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Demon Queened - Chapter 2 (Remastered) - Home Cooking
🕑 Added 2025-09-11 01:47:11 +0000 UTCDevilla
“I can’t believe it,” Abigail whispered. True to her words, my maid’s eyes were wide with shock as she stared at me. She reached out towards me, as if to confirm by touch whether I was real or not, but then seemed to think better of it and withdrew the appendage. “I really, truly can’t believe it.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a touch rude?” I demanded, irritation threaded through my voice. “I do not see the need to stare at me in shock just because I happened to get up early.”
“You never get up without being woken up, your Majesty,” Abigail pointed out, narrowing her eyes at me. “And you definitely don’t dress yourself. Where did you even find those clothes?”
“Do you not like them?” I asked, looking down upon myself. Personally, I wasn’t quite sure where her complaint was coming from. I was wearing a solid black, backless blouse with long sleeves and a stiff collar, as well as a red skirt that ended a little above my knees. It was paired with a set of white thigh highs, meaning that the majority of my skin was actually covered for once. While it might not have matched my normal M.O., I still thought it looked rather nice.
Abigail didn’t seem all that impressed, though.
“It’s not like I hate them, or anything,” she conceded with a shrug. “But I’ve literally never seen you show off this little skin. Are you even comfortable wearing all that?”
“I am, yes,” I retorted, even as my cheeks warmed. It was true that I had a history of showing off as much of my body as possible. Even among demons, who would look at you with bewilderment if you used the terms ‘clothing’ and ‘modesty’ in the same sentence, I had arguably been something of an exhibitionist. Still, it wasn’t as if I was actively uncomfortable when covered. Even if it had been something of a pain to actually find clothing in my closet that could in any way be labeled ‘reserved.’
“Besides which, I happen to have a reason for wanting to dress more plainly on this day.”
“And what would that be, my Queen?” Abigail asked, folding her arms. Her face was pinched with worry and her tone was cautious, but at least her words were outwardly polite.
“It’s quite simple,” I replied, forcing myself to smile in order to disguise my nerves. If Abigail managed to reject me here, I would be back to square one. I had to push through, no matter what the consequences. “Today, I will be paying you a home visit.”
“A… h-home visit, my Queen?” Abigail choked out. She seemed hardly able to believe the words coming from her own mouth. “You want to visit my house?”
“Is that a problem?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. When she seemed hesitant to respond, I added a small smile. “If there’s something bothering you, please feel free to tell me. I’d prefer you to speak freely when it’s just the two of us.”
Even if I couldn’t back down, I could at least do Abigail the courtesy of listening to her true feelings. I’d once believed that my position as Princess put me above such matters. That it set me apart from other demons. I’d embraced that distance, thinking it made me special. Now I knew it had only made me bitter and lonely.
“A home visit‽” Abigail repeated, now cradling her head between her hands. “Are you trying to give me an ulcer? Why do you even want to go home with me? Do you want to have more sex? Is that it? Because we can do that here, you know! You don’t need to go slumming it!”
“…It would seem you have no problem speaking your mind, once given permission,” I muttered, after a moment. “Should I take that as a sign that you’re adjusting to your new position?”
“Adjusting, huh?” Abigail’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve been your personal maid for, like, half a day, and most of it was spent doing paperwork with your chief of staff, so it’s not like I’m really used to it or anything. It’s more like I’m getting too damn tired to keep myself in check. I mean, what’s wrong with you? You haven’t yelled, or threatened to throw me into the dungeon, or anything like that! And why do you want to pay me a home visit‽”
“Perhaps I should have led with that,” I replied, neatly sidestepping Abigail’s other complaints to focus on the matter at hand. While ignoring Abigail’s suspicions was hardly an ideal solution, it nevertheless felt like the only path available to me. It wasn’t as if I could simply tell her of my past life memories, after all. Not without her questioning my sanity.
“Go on,” Abigail replied, raising an eyebrow and tapping her foot. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who’d demurely tried to beg off being my personal maid, just the night before. Was my presence so taxing as to alter her personality? Or was this simply her true nature…? Regardless, I had little choice but to push forward with my request.
“I wish to learn how to cook.”
Abigail stood still, for a long moment. Despite the pitch black coloration of her eyes, I felt certain that she was staring intently at me. In fact, it felt as if her eyes were drilling holes into my very soul, and I found myself shifting nervously in place. I did not back down, however. I could not back down. Not now. This was far too essential to my future.
“You want to learn… how to cook?” Abigail repeated at last, drawing out the sentence as she spoke.
“It is an essential life skill,” I pointed out. “I would also like to learn how to clean and sew, but I thought cooking might be a good place to start.”
Abigail brought a hand to her forehead, kneading the fingers against her skull as if trying to massage away a sudden headache.
“Okay, so putting aside the ridiculousness of you wanting to learn ‘essential life skills,’ why, exactly, do you need to come to my house for lessons? You have a massive kitchen dedicated to serving you! And chefs! Professional chefs who could teach you!”
“I would only get in the way if I were to go to the royal kitchen, and the chefs are busy enough during mealtimes without me stumbling about.” That was probably true, but mostly just an excuse. In reality, I was afraid of drawing unnecessary attention. If enough people knew what I was up to, then someone might figure out that I was learning how to survive on my own for a reason. Furthermore, I needed to learn how to cook like a commoner, not a royal chef. If I got used to using the amenities and spices only available to me as Queen, I’d be in trouble after I fled the tower and gave up my crown.
“I won’t be able to cook anything fit for a royal palette,” Abigail warned me.
