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

Their last night in the town unfolded in a hush of moonlight and flour.

It was supposed to be a quiet, early bedtime kind of night—rest before the long journey to ancient demon ruins, secret paths, and probably some overly dramatic stone doors that required blood offerings or interpretive dance.

Instead, Elias stepped into the kitchen to find Rhea on a stool, covered head to toe in powdered sugar and waging war against dough.

There was flour on the ceiling.

The ceiling.

She looked up with the proud smile of a battlefield general and said, "Don't panic. The oven is technically still intact."

He blinked. "Technically?"

"The fire inside is contained. That's what you taught me. Contained means safe."

He walked in, cautiously, eyeing the flour-splattered counter, the mountain of dishes teetering in the sink, and the mysterious green puff emerging from what might once have been whipped cream.

"Okay," he said slowly, "so let me rephrase. Why does it smell like someone summoned a sugar elemental in here?"

"I'm making a pastry."