For most demon royalty, a morning began with weapon drills, political meetings, or punishing servants for imagined offenses.
Kujo's mornings started with a winged woman on his back and a jackal-eared mage curled around his leg.
"Marry me," Kyrie whispered for the fourth time that morning, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
"No—marry me," Setara said firmly, lying on the rug beside his chair, staring up at him with half-lidded eyes and an ever-serious pout.
Kujo, seated at the reading couch in his private study, looked like a prisoner under siege. His robe hung loosely around his chest, his hair was barely combed, and the book in his lap was open to a page he hadn't read in ten minutes.
He gave a weak laugh. "You two are relentless…"
"Because you're perfect," Kyrie hummed. "Strong. Kind. Surprisingly squishy to cuddle."
"You have a gentle heart," Setara said, voice smooth as silk. "It would be cruel not to worship it properly. With rings."
Dimara sat on the window sill, nibbling on a bowl of soulfruit, glaring at both of them with puffed cheeks. "Tch. Opportunists."
Kujo raised a hand weakly. "Alright, alright—can we please slow down a little? I haven't even eaten yet."
Setara raised a brow. "Is that a no to marriage?"
"I…" he stammered, face reddening.
He didn't want to lie.
But the truth was something he couldn't say—not to them.
Because in his old world, he had never even kissed a girl. No handholding. No dates. No late-night texts, no shared umbrella moments. Romance was something other people had. He was just… normal. Average. Overlooked.
And now? Now he was being asked to marry women who were powerful, beautiful, and deadly.
He scratched the back of his head. "I just… don't know the first thing about marriage."
Kyrie leaned closer, her breath tickling his ear. "We could teach you."
He nearly dropped the book.
Setara smiled slyly. "We're very… patient teachers."
Dimara muttered, "I'll kill them both in their sleep."
He looked over at her. "What was that?"
"Nothing, Master~"
A knock came at the door.
Fiore stepped inside, armored as always, her expression unreadable. "Sir. There's a problem."
Kyrie sighed and floated backward with a flap of her wings. Setara stood gracefully and returned to her composed posture.
Kujo set his book down. "What now?"
Fiore glanced at the others, then met his eyes. "They're trying to blame you for Damas' death."
He didn't react. Not right away.
Setara tensed. Kyrie's tail flicked once in agitation.
"I thought Dimara cleaned it up?" Kujo said, narrowing his eyes.
"She did," Fiore confirmed. "The story was believable. The evidence was clean. But your siblings don't care about logic. They just want someone to hurt. And you're convenient."
He exhaled and leaned back. "So what now?"
"They're delaying judgment," Fiore said. "Until after the Minotaur family meeting tomorrow. If you say the wrong thing at that meeting, they'll use it as justification."
"Wonderful," he muttered. "So my survival now depends on diplomacy with a race known for smashing things."
Fiore nodded. "Correct."
Setara stepped forward. "Let me attend with you."
"You might escalate things," Kujo said.
"I can be polite," she replied.
"You literally ate a man's soul last week."
Kyrie raised her hand. "I can come too. I'll wear something with sleeves. And no spikes."
Kujo gave them a dry look. "Why does it feel like I'm assembling a murder cult disguised as a date team?"
Dimara beamed. "Because you're the best cult leader, Master."
Fiore finally allowed herself a tiny smirk.
"I'll handle the briefing," she said. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's meeting won't just decide political terms—it'll decide whether your enemies act openly."
Kujo nodded.
As the girls filed out of the room, Kyrie lingered by the door.
"Still no answer on the marriage thing?" she asked sweetly.
Setara looked back too, lips pursed.
Kujo buried his face in a pillow.
"I'll think about it," he groaned.
Dimara looked proud. "He's getting flustered. That means we're winning."
Outside his room, the palace creaked with unseen eyes, whispers of plotting siblings, and hidden knives.
But inside?
He was learning to live with love.