“That’s fine,” I assured her. “A queen should know how her people are eating.” Besides, my ‘royal palette’ was quite likely ruined, already. Years of refined eating were clashing with memories of junk food and cheap snacks that rivaled them in taste. I was absolutely craving a plate of french fries. “In fact, I would appreciate it if we could go cook up a few commoner delicacies right now. I find myself quite hungry.”
“Don’t you have royal duties to attend to?” Abigail protested. She sounded almost frantic, for some reason. “Paperwork to sign? Things to… I don’t know, survey?”
“General Sylvanna can handle all that. In fact, I’m quite certain that she will be happier without me butting in.” I had never really done anything like that in the past anyways, and since my long-term plans involved the Generals betraying me for the sake of our people, building a relationship with them now would only make things more difficult. “Is there a reason you do not wish me to step foot in your home?”
“Not… exactly.” From the way Abigail was holding herself—half turned away, one hand on the opposite arm—it was quite obvious that she wasn’t being honest with me. Then again, I’d never actually given her permission to look at me directly, so perhaps that was the cause of her strange posture?
“You may look me in the eyes from now on,” I informed her. “So gaze upon my features and say that again.”
“I…” she looked back towards me for a moment, only to turn her head away again with a huff. “I’ll go talk to your head of staff and get us some guards.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I informed her, before she could dart off. “Have you forgotten that I dressed this way to avoid attention? Having guards would only draw eyes. Besides, I’m stronger than any basic guard, anyway.”
You wouldn’t know it from the look of my slender frame, but I was the Demon Queen. Even the Heroine would need to gain quite a bit of power from my Generals if she wanted to face me on anything near equal terms.
So why was Abigail giving me such a funny look?
“Is something the matter?”
Abigail frowned at that. “Not exactly. It’s just… changing your clothes isn’t exactly going to make you inconspicuous, you know? You’re the Demon Queen. Everyone in the tower knows what you look like! Your face is literally on every coin!”
“I’ve already thought of that,” I assured her. “A simple illusion shall suffice for concealment.”
My voice held confidence, but on the inside I was trembling with a heady mix of fear and excitement. While I’d used magic many times before, the entire concept now held a far more romantic feel to it, thanks to having memories from a world without magic. For the first time since childhood, I was actually excited to use it—and a touch worried about messing it up.
While holy spells required an incantation, such as the one used in the Rite of Insight, most magic didn’t involve any such machinations. To use arcane magic, you simply had to imagine what you wanted and supply the magic energy to make it happen—though it did work better if you had a solid grasp of the process. Concentrating existing light to ignite wood, for example, would take far less magic power than simply willing a fire into being.
In this case, I was projecting an image over my own face. I couldn’t change my eyes, since covering them would remove my ability to see, but I was able to make my cheeks a little rounder, my nose a little bigger, and my lips a touch thinner. I also made my hair black for good measure and added tiny little horns to my forehead to avoid being mistaken for a human.
A feeling of warmth spread through my body as I cast the spell. A persistent feeling, as I had to continuously supply the spell with magic energy in order to maintain control over it. I didn’t mind the sensation, though; in fact, it felt rather nice.
“So?” I asked Abigail, grinning smugly. “Does it suit me?”
“I’m not even sure how to respond to that,” Abigail answered, shaking her head. “I mean, for one thing, your lips aren’t moving when you talk. Which is weird. What sort of illusion spell doesn’t move with you?”
That was a fair question. The image I’d used when casting the spell was that of a projector, plastering a solid image across the expanse of my face. It was no wonder that it wouldn’t move with me, now that I thought about it. I vaguely recalled that the people of this world used a different mental image; one that would presumably work better. Alas, I had always deferred or ignored my magic lessons, insisting that I would receive all the knowledge I’d ever need from the Rite of Insight. As such, I had no idea what the ‘proper’ image for the spell actually was.
“I don’t suppose you would happen to know anything about illusions?” I asked, swallowing my pride and trying my best to push aside the embarrassment welling up within me.
“Duh,” my maid replied, as if the answer should have been obvious. “I’m a succubus—and a former prostitute. We’re pretty much masters of showing people what they want to see. Just think of the spell like a painting. Like someone took your face, and drew a new one over it. That way, it’ll actually move with you.”
“I see,” I murmured, giving her a small nod in gratitude. I released my spell, causing the warmth within me to dissipate, before calling upon that same energy to cast anew. This time, I followed Abigail’s instructions. “Is this any better?”
“Much better, my Queen.” Abigail looked relieved. I suppose it must have been somewhat creepy for my voice to emanate from a motionless mask.
“You shouldn’t call me ‘my Queen’ when I’m like this,” I warned her. “You could ruin my cover. Just call me…” I hesitated, unsure of what a good name would be. Jacob wasn’t a good fit, and I’d die all over again before using ‘Jacoba.’ I could use ‘Kristina’—the name my human mother would have given me had I been born a girl in my last life—but I’d likely have to change it a little, if I wanted to match Sollian naming conventions.
Of course, with names like ‘Abigail’ in circulation, one could be forgiven for thinking that ‘Kristina’ would be perfectly fine as is. Such names were generally reserved for those with ‘true’ demons in their ancestry, though. Apparently the naming scheme used in Hell was quite similar to that of Earth, and such names were generally passed down through the generations as a result. Sollian names, by contrast, had a more fantastic feeling about them.
There was no rule reserving the names of ‘true’ demons, or anything, mind you—but if there wasn’t actually a Kristina among the known demons of Hell, then I’d simply be inviting odd looks for no reason.
“How about Eena?” I suggested, at last.
“Eena,” Abigail repeated, as if testing out how the name felt. “Are you sure you’re alright with me referring to you without your title, my—Eena?”
“It’s fine,” I promised. “In fact, if you’d like to call me Devilla when we are alone, I will not object. Being called ‘my Queen’ all the time is honestly quite stifling.”
