Became Pregnant With the Demon King’s Child

"Bring out the next dish."
Reading Lowell’s dissatisfaction with ease, Felix wasted no time in ordering another course. Though he himself still couldn’t eat properly due to morning sickness, the moment Lowell’s spoon slowed even slightly, Felix would grow sharply sensitive—so his reaction was only natural.

No matter what they bring, I probably won’t be satisfied. What grown adult throws a tantrum over food? Just eat it.
But Lowell, having already given up all hope after the first dish, waved Felix off.
"It’s fine. It’s good, really—I’ll eat it."

Even as he said so, his hands moved sluggishly. He was eating a paprika-scented potato soup, but his mind was flooded with thoughts of completely different dishes.
I’m eating something with potatoes, so now I want gamjatang. I know it’s not the same kind of potato, but it’s still got potatoes in it, right? If I could eat that rich broth over rice, with some boiled greens on top, I’d have no other wishes left.
What was going into his mouth was rich and nutty rather than spicy, but what filled his head was the hearty, spicy taste of gamjatang. Truthfully, he’d never craved that dish before in his life, and that surprised him.

"This dish adds a spicy kick to seafood."
The next dish, brought in hastily by the cook, resembled steamed shellfish. Its red color showed they’d tried to make it look spicy, at least. But once again, the scent that hit Lowell’s nose was paprika. He was starting to deeply resent paprika powder.
I want steamed monkfish.

This new dish didn’t bring happiness—it just stirred a fresh wave of longing.
"This looks delicious. I’ll enjoy it."
Lowell smiled as he picked up his knife. As he cut the cuttlefish in half and took a bite, the rich fragrance of olive oil and smooth butter filled his mouth. The paprika that followed rounded out the flavor nicely. It was a good dish, honestly.

Still, I want monkfish stew. Steamed with bean sprouts, topped with intestines, mixed with sesame oil and seaweed over scorched fried rice—God, that’s heaven.
But even this couldn’t satisfy his craving. What Lowell wanted wasn’t just "tasty food"—it was tasty Korean food.
"Is this not to your liking either?"

Felix, who had finally regained the ability to eat seafood, carefully removed the head and tail of a shrimp and placed it onto Lowell’s spoon. Lowell, realizing his expression must have slipped, quickly resumed chewing and forced a bright smile.
"The seafood’s fresh, so it tastes great. You should try some too, Felix."
Lowell placed a cut piece of cuttlefish onto Felix’s plate. From the outside, they looked like a sweet couple sharing food—but the atmosphere was far from harmonious.

One of them was mentally craving an imaginary meal, disappointed by every bite, while the other was growing increasingly anxious over what might actually satisfy him.
"If you don’t want to eat, there’s no need to force yourself. If there’s something you’re craving, tell me—I’ll get it for you."
"It’s not that I don’t want to eat. It’s just… I want something a bit spicier. Ideally, something made with real chili peppers, not paprika."
"I’ll make sure it’s arranged for dinner."

Felix nodded seriously.
"Even better if it’s something exotic."
"There are chefs from other regions. I’ll have them brought to the castle."

Lowell was about to say that wasn’t necessary—but stopped. Maybe, just maybe, one of those chefs might know how to /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ make something similar to Korean food.
Is this homesickness? But it’s not like I’ve ever missed Korea enough to feel nostalgic.
He sat there, poking at his food, trying to figure out why he suddenly craved Korean dishes so desperately. Felix, unusually still, stared at Lowell’s dish clinking against the cutlery, then finally spoke.

"I heard that when people get pregnant, they start craving all sorts of food. If they don’t get it then, it leaves a lingering regret later. So if there’s anything you want, be honest with me from now on."
That was when Lowell realized it wasn’t homesickness driving him—it was the pregnancy.
I can’t believe Felix figured that out before I did.

He’d been so consumed by the craving itself that he didn’t even consider hormones might be the cause. After sipping his tea, Lowell made a playful, childlike face.
"Did you read that in one of your books?"
"I did."

