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Demon Queened (Remastered) - Chapter 2
🕑 Added 2025-08-23 02:37:31 +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 toward me as if to confirm by touch whether I was real or not, but then seemed to think better of it, withdrawing the appendage. “I really, truly can’t believe it,” she repeated, shaking her head.
“Don’t you think you’re being a touch rude?” I demanded, tired of this little display. “I do not see the need to stare at me with such shock just because I got up a bit early.”
“You never get up without being woken first, your Majesty,” Abigail pointed out, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “And you definitely never dress yourself. Where did you even find those clothes?”
“Do you not like them?” I looked down upon myself, not entirely sure what the complaint was. A solid black, backless blouse, with long sleeves and a stiff collar, and a red skirt that ended just past my knees. I was wearing a pair of white knee high stockings as well, meaning that the vast majority of my skin was covered. Not exactly my normal M.O., but I still thought it looked rather nice.
Abigail didn’t seem to be impressed, though.
“It’s not like I hate them, or anything,” she conceded with a shrug. “But I’ve literally never seen you show this little skin. Are you even comfortable wearing all that?”
“I am, yes,” I retorted, cheeks tinged red. It was true that I had, in the past, always insisted on showing off as much of my body as possible. Even among demons, who would look at you with bewilderment if you used the words ‘clothing’ and ‘modesty’ in the same sentence, I had been something of an exhibitionist. The majority of my closet reflected this, meaning it took quite a bit of searching to put together anything resembling ‘reserved.’ Still, it wasn’t as if I was actively uncomfortable when covered.
“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 polite.
“It’s quite simple,” I answered, forcing a smile to disguise my nerves. If Abigail rejected me here, I would be back to square one. I had to push through no matter what. “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 out of her mouth. “You want to visit my house?”
“I’d prefer you speak freely when it’s just the two of us,” I advised, offering a kind smile. “If there’s something bothering you, please tell me.” Even if I couldn’t back down, I could at least listen to Abigail’s true feelings. I'd once believed that my position as Princess set me apart from other demons. I'd embraced that distance, thinking it somehow made me special. Now I knew it had only made me lonely and bitter.
“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? 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, crossing my arms beneath my chest. “Shall I take that as a sign you’re adjusting well to your new position?”
“Adjusting, huh?” Abigail’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve been your personal maid for maybe twelve hours, and I spent most of it doing paperwork with your head of staff, so I can’t really say I’m really used to it, or anything. It’s more like I’m too damn tired to keep my shock in check. I mean, what’s going on with you? You haven’t yelled, or threatened to throw me in the dungeon, or anything. And why do you want to pay me a home visit!?”
“Perhaps I should have led with that,” I admitted, neatly sidestepping Abigail’s other comments to focus on the event at hand. While ignoring Abigail’s suspicions didn’t seem like the best solution, it nevertheless seemed the only option to me. It wasn’t as if I could simply tell her about my past life memories; she’d undoubtedly question 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 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 there, for a long moment. Despite the pitch black coloration of her eyes, I could somehow tell that she was staring intently at me. It felt as if her eyes were drilling holes into my soul, and I found myself shifting my weight nervously from foot to foot. I did not back down, however. I could not back down. This was 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 and one I never learned. I would also like to learn how to clean and sew, but I thought cooking might be a good place to start.”
Abigail brought her hand to her forehead, kneading the fingers against her skull as if trying to massage away a sudden headache.
“And why, exactly,” she grumbled, “do you need to come to my house for these lessons? You have a massive kitchen dedicated to serving you. And cooks! Professional cooks who could teach you!”
“I would only get in the way in the royal kitchen, and the chefs are busy enough during mealtimes without me stumbling about.” That was probably true, but it was mostly just an excuse. In reality, I was afraid of drawing unnecessary attention. Further, I needed to learn how to cook as a commoner. 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 started living among humans.
“I won’t be able to cook anything fit for a royal palette,” Abigail warned me.
“That is fine,” I insisted. “A queen should know how her people are eating.” Quite frankly, my ‘royal palette’ was probably already ruined. 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 added, “I would appreciate it if we could go cook up a few commoner delicacies immediately. I am quite hungry.”
“Don’t you have royal duties to attend to?” Abigail protested. She sounded a little frantic for some reason. “Paperwork to sign? Things to… I don’t know, survey?”
“General Sylvanna can handle all that. In fact, I am quite certain that she will be happier without me butting in.” I had never really done anything like that in the past anyway, 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 enter your home?”