Abigail studied me for a long moment, before giving a slow, deliberate nod and offering her hand. “I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you, Devilla, but I really hope it sticks around. Now come on—let’s get going.”
I stared at Abigail’s hand for a moment. I had been acting differently of late, and it was no surprise that my personal maid had noticed, but I really hadn’t expected it to make much of a difference. After a lifetime of acting like a brat, there was only so much one could do to make up for it. Despite receiving Jacob’s memories of how wonderful friendships could be, I had already given up on finding any in this world. Yet now a hand was being offered to me, if not in friendship than at least with the intention of walking together towards a shared destination. It was such a small thing… and yet it struck me harder than I thought was possible.
Trying hard to ignore the emotions swelling up inside me, I reached out and took Abigail’s hand in my own.
***
Walking through the tower was an entirely new experience for me. Normally, I would simply fly, utilizing the large windows that dotted the tower’s walls in order to make my way from floor to floor. Failing that, I would find someone capable of working the teleportation circles and get transported directly to any of my General’s floors. Utilizing either method would have blown my cover immediately, though. The teleportation circles were only for high-ranking officials, and no one in the tower would fail to recognize my void-black wings.
So we walked.
Walking, as it turned out, was quite fascinating. Though I only caught glimpses of each floor through the landings, as we walked down the stairs, there were still many sights I had never seen when flitting about the tower by wing. For example, I had never realized just how big Dimona Tower was! The ceiling on the hundred-and-first floor went maybe twenty feet above my head, but the ceilings of the lower floors stretched far further than that. It was so high up that, if not for the lack of stars, one could be forgiven for thinking that they were looking up at the night sky.
What’s more, the floors themselves were rather huge. We had to travel through six floors to reach Abigail’s home, and other than my own floor, and the one belonging to General Doll right below it, each one we passed apparently contained the equivalent of a large town, bordering on a small city. It made sense, really. The entirety of demonkind had been forced to live within Dimona Tower, after all. Still, it meant that the populace must be a lot larger than I’d realized. Certainly it contained far more demons than what I’d seen in the game.
“It would seem that I have a larger force at my disposal than I initially believed,” I murmured to myself. I still thought that the best route forward for my people was to join forces with the Heroine and make peace with humanity; no matter how many of us there were, there were undoubtedly a hundredfold more of them. Still, seeing such a large fighting force gave me hope that my fellow demons would be able to hold their own during the subsequent peace talks, without capitulating to demands out of fear.
“You better not be expecting everyone here to fight,” Abigail said, glaring at me. “Most of us have never even held a pitchfork, let alone a spear.”
Looking back over the crowd, while I saw many demons with sharp teeth and claws, none of them seemed like hardened warriors to me. They were shopkeepers, crafters, and tradeswomen. The most they’d be able to tell you about a sword is how to price it. Which meant that I didn’t have much of an army, after all—just ninety or so towns full of civilians in need of protection.
Considerably sobered by that thought, I took a closer look at the townsfolk around me. They came in all shapes and sizes. I saw a lady who looked to be part frog talking to a weretiger, whose ears and tail were prominently displayed. I saw another woman with wolf ears and a bushy tail, kissing a girl who sported wool around her chest and nether regions. There was even a bee girl, trying to sell roses to a kitsune.
It’s seriously all women…. Not that I was particularly surprised by that, per se. I knew full well that all demons were girls. In fact, as Devilla, I had never once seen a man in my life. It wasn’t as if I had some sudden longing to see one, either, but having memories of being a man, once upon a time, it felt a little odd to see that gender completely removed from the equation.
“Oof!” A loud noise, and a sudden impact against my shoulder, took me out of my reverie. I looked down to see a redheaded woman with long rabbit ears sprawled out on the floor, laying on her back.
“My apologies!” I exclaimed, realizing that I must have bumped into her while lost in my own head.
“Not your fault.” She laughed, to my surprise. “I’m the one who bumped into you, after all, not the other way around. Guess I was in too much of a rush.”
“Really?” I looked to Abigail for confirmation. She was staring back at me, her body tense and her eyes wide with fear. She gave me a slow, reluctant nod. Did she perhaps think I’d get mad at the girl for her folly? I had more compassion for mistakes than that… these days.
“It’s fine,” I assured the rabbit girl, offering her a hand to help her stand. “I’m sure it’s as much my fault as yours, seeing as how I was lost in thought at the time.”
“Well, that’s mighty kind of you to say!” the rabbit girl hopped back to her feet with a single smooth motion, dusting herself off and smiling brightly at me. I withdrew the untaken hand, returning to my full height as I regarded her. She was surprisingly short, perhaps 5’1”. “Well, hate to bump and run, but it’s almost time for work! I’ll be seeing you around, maybe?”
“Of course,” I replied, smiling in turn. “May the Fallen One’s grace be upon you.” Though I assumed those words to be a perfectly normal farewell, the look of surprise upon the rabbit girl’s face gave me pause. Perhaps it was only common among the upper echelons? It might have even been restricted to formal occasions, thinking back on it. Before I could fret too much, however, the woman’s stunned silence erupted into a cheery laugh.
“Feeling pretty formal there, ain’tcha?” she asked, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder as she flashed me a contagious grin that soon had me smiling in turn. “Guess we can use whatever blessings we can manage around here, what with Queen Devilla in charge. Bet ol’ Luci’s rolling in her grave, knowing she has a descendant like that running the show.”
“Don’t say that!” Abigail protested. She grabbed hold of my hand as she did so, gripping it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “You should know not to speak that way about our Queen!”
