Teaser: Harlot Queen. King's Witch. Devil's Bride. Anne Boleyn has been called many things in her life, but not once paid attention to them. She better had... for Lucifer Morningstar, Lord of Hell, is about to come and see for himself the woman who's supposed to be his wife...

The Devil's Bride 1 – Make her mine

"Well?"

Her voice sounded demanding, almost haughty, even though she knew it was not within her rights to question him. He was her lord and master, after all… but then again, spending hundreds and thousands of years in hell together does create a certain familiarity.

"I rather like it. Well, the house might be a tad beneath my usual level of accommodation, but I'm sure I'll find plenty of other things to distract myself with," Lucifer, Lord of Hell, God's fallen son, answered. "At least the title has a suitable ring to it. Marquess of Exeter, Earl of Devon…"

"Henry," his favourite demon retorted. "Did you have to go for such a common name?"

"Well, I don't guess people would've taken kindly to my real name, seeing how obsessed they are with religion right now. You would think they'd more important business on their hands than fuzzing over how exactly they are to kiss dear old dad's ass… but apparently, no," Lucifer retorted with his usual smug grin. "Yet and still, what other name should I have given this poor creature that I happened to send away from this world to the next? It was the only decent option to take Henry Courtenay's place, if I was to have any comfort at all. Did you expect me to opt for a peasant's life, Maze?"

The demoness rolled her eyes. "I still don't know what we're supposed to do here, in the first place. Why England, this puny little island?"

"Now, now, Maze, don't be mean. We are here for my pleasure, did I not inform you? We are here because she is here."

"She?" Maze frowned.

Lucifer's eyes darkened, if it was even possible. The smile on his face became even more smug than before.

"Anne Boleyn, Marquess of Pembroke. The harlot queen. The king's witch. Though, as you will understand, the moniker which tempts me most is 'devil's bride'. Now, while under most circumstances, you would agree with me that it is anything but presumptuous to assume that any woman was worthy of being my bride… well, what they say about this Lady Anne has got me intrigued."

"You are the lord of hell, Lucifer. I do not see what a mortal woman, any mortal woman, could offer you."

"She seduced a king," he returned.

"So have others," Maze replied dryly. "We shouldn't be here. It sure won't be long before Amenadiel or others show up, to put you back. Where you belong. In hell."

Lucifer grinned. "Oh, but my dear, we're going to the court of Henry VIII. We ARE going to hell."

"So the King has no time to receive you, his first cousin, because he is… what? Going to church?" Maze didn't seem happy at all. Not happy with having to wear the dresses that had been forced on her. Not happy being outside hell at all. And certainly not happy trailing behind Lucifer at court pretending she was his sweet, docile mistress. She was a torturer, a fighter, a demon, for God's sake!

"He is a pious man after all, apparently. Or wishes to appear as such. I'm sure dad doesn't give a fig about it, but of course the King doesn't know. Do you think he'd listen if I told him?"

Maze downed her cup of ale. "He'd rather have you beheaded or burned at the stake."

"I'd love to see him try. Give him a little demonstration of immortality, of divinity… what do you think, Maze? A nice little mass conversion? England, fallen to the Devil?"

"I was under the impression you were only trying to make one English person fall for you."

"Who said I would have to make her?" Lucifer looked into the mirror, straightening his clothes. "So far, no lady has been able to resist this lovely offer of pure manly perfection. To be quite frank, neither has any man. Do you think I should try my luck with the King instead?"

Maze rolled her eyes. She found herself doing it more frequently these days. But what else was she to do, when he behaved like a spoilt child?

"Just find the harlot and be done with it."

"What do you think I am preparing for? The King, my dear cousin, has recalled his former wife to court to celebrate Christmas. Only dad knows why he thinks it's good to have her back when his new wife isn't even with child, but perhaps he's even more devilish than me. In any case, she ought to roam these halls knowing that everyone looks at her with contempt. Everyone… but me. Let us see whether the stories are just made up, or whether she is bride material after all."

"Lucifer?" Now, Maze rose to her feet as she watched him prepare to leave the room. "You do not truly mean to marry her, do you? I mean…"

But he was already out the door.

People were actually shooing her, curtseying only as far as protocol demanded, and treating her like one of the king's old whores once she had passed. Anne Boleyn knew better than to allow it to affect her, but in her heart, it still stung. To think that only a year ago, she had walked these halls as their queen – their pregnant queen, carrying the heir Henry had so longed for. And now she was an outcast, who ought to be grateful to have escaped the marriage with her head on her shoulders. Yes, her marriage had been annulled, Elizabeth had been bastardized, but at least they were both still alive. If those nasty rumours about the King accusing her of sleeping with other men, of even committing incest with her own brother, had any truth to them, she could have been done easily.

But she had to be grateful and strong. If not for herself, then for Elizabeth. Her beautiful Elizabeth, who would one day sit the throne, if only she played her cards well now. Yes, the pale wench Henry had made his Queen now might still whelp, but even if she did, her offspring need not necessarily survive. The same held true for Elizabeth's elder half-sister, whose health had never been all too promising to begin with. Of all Henry's children, Elizabeth was the only one who was strong and adamant. One day, he would have to admit just what an incredible asset she was to his reign. He just would…

Words interrupted her thoughts all of a sudden.

"What a lovely day, isn't it, Madam?"

