I Raised the Demon Queen (Now She Won't Leave Me Alone)

There were two types of people in this world: those who calmly handled crises with thoughtful planning... and those who sat on their porch with a half-packed backpack, arguing with a tiny demon child over whether we needed to bring three frying pans.

I, regrettably, was both.

"I just think," Rhea said, balancing one of said pans on her head like a crown, "that a proper royal exile should include the means to fry eggs and intimidate squirrels."

"That's not a squirrel intimidation tool," I said, stuffing clothes into my worn-out duffel. "That's my last non-charred skillet."

She looked me in the eye.

"It now belongs to the monarchy."

"You're not even wearing shoes."

"I don't need shoes. I have authority."

I sighed, massaging my temples as I scanned the haphazard mess of our "escape supplies" strewn across the porch. A mostly-empty peanut butter jar. Two mismatched socks (both mine). A half-eaten cinnamon roll. And Rhea's enchanted plushie, Sir Swim-a-Lot, who was currently sitting in the herb pot like he was planning our route.

To be fair, he might've been more qualified than me.

Ever since our "incident" with Cleric Damaris, the neighborhood had gone quiet. Too quiet. Even the mailman started tossing letters from a distance.

Yesterday, I found a scroll from the Adventurers' Guild stabbed into my door with a fork.

That was their version of a polite warning.

Today, I had a meeting with the Guildmaster.

Possibly my last one.

"We could run," Rhea said, gently prodding Sir Swim-a-Lot like she was checking if his divinations were accurate.

"We could," I admitted.

"But?"

"But we're tired, our food's almost gone, you burned our emergency boots, and the forest hates you."

"It does not hate me."

"You summoned a shadow beast that tried to eat a tree spirit."

"He startled me!"

"You turned it into a lava puddle."

"That tree spirit smelled like mossy soap!"

I threw my arms in the air. "Then why are we still packing?!"

Rhea hesitated. Her voice quieted.

"Because I thought... maybe you'd leave me behind."

I turned slowly.

"What?"

"You always tell me not to use magic, or to calm down, or to hide," she said, kicking her feet. "And last time I almost... lost it. I thought maybe you'd decide it's too dangerous."

I knelt down, eye level with her.

"Rhea," I said softly, "you could turn this whole town into fondue and I'd still carry you on my back."

"Even if I made the fondue taste like regret?"

"Especially then."

She sniffed and nodded solemnly.

"Okay. But if we stay, I'm declaring myself Supreme Commander of Breakfast."

"Can I still make toast?"

"Only if you don't burn it with your eyeballs again."

"I make no promises."

The walk to the Guild was slow and painful.

Partly because I kept second-guessing myself, and partly because Rhea insisted on riding on my back while wearing a blanket as a cape. She declared we were "marching into diplomacy," and then fell asleep halfway through.

I entered through the side door, as requested.

The interior of the Guild was usually full of clanking mugs, shouting adventurers, and suspicious betting circles involving goblins. Today, it was dead silent. Only the receptionist gave me a hesitant wave before turning back to her papers like I was contagious.

"Upstairs," she muttered.

I carried Rhea—still snoozing, still caped—to the second floor.

The Guildmaster's office was the largest room in the building, full of antique maps, monster skulls, and enough paperwork to terrify any sane man. Guildmaster Braen was already seated behind the desk, arms crossed, eyes like two sharpened coins.

He looked like a man who once headbutted a dragon and won by default. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

"Thorne," he growled.

"Sir."

"You're late."

"I got ambushed by a monarch in pajamas."

His eyes flicked to Rhea, who stirred and yawned.

"Did we win?" she asked blearily.

"We haven't started yet," I said.

"Oh. Then prepare the muffins of war."

Braen grunted.

"You brought the child."

"She's safer with me."

"That's exactly the problem."

I sat. Rhea curled up in my lap like a kitten with an infernal aura.

Braen studied us for a long moment.

"You know the rumors," he said finally. "There's talk all through the lower districts. A girl with cursed blood. Fire in her breath. Monsters fleeing the woods. Clerics issuing divine warrants."

I stayed quiet.

"You're a veteran, Thorne. You're not stupid. So answer me this: what are you doing with a child who could melt the city?"

"Raising her."

Braen stared.

"That's not a strategy."

"It's the only one I've got."

He sighed, standing. The floorboards creaked under his massive boots as he walked to the window.

"You could run. We wouldn't stop you. Hell, I'd even send you rations for the road. But if you stay..."

He turned.

"...you'll need to make peace with the fact that the city won't welcome her."

"I don't need the city's welcome," I said. "Just its patience."

Braen snorted.

"You won't get it."

I looked down at Rhea.

She was watching him now, eyes half-lidded, but alert.

"Then give me time," I said. "Give us time."

Braen was silent for a long moment.

Then he crossed the room and opened a drawer.

He tossed something on the desk: a small, glowing badge.

"Temporary rank," he said. "Junior field instructor. It'll get you access to outer districts. No more school duels for her. You're training her personally. Privately."

I blinked.

"That's... generous."

"It's a chain," he said. "Don't pretend it's a favor. You screw up again, I pull it."

I nodded. "Understood."

Braen leaned forward, expression unreadable.

"I've seen monsters," he said. "Raised some myself. But I've never seen one sleep in a man's lap while drooling on his shirt."

I glanced down. Sure enough, Rhea had drooled.

Right on my collarbone.

She mumbled in her sleep, "...Sir Swim-a-Lot is innocent..."

Braen grunted.

"Don't make me regret this."

That evening, Rhea helped me unpack our fake escape bags. We folded the frying pans back into the cupboard, buried the peanut butter in the yard (her idea), and set Sir Swim-a-Lot on the windowsill as our official lookout.

"You really think they'll let us stay?" she asked quietly.

"For now."

"And if not?"

"We'll go somewhere weird and warm where no one minds flaming breakfast."

"Like the volcano kingdom?"

"Or the swamp bakery."

She giggled.

Then, suddenly serious, she tugged my sleeve.

"You didn't leave me."

"Of course not."

"You had the chance."

"I'll never take that chance."

She nodded.

Then, in the smallest voice:

"Can I sleep in your room again tonight?"

"Only if you promise not to set it on fire again."

"No promises."

We both laughed.

And for the first time in days, the house felt like a home again.

To be continued...