“Or what?” the rabbit girl demanded, rolling her eyes. “She’ll throw me in the dungeon for a few days? How’s she even gonna find out? If everything everyone said was reported to that woman, the whole damn population would be in the dungeon, probably forever!”
“That’s not true,” Abigail insisted. Her head turned towards me, then back to the rabbit girl. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was firm, and her words were sweet. It would have been nice to think that she meant them, but her death grip upon my hand said it all. She simply feared my response.
“It’s fine, Abigail,” I said, gesturing for her to relax. “This woman is simply speaking the truth. The Queen has been less than ideal, so far as rulers go.” I couldn’t help the bitterness in my voice as I spoke. I worried the rabbit girl would notice, but she was too busy glaring at my maid. “Did you not have to go to work?”
“What?” The rabbit girl glanced back at me. “Right, sorry about that. Got so distracted by your idiot sycophant of a friend here, that I—”
The rabbit girl’s speech was cut off mid-sentence. Something that came as no surprise, considering I had used my free hand to grab her by the shirt collar, lifting her up slightly in the process.
“You may say whatever you wish of me,” I told her, my voice soft as a whisper but hard as steel. “The Queen, the Tower, even Luci herself—all these are fair game in my eyes. But you will treat Abigail with respect. Understood?”
The rabbit girl nodded rapidly, fear in her eyes even as I released her.
“Good. Now go.”
She scurried away without even looking back at me, leaving me with a sense of deep-seated satisfaction. It lasted just long enough to see the look of shock on Abigail’s face, after which a rush of shame consumed me as I realized what I had done.
“I… perhaps I went a touch far?” I offered, hoping to offset the fear Abigail must have been feeling. Truthfully, I hadn’t known myself capable of such an outburst. I had thrown plenty of tantrums in this life, of course—complete with screaming and thrown dishes, and even the occasional slap—but I’d never directly threatened anyone with violence like that. Certainly not for the sake of another. It was only that Abigail was the closest thing I had to a human connection in this world; even if neither of us was human.
“We should get going,” Abigail said, after a moment. She was smiling, but it was obviously forced. “People are staring.”
“…So they are.” Indeed, several sets of eyes were locked upon me after that little show, and the area around us had grown quiet. The moment I noticed the crowd around us, however, they all scattered, leaving Abigail and me alone in this part of the ninety-fifth floor.
“Come on,” Abigail said, tugging lightly at my hand. “We’re pretty much there, anyways.”
***
“Home sweet home,” Abigail declared, indicating a structure built of red bricks. It was maybe five stories tall, which made it one of the tallest buildings in the area. A flower shop was nestled on one side and another apartment building was on the other. Glancing behind me, I noticed a brothel by the name of ‘Demon’s Desires’. All in all, it seemed like a nice neighborhood.
“Shall we go inside?” I suggested. “I’d appreciate it if we could begin cooking soon. I’m quite famished.” With everything that had been happening, I’d skipped both last night’s dinner and this day’s breakfast by this point.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting, but this is going to be a pretty simple meal, alright?” Abigail warned me, frowning. “I’m talking eggs and porridge. Maybe some form of pork. Nothing fancy.”
“Just porridge will be fine, for now,” I replied, moving towards the door. “I do not wish to use up all of your supplies.” In truth, I’d be satisfied just knowing what sort of stove the average house was equipped with and how to utilize it.
For some reason, though, Abigail was giving me a strange look. It seemed as if she had something to say, so I arched an eyebrow to indicate that she should go ahead.
“‘For now’?” she asked. “Please don’t tell me you’re planning on doing this again?”
“Of course I am,” I replied, taken aback. “One cannot learn how to cook from a single lesson.”
Abigail stared at me, her shocked expression slowly turning into one of defeat and begrudging acceptance. Still holding my hand in one of hers, she used the other to turn the wooden knob before proceeding to drag me inside.
There were no light sources within, and yet their absence did absolutely nothing to impede my vision. I could see as clearly now as I could outside. Abigail didn’t seem particularly bothered by it, either, leading me past several doors before stopping by one near the stairwell.
“Abigail?” called a voice from inside. “Is that you?”
“M-Mom‽” she called back. Her cheeks had grown pale, and her eyes were wide as dinner plates. “What are you doing up this early?”
“Oh, I had a late night at the brothel,” the voice replied. “I was planning to make myself something to eat and head to bed, actually. But what are you doing here? Don’t you have work today? You didn’t get fired, did you, dear?”
The owner of the voice came into view with that question, stepping out of what I could only assume to be the kitchen, and peering curiously at us. She had long, wavy brown hair that cascaded down to her waist and pitch black eyes. She was well-endowed, much more so than my maid, with breasts big enough to bury one’s head in. Her ass was pretty big as well: more than enough to fill someone’s palms. Sporting a backless halter top and a flowing black skirt, she looked to be in her mid-twenties—though, judging by her conversation with Abigail, I doubted that was actually the case. I could tell by the black leathery wings that stretched out behind her that she was a succubus like Abigail. That meant her natural lifespan was probably as long as… well, mine.
“I didn’t get fired, Mom,” Abigail promised, a scowl on her lips. “I… I got told the Queen didn’t need me today. And then I ran into my friend Eena, who’d been… um… begging me for lessons on how to cook? So we came back here to make some porridge, and—”
“Porridge?” Abigail’s mother looked at us askance. “You’re going to teach your friend how to cook porridge? I can’t imagine she doesn’t know at least that—wouldn’t you be better off teaching her something like your onion soup?”
“We’re going to start with porridge, Mom,” Abigail insisted. “Trust me, Eena’s gonna have a hard enough time with that.”
“Really now?” Her mother’s eyes seemed to be fully focused on me now, staring straight into my soul. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose. “You can’t even cook porridge?”