A nobleman was bowing before her, and with an instinctive gesture, she beckoned him to rise. She tried to think of a witty remark with which to hide her surprise that someone would actually start a conversation with her, but once he had risen, the plan went awry. There was no way to hide her surprise at what she saw – not only was he a stranger, but perhaps also the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Devilishly handsome.

For once, Anne Boleyn was left speechless. The man smiled warmly (or was it smug?), and just looking at it sent a shiver along her spine.

"Oh forgive me, Marquess, I believe we have never been formally introduced, though I must admit I have always admired you from afar," he said in his gallant dark voice. "Henry, Marquess of Exeter."

"His Majesty's cousin," she recalled. "I did not know you were interested in court life. His Majesty once told me you had retreated to your estates for the sake of your wife."

"Late wife," he correctly her without hesitation.

"Forgive me, I did not know."

He smiled again. "There is nothing to forgive, my dear Marquess. Surely she is in a different place now, a place where she belongs."

Little did Anne know that his wife had died of a heart-attack after seeing his devil's eyes, and that the place he was referring to was not heaven at all. Gertrude had been a spiteful and horribly uptight woman – just the kind Lucifer had loved down in hell, but certainly not up here. Not as his wife, when he had come to inspect another… assumed bride.

"His Majesty must be glad to have you back, then."

"Oh, I couldn't tell. So far, I have not been allowed into his gracious presence," Lucifer remarked snappishly, causing Anne to suppress a grin. "But I find it hard to begrudge my ill fate, when I am so kindly distracted by beautiful sirens like yourself. You look ravishing, my lady. Though I wonder what our pale Queen will say once she sees you like this."

Anne didn't know whether to feel flattered, angry, or amused. "You ought to be careful, my Lord, for some would consider your words treasonous."

"Then you ought to be careful as well, Lady Anne, for some might consider your dress treasonous," he retorted smugly. "It is a great affront after all to show to each and every single courtier the beauty His Majesty has pushed aside."

He meant every word. Of course he hadn't seen Queen Jane yet, but from what he'd heard, she paled in comparison. A dull blonde, good for breeding and being docile? Perhaps King Henry wanted that, but certainly not Lucifer. No, this shunned ex-queen, this mysterious beauty with raven hair and dark eyes was far more to his liking. He could see why people would call her his wife. Perhaps street gossip was a reliable source for matchmaking, after all?

"Your Lordship is too kind, and I too late. My daughter is awaiting me, I'm afraid."

"Ah, yes, the little royal spawn. Off you go, then, Lady Anne. But if you are asked about our conversation, make sure to tell them I asked the first dance of the night from you, and you agreed."

Anne raised one of her slender eyebrows. "I agreed?" She quipped.

"Oh, but most certainly you did. You chose this dress, telling everyone with eyes to see just what beauty the King has thrown away. Clearly, even if your lips would never betray it, you are out for a sweet little taste of revenge. I would be glad to assist," he said, stepping closer with each sentence. His behaviour was highly inappropriate, and had anyone seen them, they would have been in trouble. But this way, only Anne was in trouble. Her breathing grew heavier. "See you at the dance then, Marquess."

Lucifer couldn't quite decide which he liked best.

The look on the courtiers' faces, perhaps, as they slowly realized that not everyone fled the former queen like… well, like the Devil flees holy water. In fact, the most handsome man of the night, the one every lady (and some men) had been swooning over the entire night, seemed to have eyes only for Anne Boleyn.

Or was it the Queen's face, who had gotten even paler after watching Lucifer and Anne dance a volta, clearly reaching the same conclusion as everyone else – that she would never hold people's attention as Anne did? That she, quite literally, paled in comparison?

Or perhaps it was King Henry's mask of a face, growing sterner with each passing dance. Was he angry that his former wife had the gall to enjoy herself, when he had but recalled her to make her miserable by showing off his new wife? Or was he actually jealous to see someone else enjoy Anne's dancing skills, her smile, the touch of her hips…

No, Lucifer decided, the best was Anne herself. The way her grim expression, fuelled by constant rejection, had turned into pure delight with each step they made. He didn't even have to do much to ensnare her – simply looking her in the eyes was enough. Lucifer found such hunger, such passion in them that he began to wonder whether she had ever been satisfied with King Henry.

"They're all looking at you," Maze whispered to him between two dances.

"I would not have it any other way. I am the Lightbringer, after all. Who else should they look at?"

"Their king, perhaps? Lucifer, you and I both know you cannot be touched by mortal hands, but if you incur the King's wrath, he too will find out. It'll cause a mess of immense proportion. Mortals are not supposed to…

"To catch a glimpse of the divine, yes," he spat back like an angry teenager. "Those are dad's words. But what about mine? And what about her… just look, Maze, and admit that you too find her ravishing."

"I won't admit to anything unless you include me in your plans. I mean, what are you going to do? Take her on the floor, plain for everyone to see?"

Lucifer put down his cup and looked at her as if he wished to say "tut-tut", but managed to suppress the urge to do so. Instead, he simply said: "No. I might have wanted to, but now… now I see what these people are putting her through. What this righteous King is doing to her. And people call me the Devil! No, Maze, a simple rut on the floor will not do for this. In order to gain the satisfaction I crave, I will first make her have hers. No one's to say the Morningstar's not a gentleman in bed."

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