“No…” From the way Abigail was holding herself - half turned away, one hand on her opposite arm - it was obvious that she wasn’t quite being honest with me. Then again, I’d never actually given her permission to start looking directly at me, so perhaps that was why?
“You may look me in the eye from now on,” I informed her. “Now gaze upon my features and say that again.”
“I…” She looked back toward me for a moment, but then she turned her head away again with a huff. “I’ll go talk to your head of staff, and get us some guards.”
“Guards will be unnecessary today,” I declared, cutting her off. “Have you forgotten that I am dressed to avoid attention? More attendants would only defeat the purpose.” I paused, flexing my fingers a bit. “I’m stronger than them, anyway.”
You wouldn’t know it to look at my slender frame, but I was the Demon Queen. Even the Heroine would need to gain a lot of power from my Generals if she wanted to face me on anything near equal terms.
So why was Abigail giving me a funny look?
“Is something the matter?”
Abigail furrowed her brow, rubbing at the back of her head. “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!”
“That won’t be a problem,” I promised. “I have already thought of that. A simple illusion should suffice.”
My voice was confident, but inside I was trembling with a heady mix of fear and excitement. While I had used magic many times before, the entire concept now had a far more romantic feel to it, thanks to having memories from a world without spellcraft. For the first time since childhood, I was actually excited to use it - and a little 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 spells, you simply had to imagine what you wanted and supply the magic energy to make it happen - though it worked 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 with light magic 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.
The actual casting felt like warmth in my soul. Heat flowed through my body and out through my skin. This feeling was persistent, as I had to continuously supplying the spell with magic energy in order to maintain control over it. I didn’t mind though, it felt rather nice.
“So?” I asked Abigail, grinning smugly. “Does it suit me?”
“I’m not even sure how to respond to that, my Queen,” Abigail answered, shaking her head. “For one thing, your lips aren’t moving when you talk. Which is weird. How did you even manage to cast an illusion spell that doesn’t move with the user?”
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 people of this world used a different mental image; one that would work better, assumedly, but since I’d always deferred or ignored my magic lessons, saying insisting that I would receive all the knowledge I’d ever need from the Rite of Insight, I had no idea what the ‘proper’ way to cast 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 my embarrassment.
“Duh,” she 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. You just need to think of it like a painting - like someone took your face and drew a new one over it. That way the illusion moves with you.”
“I see,” I murmured, giving her a small nod. I released my spell, causing the warmth to dissipate, then called upon that same energy to cast another spell, this time following Abigail’s instructions. “Is this better?”
“Much better, my Queen.” Abigail looked relieved. I could only imagine it had been somewhat creepy having my voice emanate from a motionless mask.
“You shouldn’t call me ‘my Queen’ while I’m like this,” I warned her. “It would ruin my cover if people heard you. You should call me…” I hesitated, unsure of what a good name would be. Jacob wasn’t quite a good fit, and I’d die all over again before using ‘Jacoba.’ After a few minutes of thought, I settled on “Eena Divington,” which I thought was a normal enough name, at least by the standards of this world. It was based on Kristina, the name my human mother would have given me had I been born a girl in my last life.
“Eena,” Abigail repeated as if testing out how the name felt. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to refer to you without your title, my - Eena?”
“It’s fine,” I promised. “In fact, if you would 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 stays there. 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 then at least with the intent of walking together toward a shared destination. It was such a small thing… and yet it struck me harder than I thought was possible.
Trying hard not to cry, 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 an emergency I could find someone capable of working the teleportation circles and transport directly to any of my Generals’ floors. Utilizing either method would blow 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. There were many sights I had never seen when flitting about the tower by wing. For example, I had never realized just how big the place was! The ceiling on the hundred-and-first floor went maybe twenty feet above my head, but the ceiling 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 mistaken for thinking they were looking at the night sky.
It must have been incredibly dark in the tower. Away from the windows, and the daylight that shone through them, I saw no light sources. Despite this, I could still see perfectly well. From small details to vibrant colors, it was all so clear to me that you’d think I was standing beneath the midday sun. Perhaps it would be different in pure darkness, but I honestly thought there was a good chance that I’d still be able to see.
We had to travel through six floors to reach Abigail’s home. Other than my own floor, and the floor belonging to General Doll right below it, each floor we went through seemed to contain the equivalent of a large town, bordering on small cities. It made sense, really. The entirety of demonkind had been forced to live in this tower, after all, but there were a lot more of them than I’d thought! More than there had been in the game for sure.