“I’m afraid not, Mrs…?”
“Bevola. Just Bevola. I don’t have anything as fancy as a last name, I’m afraid.”
“Bevola, then,” I confirmed, wondering whether I should drop into a curtsy. It was a big deal for the Queen to even so much as lower her head to a commoner, but I was pretending to be on her level at the moment. She might think me rude if I didn’t…. Then again, the disguise had mostly been for the sake of getting through the city. Perhaps it would be best to let my host know her guest’s true identity?
“I fear I must apologize,” I began, “for a small deception. You see, I’m actually—”
“Very hungry!” Abigail interrupted, digging her nails into my palm. “She’s incredibly hungry, and she’s been trying to hide it because… uh… she didn’t want to be rude? But I think I’ve kept her waiting long enough. Porridge time, right Eena?”
I nodded slowly, understanding what she wanted from me. It bothered me a little to hear Abigail lying to her mother like that, but I could guess why she felt the need. Meeting that rabbit girl had driven home just how people saw me. Including Abigail, no matter how much I wished that wasn’t the case.
“I will make porridge,” I vowed, turning my attention back to Bevola. “So may I ask that you please wait to eat until we can consume it together?”
“My, someone’s quite the flirt,” Bevola teased, letting out a high-pitched giggle. “And such sophisticated language, too. Did you pick that up working as the Queen’s maid? Or perhaps my girl made friends with a General’s daughter, or some such?”
“Today, I am simply Eena,” I replied, sidestepping the question with a small smile. “A simple woman, who simply wishes to learn how to cook. Since your daughter is being kind enough to teach me, the least I can do is offer to feed you afterwards.”
“Well, don’t go burning the porridge in that case, you hear?” Bevola replied. “I’m hoping to eat something delicious today, after that little speech of yours.”
“You have my word.” I bowed my head ever so slightly, trying to strike a balance between who I was and who I was pretending to be. “Now, if you could point me toward the kitchen?”
“Right this way, dear.” As expected, she gestured to the room she had just emerged from.
I nodded and walked past her. Abigail, still clutching my hand, had little choice but to follow. Once we were in the kitchen, however, I grabbed hold of her wrist and gently, but firmly, removed my hand from her grasp. It had started to feel less like friendly handholding and more like a parent’s grip of restraint on a wild child.
“So this is where the magic happens?” I asked, looking about. It did bear resemblance to the kitchens of Earth. There were cupboards and cabinets on one wall, alongside counters and drawers. A basin was set into one of the counters, with a drain at the bottom, but no faucet atop of it. Which made sense—medieval homes weren’t precisely known for their indoor plumbing, and I wasn’t entirely sure how such a thing would even work when one lived in a tower like this. Still, it made me wonder where the water was supposed to come from.
“Magic?” Abigail’s brow furrowed in confusion. “It’s where we do the cooking? I mean, I guess you’re technically doing magic right now, but usually it’s mostly just where you chop and heat things.”
“…Of course. How silly of me.” I didn’t feel like explaining the saying, so I simply let it go. “You said that you would teach me to make porridge, yes?”
“Right,” Abigail confirmed, opening one of the cupboards and pulling out a large iron pot. “It’s actually pretty simple.” She moved next to open a drawer, pulling out a large wooden spoon. “You only really need one ingredient.”
“One?” I asked, confused. Oats were, of course, the main ingredient in porridge, but water was undoubtedly essential as well. Water I still wasn’t sure where to get. Surely there weren’t any wells inside the tower?
“All you need is a pot like this one…” Abigail said, holding up the pot she’d pulled out prior. “And a stove like that one.” She gestured to the corner, where a square metal contraption stood upon four thin legs, with a flat top and a door in front.
“You put the pot on the stove,” she continued, moving to do so, “and then you grab some oats….” Next she moved to one of the lower cabinets, and dragged out a large burlap sack. It seemed to be something of a struggle for her to lift, so I bent down and casually picked it up, eliciting a startled look.
“How much do I add?” I asked, moving over to the pot.
“One sec,” Abigail said, quickly shaking off her shock and moving to pull open a drawer. From within she drew a small wooden cup with markings etched into the inside. It looked something like an opaque measuring cup, though it seemed a little smaller than the ones in Jacob’s memories. “Just fill this to the top with oats, level it off, and pour it into the pot. Then do it again.”
“Sounds easy enough,” I replied, swiftly following her instructions. “Now what? You said that there was only one ingredient, but you surely can’t mean for me to simply start cooking the oats as is?”
“They’ll burn in an instant if you try that,” Abigail replied, a mildly amused smile touching her lips. It only lasted a moment, vanishing as soon as she turned her eyes towards the cup in my hand. “I meant that it’s the only ingredient you need to have on hand. We conjure the water.”
Abigail held the palm of her hand out towards the empty cup. Soon, water began to form in the bottom of it, slowly rising up to the top.
“There,” she said, with a satisfied smile. “We’re gonna need to do that about seven more times. Not yet, though—we need to wait a bit for the water in the air to even out, first.”
Water in the air? Was she referring to moisture in the atmosphere? It was true that you’d find a bit of water everywhere, but the tower didn’t feel particularly humid, so I couldn’t imagine there being too much of it. If we did things Abigail’s way, this was going to take a while….
“May I try filling it?” I asked, stepping forward. I dropped the illusion I was wearing, as I asked. Arcane magic was limited, in that one could only cast a single spell at any given time.
“If you want? You do realize that more water isn’t just going to gather up in the air because you demand it, though, right? You need to be near a window if you wanna gather a bunch of it at once.”
