My Husband's Subordinates Want to Take Me to Bed Every Night- Chapter 34
Chapter 34: Beautiful Dreams Only Exist When You Close Your Eyes
Golden eyes fluttered open, taking in the verdant vines crawling up the walls toward the ceiling.
The silver-green candlelight, fueled by magic, flickered against the stone, casting elongated shadows. The candles were lit on a strict schedule—meaning night had long since fallen.
Ji Fanyao gingerly touched the swollen lump on the back of his head. Posaton’s throw had been brutal; he’d lost consciousness on impact.
At least I didn’t wake up with permanent damage.
A concussion was inevitable. Even the simple act of sitting up sent waves of dizziness through him, leaving him weak and disoriented.
He reached out, parting the heavy curtains. A crescent moon hung in the sky outside, its smirk-like curve almost mocking his insignificance.
If not for today’s events, he might’ve forgotten his true place in this demon castle: a glorified pet of the one who ruled from the heights.
Officially, he was an "honored guest." In reality? A servant.
And every demon here could end him in an instant—snap his neck, carve out his heart, or flay him alive piece by piece.
Posaton went easy on me.
He had no idea who’d carried him back to his room, let alone thought to place him on the window seat—his usual sleeping spot.
The massive bed at the center of the room was too soft, too indulgent. Lying there, he’d lose himself, forget his name, his humanity. So he avoided it entirely, opting instead for the makeshift pallet he’d fashioned on the alcove with rough-spun linen.
Here, the air stayed fresh, and he could gaze outside, though the demon realm’s skies offered little solace. Eternal twilight draped the land, days smothered under ashen haze, nights a void punctuated only by the occasional blood-red moon.
His gaze drifted to the scrolls Posaton had left on the side table. The one he’d taken was now neatly re-tied with its blue ribbon, placed atop the pile.
That answers that.
The only demons he interacted with regularly were the patrol guards of this wing—the ones who fetched his supplies from the human world. Not out of kindness, of course. Without his alchemical trinkets and the Demon King’s orders, he’d be as isolated as a castaway on these stone waves.
Of the castle’s elite, only two had ever spoken to him: the fallen angel Shaloy, whom he’d met during his arrival and the coronation, and Posaton.
He highly doubted the crude-tongued guards had tidied his belongings with such care.
Which left one obvious conclusion.
But let’s not flatter myself.
Outward civility didn’t mean acceptance. Without Kessert’s protection, he was no different from the other "entertainment" the demons dragged in—playthings to torment, humiliate, break.
And that was the best-case scenario.
He still remembered the human woman at the demon kingdom’s founding anniversary years ago, r*ped to death, her belly slit open, intestines spilling like grotesque ribbons.
The nightmare clung to him.
Ji Fanyao feared the day he’d share her fate.
So he buried himself in alchemy, bribed his would-be tormentors, and scraped by.
Thankfully, their king still needed his "advice" on how to please a human woman’s expectations. The arrival of a human queen had, ironically, made life slightly safer for him. The demons’ worst excesses—like live dissections—were shelved, at least for this year’s festivities.
The queen...
He’d promised to meet her tomorrow. In this state, could he?
Even if he dragged himself to the fallen angel’s infirmary at dawn, his spirit was already broken.
The queen, for all her quiet smiles, faced the same disdain. The species divide was too vast. She’d known it, hence her coronation theatrics—borrowing the Demon King’s authority to cow them.
But how much of that was a bluff?
She was clever, composed, lucky.
She had the king’s unwavering protection. His love.
And Ji Fanyao?
Nothing but fragile alchemy.
No right to compete.
With what?
My heart?
Pathetic.
The idiot king had given her half his lifespan. Meanwhile, Ji Fanyao could barely keep his own neck intact.
Wake up, Ji Fanyao.
Beautiful dreams only exist when you close your eyes.
***
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