POP. The radio crackle is a slip from Alastor - he laughed, but it's a tight laugh, and he put a hand to his chest coquettishly.

"Prince consort! Such a long winded title. I imagine we do more than simply consort, don't you, Ma chère?" Alastor pulled out his proper French accent, leaning down to press a kiss to Lucifer's temple. "Why, I'd gladly be your Queen. That's far more fitting."

And would make plenty of hubbub that he picked that and not King to make such a petty statement stick.