“Yes, that’s probably the case, for most demons,” I admitted, unperturbed. It was indeed a fact that one would only find so much moisture in the local atmosphere. But why did I have to restrict myself to what was local? Sending a wave of arcane magic flow out of the room and into the apartment as a whole, I drew as much moisture as I could out of the air and towards myself. Slowly, a wobbling sphere of it began to form, growing bigger and bigger until it was about the size of a watermelon. Judging that to be enough, I took the cup and dunked it into the ball, scooping out seven cupfuls of water and dumping them into the pot before dropping the excess water into the basin to drain.
“How did you…?”
“Would you believe that it was a secret Demon Queen technique?” I asked, trying not to laugh. I’d really only used brute force to solve the problem, but I saw no reason to clue Abigail in on a feat she wouldn’t be able to repeat.
“Right… the Rite of Insight. Guess it really did give you the wisdom of your ancestors…” Abigail nodded to herself, seemingly convinced by my lie, something I actually began to feel a touch guilty over. “Well, now that we have the water, we just need to set the fire.” She opened the door I’d noticed on the stove, revealing an empty space. “There’s some wood under that cabinet,” she said, confirming my suspicions. “Get some for me?”
“Of course.” I bent down to grab some, picking out a small but thick bit of wood. “Wouldn’t it be better to simply create a magical flame for the duration of your cooking, though? You’d save on wood, and you’d have better control of the temperature.”
“You do realize that most people don’t have enough magic power to cook an entire meal with, right? I definitely can’t… and you should be conserving whatever magic you have left for casting that illusion spell once we’re done here.”
Abigail reached for the wood as she spoke, but I pulled it away and tossed it back into the cabinet.
“Nonsense,” I replied. “I’m sure wood is expensive—and you aren’t giving my magic capacity the credit it’s due, in any case. Tell me when to stop growing the flame.”
I pictured an ember floating in the space within the stove, and it appeared as a tiny flicker of light and flame. Then, ignoring Abigail’s stare, I began to slowly increase its size.
“Th-that’s enough!” Abigail stammered out, once I had a ball about twice the size of my fist. “More than enough, actually, so turn it down a notch. Maybe by a tenth? Assuming you can keep that up until the water starts to boil.”
“Not an issue,” I replied, lowering the heat a little before stepping closer to the pot and peering inside. “I’m fairly certain I could keep this up all day.”
Indeed, despite the fact that I’d been continuously casting for the last hour or so, I couldn’t say I felt much of a dent in my reserve. I was either recovering my magic faster than I was using it, or I simply had an unimaginably massive magic capacity. Possibly both.
“Is everything going alright in there?” Bevola’s familiar voice floated through the room.
“We’re fine! Don’t come in!” Abigail hurriedly called back, panic laced through her words.
“Don’t come in? Now you've really got me curious,” Bevola teased. I could hear her footsteps coming closer. “You wouldn’t happen to be preparing something special for your old mother, would you, dear?”
“I told you! I’m just teaching D—Eena how to make porridge! And we haven’t even gotten it to boil yet, so there’s no point in coming in! Just take a nap or something!”
“I’ll nap when I want to, dear,” Bevola replied, pushing her way into the kitchen. She walked up to the stove, stood beside me, and peered curiously at the open door. “Why, you haven’t even put the wood in yet, have you? And you’re talking about bringing it to a boil…. Are you alright?”
She moved over to the cupboard as she spoke, pulling out a log and carrying it to the stove. This she dropped inside, and lit with a spell of her own.
“There. That ought to do it,” she declared, closing the oven door, before turning to me. “Honestly, my dear, you should have had me teach you instead.”
“Perhaps for my next recipe,” I suggested, with a smile I could only hope hid my nerves. I had, of course, dropped the fire spell in order to restore the illusion from before.
“You come by sometime when Abigail isn’t here, and I might just take you up on that,” Bevola promised, trudging back out of the kitchen. “Now get along, you two! I’ll look forward to the food.”
“A-alright mom,” Abigail agreed. She waited until Bevola had disappeared behind the door before sneaking a glance at me.
“Thanks,” she whispered afterward. “For the quick thinking.”
“It’s hardly a problem,” I replied, again dropping my illusion. “I suppose there’s little point in putting out the log at this point.” A half-burned piece of wood in the cupboard would only draw more attention, after all. “If you’re alright with it, I’ll simply work on maintaining the size of the fire.”
Abigail nodded, opening the door to the stove again so that I could focus on managing the flames. For a few moments, the room was silent but for the sound of the crackling fire.
“…Your mother doesn’t like me, does she?” I phrased it as a question, but I was fairly certain I was right.
“Huh?” Abigail turned to me, surprised. “No, she likes you fine. I mean, she’s basically been flirting with you, in case you didn’t notice.”
“I meant the real me,” I clarified. “She does not like Queen Devilla, does she?”
“Oh….” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, during which Abigail looked away from me, but I patiently waited for her to turn back. “…My dam was a soldier. She died when I was a baby—fighting in the war.”
“And your mother blames me?” If Abigail had lost her dam, then that likely meant Bevola had lost her wife. Demons rarely reproduce outside of wedlock, after all. Our reproduction involved one parent, the dam, magically merging her essence with that of the mother. The child would always inherit the species of the mother, who carried her to term, but her appearance would reflect the dam as well. And since it could only be done with the agreement and intention of both parties, there was little reason to have a child with someone you didn’t intend to spend your life with.
“She doesn’t exactly blame you. But…,” Abigail let out a long, slow sigh. “She does think you wasted my dam’s sacrifice.”
“I see….” So that’s how it was. I couldn’t exactly say that Bevola was wrong, unfortunately. Dimona Tower hadn’t made much in the way of progress since my mother’s death, and while the responsibility for that did not lie solely on my shoulders, I was undoubtedly the one who should have been leading the way forward.