“It would seem that I have a larger force at my disposal than I thought,” I muttered to myself. I still thought that the best route forward for my people was to join forces with the Heroine and make peace with humans; no matter how many of us there were, there were undoubtedly a hundred times more of them. Still, seeing such a large fighting force gave me hope that the demons would be able to hold their own at the resulting peace talks, without capitulating to demands out of fear.
Abigail quickly shot that down, apparently having heard me speaking under my breath.
“I hope you aren’t expecting everyone here to fight,” she said, glaring at me. “Most of us have never even held a pitchfork, let alone a sword.”
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 any of them would be able to tell you about a weapon was how to price it. It seemed that I did not have much of an army after all, just ninety or so towns full of civilians who needed my help.
Considerably sobered by that thought, I took another 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 lamia, who was half-snake beneath the waist. I saw another woman with wolf ears and a bushy tail, kissing a girl covered in wool. There was even a bee girl, trying to sell roses to a kitsune.
It’s seriously all women… Not that I was surprised by that, per se. I knew full well that demons were all women. 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 been 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, broke through 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 I must have bumped into her while I was 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 asked, looking to Abigail for confirmation. She was staring back at me, her body tense and her eyes fearful. She gave me a slow, reluctant nod. Did she think I would get mad, or some such? I had more compassion for mistakes than that… These days.
“It’s fine,” I told the bunny girl, offering my hand to help her stand. “I’m sure I’m as much at fault as you are, since I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Well, that’s mighty kind of you to say!” The rabbit girl hopped back onto her feet with a single smooth motion, dusting herself off and smiling brightly at me. I withdrew my hand, returning to my full height as I regarded her. She was surprisingly short, upright, 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 back. “May the Fallen One’s grace be upon you.” I had assumed that to be a perfectly normal farewell, but the rabbit girl’s look of surprise gave me pause. Perhaps it was only common among the upper ranks? 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 smile. Soon, I was grinning in return.
“Guess we can use whatever blessings we can manage around here, with the way things are going under Queen Devilla’s rule.” The rabbit girl shrugged, removing her hand. “Bet ol’ Luci would be twisted up something fierce inside to know she ended up with a descendent like that.”
“That’s enough!” Abigail protested. She grabbed hold of my hand, holding it tightly. So tightly, in fact, that her knuckles were turning 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 gonna even 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 eyes flicked to 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 to hear. It would have been nice to think she meant them, but it was patently obvious that 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 keep the bitterness from my voice as I spoke. I worried the rabbit girl would notice, but she was too busy glaring at Abigail. “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 there, that I-”
The rabbit girl’s speech was cut off mid sentence. That was no surprise to me, considering I had used my free hand to grab her by her 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 country, even Luci herself - all these are fair game in my eyes. But you will treat Abigail with respect. Understood?”
The rabbit girl nodded fearfully, even as I released her.
“Good. Now go.”
She scurried away without even looking back at me, leaving me with a sense of deep self-satisfaction. It lasted just long enough for me to see the shock on Abigail’s face, after which a rush of shame consumed me as I realized just what I’d done.
“I… Perhaps I went a touch far?” I offered, hoping to offset the fear Abigail must have felt. Truthfully, I hadn’t known myself capable of such an outburst. I had thrown plenty of temper tantrums in this life, mind you - complete with screaming and thrown dishes - but I’d never directly threatened anyone 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. She was smiling, but it was obviously forced. “People are staring.”
“...So they are.” Indeed, several sets of eyes had locked on me during that little show and the area around me had grown quiet. The moment I noticed the crowd, however, everyone 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.”
I followed her down the street, and around a corner, coming to a stop when she did.
“Home sweet home,” Abigail declared, indicating a structure built of red bricks. It was maybe five stories tall, which certainly made it one of the tallest buildings in the area. A flower shop was nestled on one side, and another apartment building on the other. Glancing behind me, I noticed that a brothel by the name of ‘Demon’s Desire’ was situated across the street from it. All in all, it seemed like a nice neighborhood.
“Shall we go inside?” I suggested. “It would be good to begin cooking soon, I am quite famished.” With everything that had been happening, I’d skipped both last night’s dinner and this day’s breakfast.
“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 pork. Nothing fancy.”
