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

Revantra raised her hand halfway through lecture, but she didn't speak right away.

She just pressed her palm against her cheek and let her shoulders sag like someone who'd just been told she had one week to live.

Professor Halden, who was drawing a diagram of mana circulations on the chalkboard, turned, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Miss Virel. Is there a problem with the topic?"

She gave a thin, trembly nod. "I think... my tooth is cursed."

There was a brief silence in the room.

Then Theo whispered—not quietly enough—"She's lying."

Revantra gave him a murderous glance that would've sent most grown men into therapy. "I am in pain."

"Oh no," Elias muttered under his breath. "Here we go."

"Bad pain," she added. "Magical pain. The worst kind."

Professor Halden took a long sip of his lukewarm tea, eyes locked with Elias. "Take her to the infirmary."

Elias stood reluctantly. "You sure it's not emotional?"

"She said pain," Revantra snapped, sliding out of her chair with a pitiful moan.

Lysine raised a dainty hand beside her. "Actually, if it's a magical affliction, I've had hands-on healing training from my father—"

"No thanks," Revantra said, deadpan. "I don't want your hands anywhere near me."

"I was only offering—"

"Don't."

Elias placed a hand between them and motioned for Revantra to go ahead. "Let's go before you summon something to prove your point."

She limped out like a soldier wounded in battle, her hand still glued to her cheek, though Elias couldn't help but notice there weren't any actual tears in her eyes.

Just a carefully arranged pout.

And a glance—sharp and sideways—at Lysine.

Right. Not a real toothache. A strategic one.

Once they were halfway down the hall, Revantra dropped the limp.

"I knew it," Elias muttered.

"I never said it wasn't real," she mumbled, suddenly avoiding his gaze.

"Reva."

"Don't say it like that."

He stopped walking. "Like what?"

"Like you already know. Like you're not surprised."

"I'm not."

She blinked at him, slightly thrown.

He waited.

And then, softly, she murmured, "I didn't like her holding your arm."

Elias exhaled. "That's what this is about?"

"No," she said too quickly. Then after a beat: "Yes."

They stood there, silent in the soft corridor light, the distant sound of a lecture continuing down the hall like the world refusing to stop spinning just because someone's feelings got tangled.

He watched her, trying to read past the sharp tongue and dramatic exits. She was still figuring herself out—growing faster than anyone should have to. Still clinging to the pieces of her identity like they might fall apart if she loosened her grip. And part of that identity, lately, included him.

He'd felt it. Noticed it. The way her gaze lingered longer. The way she brushed closer. The way her voice softened just a little when she said his name.

It wasn't a child's crush. Not anymore. Not after all they'd been through.

Elias stepped closer, and his voice dropped to something quiet. "So what do you want me to do?"

She glanced up, startled. "What?"

"If I'm not supposed to let anyone else hold my arm," he said, tilting his head slightly, "do I just walk around with my hands in my pockets forever?"

Revantra flushed, ears pink. "That's not—I didn't mean—ugh."

He gave a small laugh. "Okay. How about we stop by the infirmary anyway. You've already committed to the lie. Might as well see it through."

She rolled her eyes but followed.

The infirmary was dim and drowsy, the scent of herbs lingering in the air. A nurse nodded them toward a cot without much interest.

Elias helped Revantra sit.

Then, quietly, he pulled the small wooden brush from his satchel and knelt beside her.

"You brought it?" she asked, surprised.

"You get unpredictable when you're emotional. This is a tactical defense."

She gave a reluctant smile and tilted her head forward, letting him begin. His hands were careful, threading gently through the tangles. With each stroke, some tension bled out of her shoulders.

No spells. No noise. Just the brush, and the rhythm of breathing.

"Elias?"

"Mm?"

She didn't look up.

"I don't want you to like anyone else."

His hand froze mid-motion. Not dramatically. Just a small pause. Like his breath catching on a thread of silence.

Then he lowered the brush and sat beside her on the cot.

"You think I'm that easy to replace?"

"No," she whispered. "I think I'm easy to forget."

The words landed like a soft blow.

He turned his head, looked at her profile—still, guarded, quiet in a way she rarely was.

"You're not," he said.

Revantra blinked fast, like she wasn't expecting that much honesty.

"I like you being near me," he added. "Even when you're lying about dental emergencies. Even when you burn water with your feelings. And even when you drive me insane."

She laughed wetly. "That last one's a love language."

"I'm fluent in it."

She tilted her head against his shoulder. Just gently. He didn't pull away.

They sat there, no nurse interrupting, no walls between them for the moment.

"I'm scared," she whispered finally.

"Of Lysine?"

"Of what I feel. What it means. I wasn't supposed to be like this."

He turned, lifting a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"You were supposed to be exactly like this," he said. "Who you are. Who you're becoming. I'm here either way."

A long breath escaped her lips, slow and shaky.

Then she leaned forward—didn't kiss him, didn't dare—but hugged him suddenly, fiercely, face buried in his shoulder.

He held her back without question.

No spells this time. No fire. Just heat from the human kind.

They returned to class a little late, and the professor barely looked up.

Lysine raised an eyebrow. "Did the pain go away?"

Revantra gave a slow, deliberate smile. "It passed. But thank you for caring."

Lysine blinked. "I wasn't—"

"Thank you," Revantra said again, too sweetly.

Elias smothered a laugh and tugged her to her seat before she could start round two.

Theo leaned in. "So what was the diagnosis?"

"Too much emotion in the molars," Revantra said calmly. "It's chronic."

Elias just rolled his eyes.

But his fingers, beneath the desk, brushed against hers once before settling back.

And she smiled the kind of smile that didn't need fire to be warm.

To be continued...