The hospital atrium smelled like antiseptic and boiled potatoes.
Elias hadn't meant to laugh. He really hadn't.
It started with a simple joke—one of the junior healers, Mirielle, had recounted how she'd once tried to reattach the wrong leg to a magically sedated orc, only to have it twitch and kick her into the disinfectant barrel. Elias, picturing her flying backwards in her spotless white uniform, had choked mid-sip on his coffee and snorted so hard he nearly aspirated foam.
Now he was doubled over, red-faced, clutching his ribs, tears leaking from his eyes. "You—*you got knocked into a barrel? With your patient's leg still in your hands?"
Mirielle grinned, brushing a braid behind her ear. "I said I was new. He was very understanding. Eventually."
The two of them stood just outside the herb prep room, sunlight streaming through the high arched windows, her clipboard tucked under one arm and his stethoscope bouncing as he laughed too hard to control it.
From the far side of the hall, hidden in a shadowed corridor between wards, Revantra watched.
Her fingers twitched.
She wasn't spying.
Not really.
She'd simply… walked by.
And paused.
And leaned.
Just for a second.
Just to see what he was doing.
That was normal. Totally normal. She was staying informed. Keeping tabs on her protector-slash-roommate-slash-suspected-idiot.
But then she'd heard it.
The laugh.
The kind of laugh Elias never gave her. That unguarded, full-throated, delighted laugh—the one that made his shoulders shake and his face go red and made everyone else within a five-meter radius smile too.
And he gave it to her.
Some bouncy healer girl with clean hands and good posture and a ridiculously symmetrical nose.
Revantra stood stiffly in the hall until the girl patted Elias on the shoulder and turned to leave.
She walked away, clipboard swinging.
Elias waved.
Revantra ducked out of sight, cheeks burning.
She was not upset.
She didn't care.
She just… didn't like that girl's nose.
By the time Elias returned to their apartment, the kitchen smelled like vengeance and scorched carrots.
Revantra stood at the stove, stirring something ominous. The pot was bubbling with a vengeance usually reserved for siege weapons.
Elias rubbed his shoulder, yawning. "Hey, sorry I'm late. We had a last-minute healing circle on a frostbitten knight who refused to stop insisting he was totally fine while his fingers were purple."
She didn't turn. "Hm."
He tilted his head. "Did you… start dinner?"
"Soup."
He smiled. "Wow. I didn't know you knew how to cook."
She ladled a glob of molten broth into a bowl. It hissed. A piece of carrot dissolved on impact.
Elias raised an eyebrow. "Is it supposed to be… smoking?"
She shrugged.
He took the bowl, sniffed cautiously, and sat at the table.
Then she casually flicked her wrist—and the entire pot exploded in a burst of flame, sending a geyser of scalding broth onto the ceiling.
Elias flinched.
Revantra blinked. "Oh no… it exploded."
He stared at her. "…Did it?"
She turned, eyes wide and suspiciously innocent. "You saw. It wasn't me."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're literally holding a glowing ladle."
"Am I?"
The ladle sparked. The curtains behind her curled in self-defense.
Elias took a slow sip of his soup. It burned his tongue. He ignored it.
"Rea."
"Hm?"
"You're mad."
"Nope."
He set the spoon down. "Something's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong."
"You're boiling soup into gas warfare."
She picked up a cloth and began scrubbing the soot off the cabinets. "I just thought you might like it spicy."
Elias stood, gently plucked the cloth from her hand, and turned her to face him.
He stared into her eyes. "You really think I'd like anyone more than you?"
She blinked. Looked away.
"…That girl at the hospital. She had good teeth."
Elias coughed. "Mirielle? She once tried to sew an orc leg onto a horse. And the horse bit her."
Revantra's lip twitched. "Serves her right."
He touched her shoulder. "Rea. I see you every day. I laugh with you. I panic over your magical outbursts. I dodge fireballs and deal with your 'accidental' wardrobe meltdowns."
"I grew overnight. I was molting."
"You exploded a closet."
She sighed.
Then he leaned in, forehead gently bumping hers.
"I'm not interested in Mirielle. Or anyone else. I'm here because I want to be."
She didn't speak.
Instead, she rested her forehead against his for a breath longer than necessary.
Then pulled away and muttered, "You're still dumb."
"Extremely."
"…And that soup wasn't for you."
He frowned. "Wait. What?"
"I made it for Mirielle."
"…You made weaponized soup for—Rea, you can't just sabotage someone with boiling vegetables!"
"She'll heal."
"That's not the point—"
But she was already walking away.
Later that night, Elias found her on the couch with a mug of tea and a book titled How to Be Normal (And Other Impossible Feats).
He flopped down beside her with a groan. "You know, I asked Mirielle about her dating life."
Revantra didn't look up. "And?"
"She's seeing someone. A half-elf tailor from the southern district."
She turned a page. "Good for her."
"She also asked me if my little sister was okay."
Revantra's hand froze mid-turn.
"…What."
"She said you looked a little pale. Thought maybe you had a cold. Or a condition."
Revantra closed the book, slowly. "A condition."
"I told her you were a demon, actually. Reborn. Terrifying. Possibly the rightful heir to an empire of flame."
She blinked. "You what?!"
He grinned. "Relax. I said it in a sarcastic voice. She laughed."
Revantra stared. Then chuckled—soft, involuntary.
"Gods, you're dumb."
"You already said that."
"I meant it more this time."
He leaned back, arms behind his head.
She sipped her tea.
The apartment was warm. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and carrots. But there was peace in it now. Something comfortable. Something shared.
Elias peeked sideways. "So… are we okay now?"
She nodded. "We're okay."
"Even if I laugh with someone else again?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Depends. Will she have symmetrical teeth?"
"Rea—"
She smiled, and for once, it wasn't the smug smirk of a former queen or the grin of a magically overpowered teenager.
It was something gentler. Warmer.
Something honest.
"I don't need you to only see me," she said quietly. "I just need to know I'm not… being forgotten."
Elias reached for her hand, laced his fingers through hers.
"You're unforgettable," he said.
She squeezed back.
And that night, as the fire in the hearth glowed low, and the kitchen ceiling still dripped with soup residue, the demon queen and her awkward, flustered protector sat side by side in the flickering light—closer, just a little, than the day before.
To be continued…