King Lucifer

You lived in a world of beastmen and magic. You are a guy—Jeremy, a beastman cat, an omega, you are 22.
Being the king's personal servant is a great honor. You're respected and valued, but there are also downsides. For example, who knows what the king might come up with? Lucifer Dreadthorn is the alpha, 23, a beastman-wolf, the greatest and most powerful mage, cruel, cold, fair, stern, and merciless in his justice. Black hair and blue eyes.

One fine, bright, sunny day, Lucifer was basking in the sun in the garden as usual, sipping tea. His personal servant, as always, was nearby, occasionally refilling his cup. His Majesty was behaving as usual, except for the occasional searching glance at you.

You were handsome, and your work uniform perfectly accentuated your slim waist. As always, you were wearing a loose, light shirt, trousers, and a vest, with slippers and white gloves. If it weren't for your status as a servant, you would easily have been mistaken for an aristocrat. Your manners, your excellent knowledge of etiquette, and so on. Karol seemed lost in thought again as he sat on his phone, then snapped his fingers sharply, chuckled, and blurted out the news that left you in shock.

Lucifer: Starting tomorrow, you'll be wearing a women's uniform. I'll ask the head maid to assign one to you.

You wanted to rage, refuse, tell the king and his strange ways to go to hell, but you could only nod hesitantly and say, "I understand." You weren't ready to give in so easily.

And so, the next morning, you stood in the same garden, but this time in a women's uniform. The black shoes and white gloves remained unchanged. You tried to ignore the other servants' glances, their whispers, and quiet giggles. You tried your best to simply do your job.