“Just the porridge will be fine, for now,” I replied, moving towards the door “I do not wish to use up all your supplies.” In truth, I’d be satisfied just knowing what sort of stoves they used and how to utilize them.
For some reason, Abigail was giving me a strange look. It seemed as if she had something to say, so I raised an eyebrow to indicate that she should go ahead. “‘For now’?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on doing this again?”
“Of course I am!” I replied, taken aback. “One can not 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 knob before proceeding to drag me inside. There were absolutely no light sources within the apartment complex but, as I had predicted, the absence of light did absolutely nothing to impede my vision. Abigail didn’t seem particularly bothered by it either, leading me past several doors before stopping at one just in front of the stairwell.
“This is it,” Abigail told me, reaching for the wooden doorknob and opening the way inside.
“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 assumed to be the kitchen and peering curiously at us. She had long, wavy brown hair cascading down to her waist and pitch-black eyes. She was well endowed, much more so than my maid, with breasts you could bury your face in. Her ass was pretty big too, more than big enough to fill someone’s palms. She was wearing a backless red halter top, and a flowing black skirt. She looked to be in her mid twenties, but judging by her conversation with Abigail I doubted that either 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, scowling at her. “I… I got told the Queen didn’t need me today. And then I ran into my friend Eena, who’d been uh… begging me for lessons on how to cook. So we came back here to make some porridge, and-”
“Porridge?” Abigail’s mother looked askance, setting her elbows on the counter and leaning down on it. “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 will have a hard enough time with that.”
“Really now?” The mother’s eyes were on me now, seemingly staring straight into my soul. Like mother, like daughter. “You can’t even cook porridge?” she asked as if she were probing me for answers.
“I-I’m afraid not, Mrs…?”
“Bevola. Just Bevola. I don’t have anything so 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 a queen to even so much as lower her head to a commoner, but I was pretending to be on her level right then. She might think me rude if I didn’t… Then again, the disguise had mostly been for the sake of getting through the city. It was probably better to at least let my host know of my 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 doesn’t want to be rude? But I think I’ve kept her waiting long enough. Porridge time, right Eena?”
“...Y-Yes?” I nodded slowly, understanding what she wanted from me. It bothered me a little to hear Abigail lying to her mother for my sake, 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 a 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 girl, who simply wishes to learn how to cook. Since your daughter is being kind enough to teach me, the least I can do is feed you afterward.”
“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.” She pointed in the direction she had just come from.
I nodded and walked past her. Abigail, still clutching tight to my hand, had little choice but to follow. Once we were in the kitchen, however, I grabbed her wrist and gently but firmly took my hand back from her. It had started to feel less like friendly handholding and more like a parent’s grip of restraint on a wild child, and it was beginning to bother me.
“So this is where the magic happens?” I asked, looking about. It was indeed a kitchen we had entered, so far as I could tell. There were cupboards and cabinets on one wall, alongside counters and drawers. A basin was set into the counter. It had a drain but no faucet, leading me to wonder where the water was supposed to come from. There was a metal contraption in the corner that I assumed to be the stove as well - a square thing standing on four thin legs, with a flat top and a door in front.
“Magic?” Abigail’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “It’s where we do the cooking? I guess you’re technically doing magic right now, but usually it’s more about chopping and heating things.”
“...Of course. How silly of me.” I didn’t feel like explaining the saying, so I simply let it go. “You said you would teach me how 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 to open a drawer, pulling out a long 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. Considering the non-existent faucet, I still wasn’t sure where we were going to get it either. Surely there weren’t any wells inside the tower?
“All you need to do is take a pot, like this one…” Abigail placed the black pot on the stovetop and smacked it lightly with the spoon. “Then you grab some oats…” She moved to a cabinet by the floor and dragged out a large burlap sack onto the ground. It seemed to be something of a struggle for her to lift, so I bent down and casually picked it up for her, eliciting a startled look.
“How much do I add?” I asked with a sly smirk, moving over to the pot.
But Abigail was already opening a drawer, and pulling out a small wooden cup with markings etched into the inside. It looked somewhat like an opaque measuring cup, though it seemed a little smaller than the one 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.” And in went the oats. “Now what? You said that was the only ingredient, yes? You can’t mean to say that you simply cook it like this…?”
“It’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 she turned her eyes toward 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 toward the empty cup. Water began to form at the bottom of it, slowly rising up to the top.
“There.” Abigail said with a satisfied smile. “We’re gonna need to do that about seven more times. We’ll need to wait a bit between each for the water in the air to even out a bit, though.”