Even if it terrified him.
The meeting chamber was a warzone made of words and bureaucracy.
Kujo sat at the long obsidian table, back straight, arms folded, expression dead. He'd learned long ago that speaking too soon in these meetings only led to being dogpiled, insulted, or blamed. So he waited. And he ignored. And he endured.
Across from him, the Minotaur noblewoman slammed her fists on the table again.
"You think you can keep dodging me, mongrel prince?" she growled, her large breasts nearly spilling from her ceremonial armor. "You think your silence makes you clever?"
Kujo didn't even look up.
The other nobles around the table shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond. The Demon King remained quiet, letting the conversation unfold. The Queen only smirked.
"This council must take the future seriously!" the Minotaur continued. "Half-demon spawn are dangerous, unstable, and unfit to walk among true-blooded monsters. We have to make use of them before they use us."
"Such as?" one bored courtier asked.
"Slave trading," she replied without shame. "I already have a shipment arriving tonight. Four half-bloods—vampire, werewolf, dark elf, and dragonoid. Same as him."
All eyes flicked toward Kujo.
He blinked once. No emotion showed on his face. But inside, something cracked.
So this was it. They weren't just talking about him behind closed doors anymore. They were modeling economic policies after his blood. Monetizing half-blood suffering in plain daylight.
He stood up.
"Where are you going?" the Minotaur snapped.
He finally looked at her for the first time.
"I'm leaving."
No explanation. No anger. Just that.
She started yelling again. He was already out the door.
Back in his chambers, Kujo paced.
Dimara sat curled on the bed, eyes wide. Kyrie leaned against the balcony rail, tense. Setara stood near the bookshelf, silent. Fiore watched him carefully from the doorway.
"I'm leaving," Kujo said again. "Tonight."
"Where will you go?" Kyrie asked.
"Away. Far from here. Somewhere they won't find me."
Setara crossed her arms. "Why now?"
"They've made up their minds. I'm not a prince. I'm an excuse. A tool to poke and prod, to humiliate, to blame for everything. If I stay here, they'll never stop using me… and hurting you."
Dimara slid off the bed and clung to him. "So take us with you."
He looked down at her. "No. I want you all to live safe lives. Away from the bloodline wars. Away from me."
Kyrie stepped closer, her voice sharp. "Don't you dare say we're better off without you."
"I can't guarantee your safety out there," Kujo said. "Not like this."
"We don't care," Setara said.
"You should."
Fiore finally spoke, walking forward and stopping inches from him. "I've served in ten battlefronts. I've buried soldiers and lovers alike. But I chose you. If you think I'm letting you walk away alone, you've forgotten who raised my sword."
Dimara's eyes filled with tears. "You're the only warmth I've ever had. The only reason I'm not still in a cage."
Kyrie reached for his hand. "You saved me more than once. Now it's our turn."
Setara lowered her head. "I pledged myself to you. I meant it. I won't take it back."
Kujo looked around the room. The four women—demon, chimera, angel, jackal mage—all stared back with unwavering certainty.
He exhaled.
"…Fine."
Dimara bounced in place with a happy squeal.
"But if we're doing this," Kujo said, "we do it smart. We hit the vault. We grab what we can. We don't leave a trace."
Kyrie smirked. "I've got you covered."
She summoned a swirling violet magic portal with one hand—her spatial magic bending reality into a storage space the size of a mansion.
They moved quickly. Setara disabled the magical barriers. Fiore knocked out the guards. Kyrie sealed every scroll, artifact, and gem into her storage magic. Dimara stuffed her mouth with everything edible she could find—just in case.
They left with enough gold to fund a small army.
Enough supplies to last a year.
And the strength of four women who would rather die than lose him.
When they reached the edge of the palace city, Kujo looked back once. The towers of his prison home still glowed in the distance. Tall. Grand. Lifeless.
"Never again," he said quietly.
They vanished into the night.
Together.