Some time after Alastor first arrived in Hell and established himself as a powerful Overlord, he received an unexpected proposition: a position serving the royal family. It was a highly prestigious opportunity, one that few demons would ever be offered.

The royal family consisted of Lucifer and Lilith, who resided in a relatively small castle tucked away on the outskirts of Hell.

Seeing the value of the position, Alastor accepted and began working for them.

However, it did not take him long to notice that the image of a united royal couple was little more than a façade. Behind closed doors, Lucifer and Lilith barely spoke to one another, and their relationship was far from healthy. More often than not, Lilith treated Lucifer poorly, leaving Alastor to realize that the royal family he had joined was not nearly as perfect as it appeared.

The castle was small by infernal standards—humble spires, old stone, and windows that looked out over the dim red horizon of Hell’s early morning. It was the kind of place meant for privacy rather than power, and Alastor had learned quickly that privacy was exactly what the “royal family” was drowning in.

He arrived in the main hall just as the first pale glow of hellfire dawn crawled through the windows. The air was cool, still, and heavy with the silence of a home where no one really slept, but no one truly lived either. Alastor’s cane clicked softly as he walked, the sound crisp in the empty corridor. He liked mornings—they belonged to him. No screaming souls, no political parasites, no Lilith drifting by with her cold perfume and colder eyes. Just quiet. And Lucifer. He stopped outside the king’s study and knocked once.

“Your Majesty?”

Alastor chimed, voice pleasantly musical. “It’s time to rise.”

There was no answer. There rarely was. Alastor pushed the door open. Lucifer lay sprawled across the tangled sheets, one wing half-unfurled, face pressed into a pillow as if trying to suffocate himself back to sleep. His crown hung crooked on the bedpost—he never took it off willingly, only lost it in the night like a frustrated child.

The room smelled faintly of ozone, misery, and very old perfume.

“Up and at ’em”

Alastor said cheerfully, though his eyes flicked over the faint bruised hollows under Lucifer’s eyes, the exhaustion buried in the man’s posture. Lilith had returned late the previous night, her heels clicking across the marble floors, her voice sharp and cold. Lucifer hadn’t left his room after that.

Alastor set the tray down on the bedside table and tapped lightly on the bedframe.

“Your drink is prepared. You have three meetings before midday, and Her Majesty has requested your presence at breakfast.”

Lucifer groaned into the pillow.

“Did she… request or demand?”