An uncomfortable silence settled on the room as we both searched for words to say and came up empty. I did nothing but stare at the fire, keeping it controlled, while Abigail nervously toed the floor, occasionally glancing over her shoulder as if fearing she’d find her mother about.
“Alright,” Abigail said once the water began to bubble up, breaking the silence at last. “The water’s boiling now, so you should lower the heat down to about a fifth of where it is right now, and then start stirring the porridge.”
“You’re going to make your Queen stir for you?” I asked, arching an eyebrow and giving her a playful little smirk. It wasn’t as if I particularly minded; I was simply hoping that a little bit of teasing would lighten the mood.
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to learn how to cook, right? You put in the oats and most of the water, plus you’re controlling the flame! If you do the stirring, I’d even go so far as to publicly say that you actually know how to make porridge.”
“And what would the other citizens think if they found out that their powerful and bratty Queen knew how to cook a commoner’s meal?” I inquired, placing my hands on my hips.
“Maybe that you’re not such a brat after all?” Abigail suggested. “Maybe they’ll even realize that you’re… sort of… not terrible to be around. Sometimes.”
“…My, such words of praise from my loyal maid. Careful, or I’ll start to think you’re after a raise.” I smiled as I spoke, despite being unsure what to make of her words, and held out a hand for the wooden spoon Abigail had grabbed earlier. She handed it over with a faint blush on her cheeks.
Silence reigned once more. The only difference from before was the clanking noise I occasionally made when the ladle accidentally hit the pot. Despite that, I somehow found the silence much more comfortable than it had been before.
“I… never actually thanked you, did I?” Abigail asked, after a few minutes.
“For what? You’re the one who provided both the lessons and the ingredients. If anyone should be thanking someone, it should surely be me.”
“No, I mean… when you stood up for me, before. I didn’t actually expect you to get angry on my behalf, so… I guess it didn’t occur to me to say anything, but I probably should have. So. Thanks.”
“…I simply did as I desired in the end,” I admitted. “I didn’t even consider how it would make you feel, having me threaten someone like that on your behalf. I only acted selfishly, like the spoiled brat I am.”
“That’s not true,” Abigail insisted, emphatically shaking her head. The movement sent her blonde hair whipping back and forth, and I paused for a moment to watch the spectacle, unable to resist a small smile.
“Nobody but Mom’s ever stood up for me like that,” she continued. “I don’t exactly like it when she does it, and I’m not sure you doing it was any better, but… Still. It’s nice that you cared.”
I didn’t respond immediately, simply stirring the pot as I thought over her words. The oats soaked up more and more liquid as I did so, until it took actual effort to move the spoon.
“Looks like it’s done,” Abigail declared, withdrawing three wooden bowls from a cupboard and some smaller spoons from a drawer. I cut off the flame’s supply of oxygen, allowing it to die out, then recast my illusion spell. Then I filled each bowl as Abigail handed them to me and carried two to the dining room table, placing the bowls on opposing sides.
“Mom!” Abigail called out, sitting down with her own bowl. To my surprise, she chose the same side of the table as me. “Food’s done!”
“My, finished already?” There was a loud yawn, and Bevola emerged from another room at the back of the house. She had put on a white nightgown at some point. A backless one, of course, to make room for her wings. “Perhaps I should have napped, instead of checking on you….”
“It’s just basic porridge,” Abigail warned, “so you’ll probably want some sugar, but I’m at least pretty sure she cooked it right.”
“How rude,” I jokingly complained, looking for the sugar myself. I was a little surprised that commoners could afford the stuff, but perhaps it wasn’t as expensive here as it was depicted in the fantasy books Jacob had read. The dryads could theoretically grow sugar cane as fast as any of the other crops we relied on, after all. “I assure you, Bevola, that it’s quite well made. Your daughter even helped me with it.”
“Barely,” Abigail said, taking advantage of my conversation to grab the sugar first. It was in a small ceramic bowl, with a lid that had a notch in it, fitted over an even smaller spoon. Abigail used the spoon to scoop up a bit of sugar into her bowl, stirring it with her own utensil. Bringing a bite of porridge to her lips, she blew on it twice before taking her first bite.
“It’s good,” she declared. For some reason, she almost sounded surprised.
“Well, if it has my daughter’s seal of approval….” Bevola took an even smaller scoop of sugar than her daughter had, mixing it in and taking a bite of her own. “Hmm! Not bad. Not bad at all. You did well, Eena.”
“You give me too much praise,” I protested, taking the sugar bowl for myself. Since the others had only used a small amount, I followed their example. Just because sugar was available for commoners didn’t mean that it was as cheap as it had been in my last life, after all.
The porridge was… bland, but passable. I had officially learned how to cook my first meal, and with hunger as its main spice I was quick to eat it all.
“Someone’s certainly hungry,” Bevola laughed, taking another bite of her own food. She was about halfway done, with Abigail only slightly ahead. I fidgeted in my seat.
“A growing girl needs to eat,” was my excuse. I was thankful that my painted illusion didn’t allow my reddened cheeks to show.
“And which part of you is still growing, exactly?” Abigail pointed her spoon at me, her lips curved into a playful smirk.
“Perhaps these?” I suggested, indicating my tits. Jacob had read, once upon a time, that they could keep growing into one’s twenties, so it wasn’t necessarily a falsehood. For some reason, though, it brought a glare from Abigail. She was a fair bit smaller than me, I supposed, though far from flat herself. Perhaps a C-cup?
Bevola laughed from across the table. She, at least, seemed amused by my joke. To be fair, though, she was almost as well-endowed as me.
“My tits might be small compared to you two, but I’m willing to bet they’re the most sensitive ones here!” Abigail defensively declared, standing up from the table.