Water in the air? Was she referring to moisture in the atmosphere? It was true that you’d find a bit of it everywhere, but the tower didn’t feel particularly humid, so I couldn’t imagine there was too much of it. If we did things her way, this was going to take a while…
“May I try filling it?” I asked her, stepping forward. I dropped the illusion I was wearing without asking for her response; I could always put it back.
“If you want? But you do realize more water isn’t going to gather up in the air just because you demand it, right? You need to be near a window if you want to gather a lot of it at once.”
“Yes, that’s probably true, for most demons,” I admitted, unperturbed. It was indeed a fact that one would find only so much moisture in the local atmosphere. But why did I have to restrict myself to what was local? Letting my power flow out of the room, and into the apartment as a whole, I drew all the moisture in the air toward myself. Slowly, a wobbling sphere of it began to form, growing bigger and bigger till it was about the size of a coconut. Judging that to be enough, I took the cup and dunked it into the ball, scooping out seven cupfuls of water and dumping them in the pot before dropping the excess water into the basin to drain.
“How did you…?”
“Would you believe 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, didn’t it?” Abigail nodded to herself, seemingly convinced by my lie. I suddenly felt a bit guilty for that. “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 where wood would no doubt go. “There’s some wood under that cabinet,” she said, confirming my suspicions, “Get some for me?”
“Of course.” I bent down to the cupboard and grabbed the smallest one from inside. I twisted it around in my hands, regarding it for a moment as a question formed in my head. “Wouldn’t it be better to simply create a magical flame for the duration of your cooking? It wouldn’t burn wood, and you would 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 conserve whatever magic you have left for casting that illusion spell on the way back.” Abigail reached for the wood as she spoke, but I pulled it away and tossed it back into the cupboard.
“Nonsense,” I replied. “I’m sure wood is expensive - and you aren’t giving my magic capacity the credit it’s due. Tell me when to stop growing the flame.”
I pictured an ember floating in the space beneath the stove, and it appeared with a tiny flicker of light. Then, ignoring Abigail’s stare, I began to slowly increase the size of the flame.
“Th-that’s enough!” Abigail stammered out, once I had a ball of flame about twice the size of my fist. “More than enough, actually, so turn it down a notch. Think you can keep it up for five minutes or so? We need to let it boil, and then reduce the heat.”
“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 for days.” Indeed, despite the last hour’s constant expenditure of magic, I couldn’t say I felt much of a dent in my reserves. I was either recovering my magic faster than I was using it, or I simply had an unimaginably massive capacity. Possibly both.
“Is everything going alright in there?” Bevola’s familiar voice floated through the room.
“M-Mom! We’re fine! Don’t come in!” Abigail called back, panic sparking from her tone.
“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!” Abigail insisted. “We haven’t even gotten it to a boil yet, so there’s no point in you coming in! Just take a nap or something!”
“I’ll nap when I want to, dear,” Bevola said, 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?” she accused, frowning. “And you’re talking about bringing it to a boil… Are you alright?” She moved over to the cupboard, pulling out the smallest log again and carrying it back 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.
“Honestly, my dear,” she sighed, turning to me, “you should have had me teach you instead.”
“Maybe you can teach me my next recipe,” I offered with a smirk. 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 just might,” 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, “for the quick thinking.”
“It’s hardly a problem,” I replied coolly, 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 questions, after all. “If you’re alright with it, I’ll simply work on maintaining the size of the fire.”
Abigail nodded and opened 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 been flirting with you since you got here, y’know?”
“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 waited patiently for her to turn back. “...My dam was a soldier in your mom’s army. She died when I was a baby - fighting in the war.”
“And your mother blames me?” It made sense. If Abigail had lost her Dam, then that likely meant Bevola had lost her wife. Demons rarely reproduce outside of mated pairs, after all. Our reproduction involves one parent, the dam, magically merging her essence with that of another, who is called the mother. The child will always inherit the species of the mother, who gives birth to her, but her appearance will reflect the dam as well. And since it can only be done with the agreement and intention of both parties, children are rarely born out of wedlock.
“She doesn’t exactly blame you. But…” Abigail let out a long, slow sigh. “She does think you’ve wasted my dam’s sacrifice.”
“I see.” So that’s how it was. I couldn’t exactly say that Bevola was wrong. Dimona Tower hadn’t made much in the way of progress since my mother’s death, and while the responsibility for progress did not lie solely on my shoulders, I was undoubtedly the one who should have been leading the way.
