyes softened slightly—not in pity, but in appraisal.

"Interesting," she murmured, tilting her head. "So, the child they underestimated... grew into the one who no longer needs to prove anything."

I smirked faintly, though the weight of those years pressed behind it. "Proof is overrated. People always forget: the moment you start proving, you’re already behind."

She stepped closer again, her boots echoing faintly on the stone floor. "And yet here you are," she said, voice low, deliberate, "cradling a child like her survival depends on you." Her eyes flicked briefly to Eris, still sleeping. "And perhaps... it does."

I followed her gaze, then back to her. "It does. But not because of destiny or some grand cosmic right. Because someone has to survive—and if not me, then who?"

Carmilla’s lips twitched into a subtle, almost amused smile. "You are pragmatic," she noted. "And stubborn. Dangerous traits for someone who’s... nothing by your own admission."

"Nothing by their standards," I corrected quietly. "Everything by mine."

I continued, "It’s time to leave, so what do you need to do?"

"Blood Bond Ritual. It is only done between husband and wife. But through choice, one side can surrender to the other without violating law," Carmilla said softly, crimson eyes fixed on mine. "I... choose to surrender my will to you."

I froze for a fraction. The words weren’t theatrical. They weren’t whispered promises or desperation—they were deliberate, legal, and final.

"You mean... fully?" I asked carefully, my voice low. "Blood, will, name—everything?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "Every aspect I can offer. Without coercion. Without expectation. Purely... because I wish to."

"So that’s what you meant by offering yourself to me, huh?"

"Exactly."

"...You really want to do this?" I asked one final time before anything permanent could happen.

Carmilla’s gaze didn’t waver. Her crimson eyes were calm, steady, sharper than any blade I’d ever seen. "Yes," she said simply. "I have chosen. And I am aware of what it entails."

I let the words hang for a heartbeat, just long enough for the gravity of centuries and laws and bloodlines to press down between us. Then I exhaled slowly.

"Alright," I said quietly. "If we’re doing this... it’s on my terms, and it’s mutual. Nothing hidden. Nothing forced."

A subtle tilt of her head. "Agreed. That is the law of the bond, is it not?"

"What do I have to do?"

She eyed Eris on my lap and then gestured toward a fluffy chair.

I got the intention behind it, I stood up and placed the sleeping Eris on it, and walked back to Carmilla, letting my fingers brush hers briefly as I did, careful not to disrupt the still-sleeping child. Her hand was cool, but not lifeless—steady, controlled, like tempered steel.

"Sit."

I sat, and immediately she placed herself on my lap, looping her hands around my neck.

And her faint blush could be seen on her pale cheeks, subtle but very real. Her crimson eyes held mine, calm yet shimmering with centuries of decision-making, finally resting on a single moment.

A deep crimson rune circle lit up beneath us on the ground.

"Now, I-I will drink yours and you will m-mine." There were tumours in her voice, as bashful expression overtook her usual calm look.

"Whoa~ impatient already, wanna suck me dry~" My playful attitude earned me a slap on the back of my head.

"Be serious."

I raised a brow at the slap, hiding my grin behind my hand. "Alright, alright... serious mode activated," I said, leaning slightly closer, letting our foreheads brush again. The rune beneath us pulsed faintly, as though sensing the weight of the commitment about to unfold.

Carmilla’s crimson eyes didn’t waver, but her breath hitched slightly, betraying just a flicker of anticipation.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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