The butterfly was blue.
Jester Angelica Kere had never seen a blue butterfly before. There were plenty of brown ones and yellow ones and even some with spots, but this one was blue. Really, really blue. Like the sky but better because it was right there in front of her and the sky was all the way up.
She followed it deeper into the forest, her bare feet padding across the moss and leaves. Her white nightgown caught on a branch and she heard it rip a little, but the butterfly was getting away so that didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the butterfly.
It landed on a flower.
"Got you!" Jester lunged forward and fell face-first into a bush.
The butterfly flew away.
"Jester Angelica Kere!"
She knew that voice. That was Kurja's angry voice, which sounded a lot like Kurja's normal voice but louder. Jester pulled herself out of the bush and turned around, leaves stuck in her red hair, her small black horns barely visible beneath the mess.
Her sister stood ten paces back, arms crossed, pointed ears twitching with irritation. At ten years old, Kurja was almost twice Jester's height, and she never let her forget it. Her own horns were slightly longer, still black and Demi-Demon small, but she wore them like she was already a soldier in the Queen's army. Which she wasn't. But she dressed like one anyway, all practical clothes and scowls.
"What are you doing?" Kurja demanded.
"There was a butterfly."
"There's always a butterfly with you! Or a bird. Or a weird rock. Or—" Kurja pinched the bridge of her nose the way Mother did when Father brought home the wrong type of flour. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Jester looked up at the sky. It was still light out, so probably... "Daytime?"
"It's an hour past dawn! Mother's been up baking since before the sun came up and you're supposed to be home and dressed and helping!" Kurja stomped forward and grabbed Jester's hand. "And you're in your nightgown. Again. How do you keep doing this?"
"I woke up and the window was open and—"
"The window is always open! That's not an excuse to climb out and run into the forest!"
Jester's big red eyes welled up a little. "But the butterfly—"
"I don't care about the butterfly." Kurja's voice softened slightly, but only slightly. She brushed some of the leaves out of Jester's hair with her free hand. "You can't keep doing this, Jes. What if you got lost? What if something dangerous found you?"
"You always find me."
"I'm not always going to be around to—" Kurja stopped herself and sighed. "Never mind. Come on. Let's get you home before Mother sends Father out with the search dogs."
They didn't have search dogs, but Jester didn't mention that. She let Kurja drag her back through the forest, trying to remember which way was home. Everything looked the same to her—trees and more trees and bushes and occasionally a rock that might be special but probably wasn't.
Bellcrest came into view through the trees. It wasn't a big village. Maybe forty buildings total, all wood and stone, clustered around a central square where people set up their market stalls. Smoke rose from several chimneys even though it was getting warmer out. Mother always said you couldn't bake bread without a good fire.
Their house sat near the edge of the village, close to Father's workshop. Jester could see it now—the little two-story building with the red door that Father had carved himself. He'd put flowers on it, which Kurja said was embarrassing but Jester thought was nice.
"In," Kurja said, pushing her through the door.
The smell of fresh bread hit Jester immediately and her stomach growled. Breakfast. She'd forgotten about breakfast.
"There you are!" Mother appeared from the kitchen, flour dusting her dark hair and apron. Her horns, small and black like theirs, were somehow always perfectly clean even when the rest of her was covered in dough. "Jester, darling, where have you been?"
"Forest," Jester said at the same time Kurja said, "Where do you think?"
Mother looked between them and then laughed, which wasn't the reaction Jester expected. "Well, at least you're consistent. Come here, let's get you cleaned up."
"She tore her nightgown," Kurja reported, dropping into a chair like she'd just finished a ten-mile march instead of a five-minute walk. "Again."
"I'll mend it. Again." Mother wet a cloth and started wiping dirt off Jester's face. "You know, when I was your age, I stayed in bed until I was told to get up."
"That's because you were boring," Father's voice came from the doorway. He stepped inside, sawdust covering his clothes and beard, his smile wide. Drevek Kere was a big demon by Demi-Demon standards, broad-shouldered from years of carpentry. And before that, years of fighting. He didn't talk about his time in the Queen's army much, but Kurja asked him about it constantly.
