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

The uniform came in a flat box tied with blue string, as though it were some precious relic instead of the source of what would become twenty minutes of shrieking from a former demon queen.

"I am not wearing this." Revantra dangled the navy pleated skirt like it had been soaked in acid. Her upper lip curled. "This fabric is an insult."

Elias didn't look up from the instruction manual he was attempting to decode—something about enchantments on the collar to suppress runaway spellcasting. "It's just a skirt. All the girls wear it."

"Then all the girls should revolt," she shot back. "This is tyranny disguised as cotton blend."

"It's actually a flame-resistant enchant-weave," he murmured, still scanning the fine print. "See, the embroidery on the hem absorbs—"

"I am the standard," she interrupted flatly. "I will not lower myself to 'blend in.' That's not how queens operate."

He glanced up at her then. Revantra stood with arms crossed, the uniform draped over one hand like a vanquished enemy. She was still technically a child—physically, at least—but there was an intensity in her glare that made her seem much older. Or older again.

It kept happening, in little flashes. A line in her posture. The rhythm in her voice. The way her golden eyes saw straight through him on certain days.

"You do remember this whole going-to-school-in-disguise thing was your idea, right?" Elias said, setting the paper down. "You were the one who begged to enroll and 'infiltrate the capital's magical elite.' Your words. Now you're upset they want you to wear a skirt?"

"I imagined infiltration would be more... dramatic," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Capes. Cloaks. Hidden blades. At least trousers."

"You want hidden blades, I can stitch one into the hem," he offered dryly. "But only if you wear it."

Revantra muttered something in Abyssal and flopped onto the couch, the box tumbling to the floor. She pulled a pillow over her head with theatrical suffering.

Elias, used to this sort of performance by now, retrieved the skirt and laid it over the back of a chair. "You know, if you don't wear the uniform, they'll just send you home. Again. And this time, I won't lie and say the house was on fire to cover for you."

"You're cruel," came the muffled reply from beneath the pillow.

"I'm practical."

There was a beat of silence.

"I don't like how short it is," she finally admitted, voice quieter. "It feels... childish."

Elias blinked. "It's the standard length."

"For human girls, maybe," she muttered. "In the Demon Kingdom, our regalia symbolized command. Dignity. Not exposed knees."

"Well," Elias said gently, sitting down beside her, "maybe that's the whole point of going to school. To not be a queen for a while. Just a girl named Rina, trying to make friends and learn stuff and complain about homework like everyone else."

She peeked at him from beneath the pillow. "I don't want to be just another girl."

"I know," he said, giving her a smile. "But maybe—just for now—you could try pretending. You might learn something about them. And maybe about yourself too."

A long pause.

"Fine," she grumbled. "But if someone makes a comment about my knees, I'm setting their backpack on fire."

"No arson in the first week. That's the rule."

"Second week?"

"Depends how well you do on your exams."

Later that evening, while Elias was boiling tea in their tiny apartment's even tinier kitchen, he heard fabric rustle behind him. He turned, and nearly dropped the kettle.

Revantra stood in the doorway, wearing the full uniform—skirt, blouse, blazer with the faint sigil of the academy stitched over the heart. Her golden hair had been tied back in a high tail. She looked sharp. Smaller than she felt, somehow. And older again.

She noticed his staring and immediately scowled. "Say one word and I'll hex your teeth into songbirds."

Elias held up both hands in surrender. "Not a word."

"You're staring."

"I'm... appreciating your dedication to disguise."

She narrowed her eyes, but after a moment, her lips twitched into the faintest of smirks. "Good. Because I plan to become the top of the class. And if I do, you're buying me a cloak."

"Cloak it is. With hidden blades."

"Two."

"Two."

They fell into a companionable quiet after that. The tea steamed. The moonlight outside painted pale patterns across the floor. Revantra leaned against the counter beside him, the hem of her uniform swaying gently as she shifted her weight.

"I do want to understand them," she said, almost a whisper. "Not just humans. But the world now. It's... different."

Elias nodded, pouring her a cup. "It is. But you're doing fine."

"I'm not," she said honestly. "But I'm trying."

That was enough. He passed her the cup, their fingers brushing. She didn't pull away this time.

"I'll walk you to school tomorrow," he said.

"You'll make me look weak."

"I'll carry your bag."

"I'll definitely hex you if you do."

He grinned. "Then I'll just follow from the shadows."

She laughed—quiet, but real. And when she took the first sip of tea, she didn't complain about the taste.

To be continued...