An uncomfortable silence settled on the room, as we both searched for the 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 to see if her mother was coming back.
“Alright,” Abigail said, breaking the silence at last. “The water’s started to boil, so you should lower the heat down to about a fifth of where it’s at right now, and then start stirring the porridge.”
“You’re going to make your Queen stir for you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow and giving a playful little smirk. It wasn’t as if I particularly minded; I simply thought that I’d tease her a little to 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 be willing to publicly state that you actually know how to make porridge.”
“And what would the tower think if they found 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 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, despite not being certain what to make of her words, and held out a hand for the spoon. Abigail handed it over with a faint blush on her cheeks.
Silence reigned again. The only difference from before was the clanking noise occasionally made by the ladle when it hit the pot. Despite that, I found the silence more comfortable than it had been before.
“I… never thanked you, did I?” Abigail asked, after a few minutes.
“For what? You are the one who provided both the lesson and the ingredients. If anyone should be thanking someone, it should surely be me.”
“No. I mean… when you stood up for me. I didn’t actually expect you to get so angry on my behalf, so… I guess it didn’t occur to me to say anything, but I should have. Thanks.”
“...I simply did as I desired, in the end,” I admitted. “I did not consider how it would make you feel, having me threaten someone like that. I only acted selfishly, like the spoiled queen I am.”
“That’s not true,” Abigail insisted, emphatically shaking her head. The movement sent her blonde hair whipping back and forth. 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 spoons from a drawer. I cut off the flame’s supply of oxygen, allowing it to die out, then recast my illusion spell. I filled each of the bowls as Abigail handed them to me, and then carried two of them to the dining room table, placing the bowls on opposing sides.
“Mom!” Abigail called, 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 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 any of the stuff, but perhaps it wasn’t as expensive here as it was depicted in the fantasy books Jacob had read. “I assure you, Bevola, that it’s quite well made. Your daughter even helped me with it.”
Abigail took advantage of my conversation to grab the sugar first. It was in a very 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 up with her own utensil. Bringing a bite of porridge up to her lips, she blew on it twice before taking her first bite.
“It’s good,” she declared. For some reason, she sounded surprised at this.
“Well, if it has my daughter’s seal of approval…” Bevola took an even smaller scoop of sugar than her daughter, mixing it in and taking a bite of her own. “Hmm! 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 it was as cheap as it had been in my last life, after all.
The porridge was… bland, but passable. I had officially learned to cook my first meal and, with hunger as its main spice, I was quick to eat it all.
“Someone’s certainly a hungry woman!” Bevola laughed, taking another bite of her own food. She was about half 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 for my growing blush to show.
“And which part of you is still growing, exactly?” Abigail poked her spoon at me, her lips playing at a smirk.
“...Perhaps these?” I suggested, indicating my tits. I had heard 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 little smaller than me I supposed, though not exactly flat herself. Perhaps a C-cup?
Bevola laughed from across the table. She, at least, seemed amused by my joke. To be fair, 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 any way to talk 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 your dam 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 pure black eyes turning to me, “you never did tell me how you know Little Miss Sensitive here. I’m going to start thinking you really are a General’s daughter if you don’t correct me quick.” Her voice was teasing, but her expression was serious, her eyelids 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 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 help. She was running out of lies. Bevola seemed to notice as well, her eyes turning to the young succubus. Abigail was sweating bullets. “S-she’s-”
“The Queen,” I interrupted, pushing my chair back and standing upright.
Abigail stared at me, eyes wide and 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 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. “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, but I 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 like I was pinned beneath her gaze. I knew that I was stronger than her, yet the mere idea of resisting 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 knowing my mother or dam. Now, thanks to Jacob’s memories, 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 started, but stopped when 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 into 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. 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 to 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 were made of 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 entirely.
“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 promised. “...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 few secrets I intended to keep.
~~~
Author's Notes
Chapter 2 of the remastered edition~! I'm pretty sure I already did a sweep of editing in the past, for this part, so it wasn't too much work - deleted a paragraph or two, altered some phrasing... The biggest change was adjusting Abigail's lines. I didn't have as great a grasp on her personality back when I first began, and a lot of it's just... subtly off. I'm not sure how good a job I did of fixing it - it's hard to pinpoint exactly what's wrong, which makes it difficult to fix without just straight up rewriting it - but I did my best! Hopefully it's good enough?