"I was well-behaved," Mother corrected, but she was smiling too.
"Same thing." Father ruffled Jester's hair as he passed. "Morning, little wanderer. What was it today? Butterfly? Bird?"
"Butterfly," Jester confirmed. "A blue one!"
"Blue, huh? That's a good one." Father grabbed a piece of bread from the counter and Mother swatted his hand, but he'd already taken a bite. "Mirela, my love, you've outdone yourself again."
"You say that every morning."
"And it's true every morning." He turned to Kurja, who was still slumped in her chair. "You alright there, soldier?"
"I'm not a soldier," Kurja muttered. "I'm a babysitter."
"Important job, babysitting. Keeps people alive."
"So does being in the army."
Father's expression shifted slightly—not quite sad, but something close. "Army's not going anywhere, Kurj. You've got time."
"I'm already ten. Most demons start training at twelve and—"
"And you'll start training when you're old enough," Mother interrupted firmly. "Not a day before. We've talked about this."
Kurja's ears drooped but she didn't argue. Jester knew better than to interrupt when Mother used that voice.
Instead, she focused on something more important. "Is it lunchtime yet?"
Everyone looked at her.
"Jes, it's barely past breakfast," Kurja said.
"But after breakfast comes lunch."
"Several hours after breakfast," Father corrected, trying not to laugh.
"How many hours?"
"Too many," Mother said, setting a plate in front of her. "Eat your breakfast first."
Jester looked down at the bread and cheese and berries. It looked like lunch. It could be lunch if she believed hard enough. But Mother was watching so she picked up the bread and took a bite.
"Good girl." Mother kissed the top of her head, careful to avoid her horns. "Now, after you eat, you're going to get dressed—actually dressed, not just wandering off—and help me with the deliveries, understand?"
Jester nodded, mouth full of bread.
"And no more running off," Kurja added. "Seriously. I'm tired."
"You're always tired," Jester said.
"I wonder why."
***
An hour later, Jester was dressed—actually dressed, in a brown tunic and pants that Mother had to tie three times because Jester kept getting distracted—and following Mother through Bellcrest's winding streets.
Mother carried the big basket. Jester carried the small basket. But she also used her tail to carry an extra loaf wrapped in cloth, because why have a tail if you weren't going to use it? The spade tip at the end was perfect for gripping things, even if Mother said she shouldn't walk around with food dangling behind her like that.
"It's like an extra hand," Jester explained for the fifth time that week.
"It's like asking for someone to steal our bread," Mother replied, but she was smiling.
The morning market was in full swing. Demons of all kinds filled the square—mostly Demi-Demons like her family, with their small black horns and slim tails. But there were others too. Jester loved watching them all.
"Morning, Mirela!" Old Gorvak called from his vegetable stall. He was a Havoc Demon, tall and broad with multiple horns sprouting from his head and spikes along his shoulders. Jester thought he looked scary until he smiled, which made his whole face crinkle up. "And little Jester! Still causing trouble?"
"No trouble," Jester said, which wasn't technically true but also wasn't technically a lie.
"She followed a butterfly into the forest this morning," Mother said, handing him a loaf of bread. "In her nightgown."
Gorvak laughed, a sound like rolling thunder. "That's our Jester. Always chasing something."
Jester stared up at him as they walked away. "Mother, why am I not big like Mister Gorvak?"
"Because you're five."
"But when I'm older? Will I get big and have spikes?"
"No, darling. You're a Demi-Demon. We don't grow that large."
Jester's tail drooped. "Why not?"
"Because that's just how we're born. Different demons, different sizes."
"But why?"
Mother sighed in the way that meant she'd been asked 'why' too many times already today. "Because the God made us that way."
"Why did the God—"
"Jester."
They stopped at the butcher's shop next. Mister Tarvek was another Demi-Demon, though his horns curved slightly more than Father's. He took the bread gratefully and tried to give Jester a piece of dried meat, but Mother intercepted it.
"After lunch," Mother said firmly.
"Is it lunchtime yet?" Jester asked hopefully.
"No."