If I had been offered something to drink, I would have spat it out. Was that truly something one should say in front of one’s mother?
“Aye,” Bevola agreed, apparently seeing nothing wrong with it. “You’re like Jazma, to hear you tell it. You take after her in a lot of ways, actually….”
Jazma. So that was the name of Abigail’s dam. The one whose sacrifice I had wasted, alongside so many others. The one Abigail would never get to know.
“So,” Bevola continued, her pitch-black eyes turning towards me, “you never did tell me how you know Little Miss Sensitive here. Are you really a maid? Because you talk more like a noble, so far.” Her voice was teasing, but her expression was serious, and her eyes narrowed at me.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Abigail protested, waving her hands as if to dismiss the idea. “Eena is just a friend from work.”
“A maid who doesn’t even know how to cook porridge?” Bevola raised an eyebrow. “Seems a little strange to me.”
“Well… th-that’s because…” Abigail glanced at me, clearly looking for assistance. She was running out of lies. Bevola seemed to notice as well, her own eyes turning towards the younger succubus. Abigail was sweating bullets. “S-she’s—”
“The Queen,” I interrupted, pushing my chair back and standing upright.
Abigail stared at me, her eyes wide and her mouth wider. “Y-yeah, we both work for the—”
“My name is Devilla Satanne,” I declared, dropping my illusion. My eyes met Bevola’s unblinking black gaze, and though I did not break eye contact I did ever so slightly lower my head. “I know you will likely not believe it, but I do apologize for deceiving you.”
Bevola made no response. It felt like there was a lump in my throat, but I forced myself to keep speaking past it. “I understand that I am not welcome in your house. I’ll find another kitchen to cook in. Thank you for the meal.” With my piece said, I turned to leave.
“Wait.” I had half-expected Abigail to call out to me, and had already mustered the determination to ignore her if she did. Yet it was Bevola who spoke, and my resolve crumbled in the face of this surprise.
“…Yes?” I turned back toward her, unsure of what awaited me. Would she yell at me for wasting her wife’s death? If so, I would accept it; I probably should have been prepared for that from the start.
“Why tell me?”
The question she asked caught me off guard, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. From the way Bevola’s black eyes were boring into mine, I didn't think she’d be satisfied with anything less than the truth. I couldn’t give her the full story, unfortunately, but I hoped part of it would do.
“I didn’t want Abigail to keep lying to you. Not for my sake, at least.”
“And why not?” Bevola pressed. It felt as if I was pinned beneath her gaze. I knew that I was stronger than her, and yet the very concept of resistance seemed somehow futile.
“…Because I am someone who will never see her parents again,” I explained. My entire life, I had been filled with irrational anger at the world, for having to grow up without my mother or dam. Now, thanks to memories of my past life, I also knew what it meant to have loving parents—and what it felt like to know you’d never see them again. Thus, I felt that I understood better than most just how precious parental relationships could be. “I did not wish to watch Abigail strain her relationship with you for my sake.”
“Mom—” Abigail began, but stopped as Bevola lifted a hand.
“You’re different than I expected, Queen Devilla,” Bevola admitted. “That doesn’t mean I like you or anything. You’ve got a long way to go for that. But….”
The moment stretched on for what felt like an eternity. I realized that I wasn’t breathing; I couldn’t seem to start. Bevola stood there, seemingly holding and testing an idea in her head, assembling her next sentence with care. Until, at long last, she finally spoke again.
“…But I can’t say it would be a bad thing for my daughter to know you. It might even do her some good, one day, being so close with the Queen.”
“Then does that mean you’re fine with her still being my maid?” I asked, relief washing over me. My legs felt like they’d been turned to jelly, and only my royal pride kept me from collapsing to the floor. It was only now hitting me just how terrified I’d been of potentially losing Abigail.
“Your maid?” Bevola laughed. “That was never in question. I don’t tell my girl where she can or can’t work. No—what I’m saying is that you can keep using my kitchen! But no more lies.”
“No more lies,” I agreed. “…Though I won’t say the same about secrets.”
“Well, of course, dear. Every lady deserves a few of those, don’t you think?”
I could only smile in response. After all, the fact that I remembered not being a lady was one of the secrets I intended to keep.
~~~
Author's Notes
A few things of note in regard to this chapter!
First - as before - I want to give thanks to my beta readers., including ByteOfBrie, Julx, and Wildfire Darkstar! Also wanna express thanks to paradoxicalWitchling and FallingLeaf, who helped proofread the original version of chapter 1, and - by extension - this prologue.
Second - it's entirely possible that this chapter will be cut in half, in the final version. An anonymous beta reader suggested that I might want to split it at the point where they finish dealing with the rabbit girl, and I'm seriously considering it. That said, while it might appear as two chapters in the book, I'm keeping it to one chapter on Patreon for simplicity's sake. There shouldn't be any other major changes between this and the epub version I'll eventually be releasing, though.
As for the chapter itself... It's interesting to go back and look at the characters as they started. Abigail trying to figure Devilla out, and Devilla still trying to keep everything secret... We all know how that goes in the end.
Also, there's a small (but pretty obvious) cameo in this chapter! For those who never caught it - Demon's Desire is the name of a one-shot I wrote, quite a while back. I couldn't resist slipping it when I first wrote the chapter, and there it remains as the name of Bevola's brothel. Nobody ever mentioned catching it, but I'm sure someone must have... right?
Comments
Striving Spark
I can't quite say it was *planned* - since I had no idea I'd be writing Demon Queened back when I wrote Demon's Desires - but it was definitely a conscious choice to go with that name back when I wrote it. It was just too fitting a title
Anonymous
I always thought that name was a coincidence.
