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“You’re a big bad demon, but you’re not a monster. I remember you said something about that before.”

Melchom snorted. He couldn’t bring himself to accept those words, but he didn’t want to fight them, either. “Do you also remember when I said you were my brave Dove? This is why.”

“I’m not brave.”

“We’ll agree to disagree.”

“You’re weirdly soft,” Dove… complained? It literally sounded like he was complaining about the development. “How long was I… out, or whatever?”

“A day?” Melchom wasn’t entirely sure, either.

“B-but–” Dove’s eyes widened before he finished his sentence. His hands shot out to Melchom’s shoulders. “What about Gaz? She needs four walks per day. Poor girl must be desperate to–”

“She’s been heading out as needed.”

That switched something inside of Dove, activating the mama bear in him. “On her own? Since when can she do that?”

“Hellhounds aren’t dogs,” Melchom said for what he was sure wouldn’t be the last time. It wasn’t the first time, either. “She is completely independent.”

“But that first day, she kept jumping at me and crying, and you said it was because she needed to go out.”

“She prefers going outside with you,” and she’s an expert manipulator, but his Dove didn’t need to hear that last part. “You’re her Master.”

“That’s still weird.” The explanation calmed him down, though, enough to wrap himself around Melchom again. “Can I convince her to call me hooman or something like that instead?”

“Probably not.”

“I will.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Keeping a human shielded from feeling fear while in Hell was more challenging than Melchom would’ve imagined. When Flaga wasn’t knocking on his door to demand something or another about her businesses on Earth, there were sudden noises or fires starting somewhere. His Dove was strangely attuned to those. Even Melchom provoked fear in him sometimes, when he hoisted him up too suddenly or their kisses turned into more.

Melchom was resorting to holding his breath more often than not around the human. He was sure his Dove was starting to catch on, too. No words were exchanged about it, though, so Melchom kept on doing it.

He’d just come back from another tedious—and quite unnecessary—meeting with all the remaining Princes. His Dove was up and about, Gaz keeping watch over him from the ridiculously fluffy bed Dove had insisted on getting her.

“What are you doing, little Dove?”

Of course, Melchom knew what he was doing. His human was—again—curious about his trinkets and crowns. He was apparently wondering if he should own one now that he was the King’s… something. His thoughts came to a halt every time he tried to label his dynamic with Melchom.

It wasn’t the first time Melchom had noticed that happening. It was something else that went unspoken, another way they didn’t want to disturb the easy routine they seemed to have fallen into.

“If I wear a crown, should it match yours? Because none of these do.”

“The King of Hell has always been a lonely title. There’s not a precedent or a protocol for…” Melchom paused.

“What would my title be?” Dave faced him, heading toward him. There was mirth in his eyes. “I’ve always been partial to Consort. It sounds fancy.”

“You’ll be King Consort of Hell, then.” Melchom didn’t need to think about it.

He couldn’t have cared less about it. He cared about his human’s happiness. That was all that mattered.

“Really?” Dove’s nose wrinkled. It looked adorable. “We should hold a coronation, then. For you, too. Hell should know their King is back.”

That, however, pulled a groan out of Melchom. Big spectacles had been the last thing on his mind. He’d rather keep it that way, too. “Believe me, they know.”