They continued through the market. Jester spotted a Havoc Demon woman hauling a cart full of firewood—she lifted it like it weighed nothing. A group of Demi-Demon children ran past chasing a ball. Two elderly demons sat outside the tavern, their horns worn smooth with age, arguing about something that sounded important but probably wasn't.
"Mother," Jester said as they turned down a quieter street, "why are there no Dark Demons in Bellcrest?"
Mother's steps slowed slightly. "They aren't around anymore, sweet."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
"But why don't you know?"
"Because I just don't, Jester." Mother's voice was gentle but firm. "Some things happened a long time ago, before I was born. Before your grandmother was born, even. The Dark Demons... they're just gone now."
"Where did they go?"
"I don't know that either."
Jester thought about this as they walked. She'd seen Dark Demons in the old pictures Father kept in his workshop—the ones from his army days. They'd had those big oni-style horns that curved dramatically. They looked strong and scary and cool. "Were they mean?"
"No, darling. They were just... different. Like how Havoc Demons are different from us."
"And Deity Demons?"
Mother stiffened. Just a little, but Jester noticed. "Yes. Like them too."
They were approaching the north end of the village now, where the streets got nicer and the buildings got bigger. Jester's tail tightened around the bread loaf as she spotted it rising above the other structures.
The castle.
It wasn't a big castle. Not like the ones in Father's stories about the great cities down south. But it was made of dark stone instead of wood, and it had towers with pointed tops, and everyone walked a little faster when they passed it.
The Demon Queen lived there. Not the Demon Queen from the old days—Father said she lived somewhere far away in a much bigger castle. But still a queen. A Deity Demon with elegant horns and red eyes that Jester had only glimpsed once from very far away.
She was scary.
Jester pressed herself against Mother's leg as they walked past the castle gates. She made herself as small as possible, which wasn't very small because she was already small, but she tried anyway. Her horns barely reached Mother's hip.
"She's not going to come out and get you," Mother murmured, placing a reassuring hand on Jester's head.
"Are you sure?"
"Very sure. Queen Reese rarely leaves the castle, and when she does, it's not to bother little girls delivering bread."
"But she's scary."
"She's just doing her job, managing the northern villages for the real Queen. Nothing to be afraid of."
But Jester stayed pressed against Mother's leg until they were well past the castle and its dark stone walls. Only when they turned the corner did she finally relax and let her tail unwrap from around the bread.
"See?" Mother said. "All fine."
"Can we not walk past there next time?"
"We deliver to the baker two streets over. We have to walk past there."
"Why?"
"Because that's where the road goes, Jester."
Mother looked down at her with an expression that was half exasperation, half affection. "How about you save your questions for after lunch?"
Jester perked up immediately. "Is it lunchtime?"
"It will be soon."
"How soon?"
"Soon enough that if you keep asking questions, it'll arrive faster."
That didn't make sense, but Jester decided not to point it out. Instead, she watched the village move around them—demons going about their lives, buying and selling and talking and laughing. Bellcrest was small, but it was home. Even if there were scary castles and no more Dark Demons and she'd never be as big as Mister Gorvak.
***
Queen Reese stood at the window of her castle, watching the pathetic little village below with barely concealed contempt.
They scurried about like insects. The baker and her spawn delivering bread. The carpenter fixing someone's fence. The old Havoc Demon pretending his vegetables were worth the copper they charged for them. All of them content. All of them satisfied with this miserable existence in this frozen corner of nowhere.
It made her sick.
"Your Majesty." Vex, her advisor, appeared in the doorway. He was a Havoc Demon, useful for his size and his willingness to do whatever she asked without question. "The monthly report is prepared for your journey."
"Of course it is." Reese didn't turn from the window. Her horns—elegant and regal, marking her as a Deity Demon—caught the morning light. She was beautiful and she knew it. Her mother had always been beautiful too, even now in her declining years. But Reese's beauty came with something her mother lacked: ambition that hadn't been dulled by centuries of peace.
Peace. The word tasted like ash.
"Shall I prepare your escort?" Vex asked.
"No. I can travel alone." She finally turned from the window, her dark silk dress flowing around her. Even here, even in this backwater village, she refused to dress down. She was a queen. She would look like one. "My mother grows more paranoid each year. If I arrive with guards, she'll think I'm planning something."
