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

There was something about early autumn in Velden that made everything feel like it was holding its breath.

The leaves had only just begun to turn, gold brushing the edges of green. The air was crisp, not yet cold, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to stay summer a little longer or give in to the approaching frost. The sky above Elias's cottage had turned the color of old parchment, streaked with pinks and oranges as the sun yawned on its descent.

It should've been peaceful.

But Rhea had just put a frog in his soup.

Again.

"What," Elias said, holding the wooden spoon like it had betrayed him, "is this?"

Rhea, perched across from him at their low dinner table, gave him the most innocent expression she could muster. Which meant she wasn't even trying.

"That's dinner," she said sweetly. "You always say I should try helping with the food."

"Yes," Elias said, calmly removing the now very confused frog and setting it back into the garden through the open window. "With vegetables. Not with—what was that, Gregor?"

"He looked like a Gregor," Rhea said with a shrug. "He said he wanted to swim in something warm."

"You... talked to it?"

"No," she said quickly, then paused. "Maybe."

Elias gave her a long look, then sighed and stirred his soup again.

"Next time, just ask if you want hot chocolate," he muttered.

They ate in relative peace after that, with only a few accidental sparks from Rhea's excitement setting her napkin alight. Elias had to put out the flame with his sleeve. Again.

"I think I'm getting better," Rhea said proudly as she poked at the bread. "I almost didn't destroy the bread this time."

"Yeah," Elias said, biting into a still-warm roll. "It only has half a curse on it."

She giggled.

It was these moments that made Elias forget—if only briefly—that he was raising someone who used to be the Queen of All Demons.

Until the knock came.

Three sharp raps at the door. Precise. Military.

Rhea's giggle vanished.

Elias stood slowly and opened the door to find a woman in white and gold, a sigil of healing magic stitched into her cloak. She looked him up and down like she was scanning for injuries.

"Elias Thorne?" she said crisply.

"...Yes?"

"I bring word from the Capitol. You've been offered a position at the Imperial Magic Hospital, senior trauma division. Effective immediately, should you choose to accept."

There was a silence so heavy even the wind stopped rustling the trees.

Rhea's fork clattered to the floor.

The woman—Healer Second-Class Mariya Brens—wasn't the type to sugarcoat things. She sat at their table, stiff-backed, explaining in exacting detail the compensation, relocation, housing assistance, and prestige that came with the offer.

"The hospital is in dire need of war-experienced healers," she said. "Your report from the Southern Rebellion battle made quite the impression. It's not just a job. It's a calling. You'd save lives. Hundreds."

Rhea stood behind Elias, practically hiding behind his chair like a wary cat. She stared at Mariya with narrowed eyes, like the woman had come to take her favorite toy.

Which, in her mind, she probably had.

Elias said nothing for a long while. Then: "Thank you. But I'm not going."

Mariya blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I appreciate the offer. But I have someone to care for here. I can't leave."

"You'd be provided with lodging. Surely the girl—your sister?—could come with you."

"She's... not just a sister."

"Oh?"

"She's—" He stopped. Glanced at Rhea. Saw how tense she was, how tight her fists had balled into her little dress.

"—She's my family," he finished. "And she's not ready for a place like the Capitol."

"I understand." But Mariya's face was unreadable. She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her coat. "For what it's worth, I hope you reconsider. We don't always get second chances in this line of work."

And with that, she left.

Elias shut the door behind her.

A long silence followed.

"...You didn't even ask me," Rhea said finally, voice small.

"I didn't have to," Elias said.

"But what if I wanted you to go?"

He turned and crouched before her.

"Did you?"

She looked away. "No."

"Then what's the problem?"

"...You could've had a big office."

"I hate offices."

"...You could've healed important people."

"I already do."

She looked up, and he gently tapped her forehead. "You are very important."

There was that smile again—crooked, uncertain, but real.

"I don't deserve you," she muttered.

"That's fine," he said. "You've got me anyway."

Later that night, as he was finishing some notes by lanternlight, he felt a tug at his sleeve.

Rhea stood there, pajama-clad and sleepy-eyed.

"You sure?" she whispered. "You really don't want to go?"

Elias gave her a crooked smile. "They wouldn't let me make frog soup in the Capitol."

She blinked, then giggled and hugged him tight.

"...Thanks for staying," she murmured.

He hugged her back, his heart tightening. "Always."

Outside, the wind carried the first leaf to the ground, soft and golden.

But inside the cottage, it was warm.

To be continued...