Lowell had once said Felix would make a good father—but seeing him like this, he started thinking Felix might make a good husband too.
Knowing the reason makes all the difference.
If it had just been a fickle craving, he would’ve felt too guilty to pursue it. But now that there was a clear reason, that changed everything. Lowell no longer felt bad about tapping into Felix’s wealth.

"Then I won’t hold back. This is our shared responsibility, after all."
And so began Lowell’s pseudo-Korean food project.
***

"That’s a rather unique smell. Are you sure you can eat it?"
"Yes, I’m fine."
The exotic chef Felix had summoned presented a dish that resembled pilaf. It was definitely spicier than what the ducal castle’s own cooks had managed—but still, it lacked that kick. Felix took a bite and immediately covered his mouth. It wasn’t just the spice—there was a strong, distinct aroma that made his morning sickness come rushing back.

Still, at least this tastes a little spicy.
Lowell still longed for stir-fried rice doused in spicy broth, but decided he’d better settle for this. He ate more than he had at lunch, which seemed to reassure Felix a little.
But that peace didn’t last.

That night, while sleeping as usual, Lowell suddenly jolted awake.
"Lowell, was it a nightmare again?"
Felix, ever-sensitive, woke the moment he felt Lowell stir. But the expression on Lowell’s face was something Felix had never seen before—teeth clenched, frustration written all over his features. He looked somewhere between furious and devastated. Convinced something serious had happened, Felix sat up and stroked Lowell’s face.

"What happened? Did something bad occur?"
"I’m fine."
Lowell sighed heavily, but looked completely deflated. Felix anxiously ran his hand down from Lowell’s shoulder to his waist, checking to make sure he wasn’t hurt.

"You’re not hiding something from me, are you? If we wait until something big happens, it’ll already be too late."
The crescent moon cast a pale light over the bed. Lowell’s hands were trembling. To someone like Felix, this would sound ridiculous.
I just really, really want stir-fried spicy pork right now!

And yet, the craving was so intense he couldn’t push it down.
"Lowell."
He couldn’t even explain it. Even if he said "spicy pork," Felix wouldn’t know what that meant. And to tell someone who looked that serious that you’d lost sleep over pork? How absurd would that be?

"I can’t take this. I’m calling the priest."
But the longer Lowell stayed quiet, the more Felix’s worry snowballed like an avalanche. In the end, Lowell had to surrender.
"I just… remembered something I really want to eat."

"What?"
"There’s this dish I want so badly, I can’t fall asleep."
He buried his face in his hands. The frustration of not being able to eat it—and the shame of having to admit that—was enough to make him want to disappear. At first, Felix genuinely questioned if that expression of torment had really been over food.

"Are you seriously telling me that’s the reason?"
"Why would I lie at a time like this?"
But when Felix saw him smacking his lips, he had no choice but to believe it. It was a little shocking—but food was important.

"Then let’s have it made right now."
Lowell, however, wasn’t that shameless. The idea of waking up the already-sleeping staff to cook just boiled the blood of the office worker he used to be. He’d rather die than stoop that low.
"No, it’s fine. Eating at night isn’t good for your health anyway."

"But you can’t sleep."
"I’ll be okay if I just close my eyes and lie here for a bit."
Lowell pulled the blanket over himself and lay down like he wasn’t going to discuss it further. Felix didn’t force him, simply replying, "All right," and lying beside him.

But no matter how many times he turned or shifted, Lowell couldn’t settle down.
White rice… with spicy, fatty pork… God, it’d be amazing.
His desire for stir-fried spicy pork only grew stronger.

By morning, Lowell had made up his mind to take drastic action.
"I need to borrow the kitchen."
Waiting for someone to spoon-feed him just wasn’t in his nature.

If you want something done, do it yourself.
Lowell’s eyes burned with a long-lost fire of determination.