"Are you?"
Reese smiled. It was the kind of smile that made smart demons step backward. Vex, to his credit, didn't move. "I'm always planning something, Vex. That's what separates me from the cattle below."
She swept past him, through the dark stone halls of her castle. It was small compared to her mother's palace, barely a fortress really, but it was hers. For now. Soon she would have the real throne. The real power. The real palace where her mother sat, growing older and weaker with each passing year.
Demons were immortal, yes. They didn't age like humans or those ridiculous kemonomimi with their animal ears and fragile constitutions. But immortality didn't mean invincibility. Power faded. Strength diminished. Her mother, the great Demon Queen who had brought the elves to their knees thousands of years ago, now spent her days in her garden, tending to flowers like some common peasant.
It was pathetic.
"The village is stable," Vex said, following her. "No incidents to report. The harvest was adequate. The northern border remains quiet."
"The northern border is always quiet. There's nothing up here but ice and trees and demons who've forgotten what we are." Reese descended the stairs, her heels clicking against stone. "Tell me, Vex, do you know what my mother did when she was my age?"
"She was conquering the eastern territories, Your Majesty."
"Exactly. She was taking what belonged to us. She was reminding the world that demons don't ask for permission." Reese pushed open the main doors, stepping out into the cold morning air. "And now? Now she sits in her palace, enforcing a treaty she signed with the elves. A peace treaty. As if we need peace with creatures we could crush."
"The treaty has held for three thousand years—"
"The treaty is a leash." Reese's voice was sharp enough to cut. "And I am not a dog to be leashed."
Vex said nothing. Smart demon.
She made her way to the courtyard where her travel preparations waited. One horse—a massive black creature that suited her mood. She didn't need an entourage. This wasn't a state visit. This was the monthly humiliation of reporting to her mother like a child seeking approval.
Soon, she thought, mounting the horse with practiced grace. Soon you'll be too weak to hold the throne. Soon the realm will need a new queen. A stronger queen.
"Manage things while I'm gone," she told Vex. "If anyone causes trouble, deal with it."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Reese urged her horse forward, leaving the castle and its tedious village behind. The journey to her mother's palace would take three days if she pushed hard. Three days to prepare her report. Three days to rehearse the lies about how well Bellcrest was functioning under her rule. Three days to hide her impatience behind a dutiful daughter's smile.
Her mother believed in the old ways. In honor and treaties and coexistence. She'd grown soft in her age, sentimental about the peace she'd forged after centuries of war. She actually believed the treaty was a victory, that forcing the elves to recognize demon territory was some grand achievement.
But Reese knew better.
The treaty wasn't a victory. It was a surrender. They'd stopped pushing when they should have kept going. They'd settled for half the world when they could have taken all of it. The elves still controlled the richest lands, the warmest territories, the best resources. And the demons? The demons got the frozen north and the harsh mountains and were expected to be grateful.
It was an insult.
And Reese was done being insulted.
She thought of the village behind her—those content little demons with their small ambitions and smaller lives. They didn't remember the glory days. Didn't remember when their kind was feared. The Dark Demons were gone now, wiped out in some conflict her mother refused to speak about. The Havoc Demons had been reduced to farmers and craftsmen. Even the Demi-Demons, once numerous enough to form armies, now spent their days baking bread and raising children.
They'd forgotten what they were.
But Reese remembered.
And when she took the throne—not if, but when—she would remind them all.
The demons would rise again. They would take what was theirs. The treaty would burn, and the elves would learn what it meant to face a queen who hadn't been softened by centuries of peace.
Her mother had conquered with elegance and patience.
Reese would reconquer with fire and fury.
***
Three days of hard riding brought her to the mountains.
The palace rose from the snow-covered peaks like a crown of black ice. It was massive—towers that pierced the clouds, walls thick enough to withstand siege weapons, gates that could fit an army through them. This was the seat of true demon power. This was what Reese deserved.
Instead, she was stuck in a village managing bread deliveries.
