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

"Now remember, Rhea," I said, kneeling to eye level, "no summoning, no smiting, and if anyone asks where you're from, you're an exchange student from a distant forest village with poor magical infrastructure and zero political history."

ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ ɴoᴠel Fɪre.nᴇt

Rhea blinked at me. "Can I say I was raised by squirrels?"

"No—wait—actually... no."

It was the day of Magical Curriculum Observation Week at Aldelshire's community-run junior caster school—a week where guardians could observe magical dueling sessions to "gauge developmental growth in early-stage spell synthesis."

I had no idea what that meant. But I'd signed a form that said I did.

Rhea was technically too young to be officially enrolled, but the instructor, Miss Arlen, had taken pity on her "unique educational path" (read: my lies and frantic puppy eyes) and agreed to let her audit a few lessons.

I made her promise—out loud, twice—that she wouldn't vaporize anyone.

The arena was a wide circular hall behind the main school building, its floor made of enchanted marble and its walls lined with chalkboards, spell runes, and one very confused janitor sweeping up magical glitter.

Rhea's classmates were mostly human, elf, and beastkin children between eight and eleven. They wore basic caster robes and carried beginner wands that mostly glowed and occasionally exploded.

Rhea wore my oversized sweater and a tiny satchel full of cookies. She didn't need a wand. Her mere existence was a magical hazard.

"You excited?" I asked as we sat on the viewing bench above the field.