Guards flanked the entrance, Havoc Demons in full armor. They bowed as she approached, recognizing her immediately. Everyone knew the queen's daughter. Everyone knew the heir.
"Your Majesty," one said. "The Queen is expecting you in the eastern gardens."
Of course she was. Always the gardens. Never the throne room, never the war room, never anywhere that mattered. Just the gardens with their flowers and their pathetic serenity.
Reese dismounted and let the servants take her horse. She straightened her dress, composed her expression into something resembling dutiful affection, and made her way through the palace halls.
They were empty, mostly. Her mother kept minimal staff these days. Said she preferred the quiet. What she meant was that she was too weak to command the presence the palace deserved. Too tired to maintain the court that had once filled these halls with power and intrigue.
The eastern gardens were warm despite the snow outside, heated by some ancient magic Reese had never bothered to learn. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors—reds and purples and golds that had no business existing this far north. And in the center of it all, sitting on a stone bench, was the Demon Queen.
She looked... old.
It wasn't something you could easily see. Her horns were still regal, still perfect. Her face still held traces of the beauty that had made her legend. But there was something diminished about her. A tiredness in the way she held herself. A slowness in her movements as she reached to touch a flower petal.
"Mother," Reese said, dropping into a formal curtsy. "I've come to deliver my monthly report."
The Queen looked up and smiled. Even weakened, even aged, that smile still held warmth. "Reese. My daughter. You didn't need to be so formal. We're alone."
"Force of habit." Reese rose and approached, her footsteps silent on the garden path. "How have you been?"
"Oh, you know." The Queen waved a hand dismissively, then grimaced slightly. "The same. Some days are better than others."
There was a tremor in her mother's hand. Barely noticeable, but Reese saw it. Catalogued it. Another sign of weakness. Another crack in the foundation.
"Bellcrest remains stable," Reese began, launching into her rehearsed report. "The harvest was adequate. The villagers are content. No conflicts with neighboring settlements. The northern border is quiet."
"It always is." Her mother stood, slowly, one hand bracing against the bench. A small cough escaped her lips. "The north has been peaceful for centuries. That's why I trust you with it."
Reese remained still, hands folded, watching. Not offering to help. Not reaching out to steady her. Just watching as her mother found her balance and took a careful step forward.
"Any news from the elven territories?" the Queen asked.
"Nothing of note. They keep to their lands, we keep to ours. The treaty holds."
"Good." Her mother moved among the flowers, touching them gently. "The treaty is important, Reese. I know you don't always agree with it, but—" Another cough, harder this time. She pressed a hand to her chest and waited for it to pass.
Reese counted the seconds. Five. Six. Seven. When her mother's breathing steadied, she continued as if nothing had happened. "But the treaty is necessary?"
"Precisely." The Queen turned, her bronze eyes meeting Reese's. Even diminished, there was still power in that gaze. Still intelligence. "Peace isn't weakness, daughter. It's wisdom. The wars cost us... they cost us so much. You weren't there. You didn't see the Dark Demons fall, didn't watch our people die by the thousands—"
"I know the history, Mother."
"Knowing isn't the same as understanding." The Queen moved toward a small table set with tea. Her steps were unsteady, and she had to catch herself on the table's edge. The teacup rattled slightly as she reached for it.
Reese didn't move. Didn't offer assistance. Simply stood with perfect posture and watched her mother struggle.
"You're young still," the Queen continued, finally getting the teacup to her lips. "You have time to learn patience. To understand that strength isn't just about conquest."
"Of course, Mother."
The Queen's eyes narrowed slightly, as if she could hear the insincerity beneath the words. But she said nothing about it. Instead, she settled into a chair, moving carefully, like even sitting required effort now.
"Tell me about Bellcrest," she said. "Not the official report. Tell me about the people. Are they happy?"
Reese thought of the baker and her irritating spawn. The carpenter in his workshop. The old Havoc Demon selling vegetables. All of them content in their insignificance.
"They seem to be," she said.
"Good. That's what matters." Her mother took another sip of tea, and Reese noticed how the cup trembled in her grip. "A ruler's first duty is to their people. Not to their own ambitions."
The words hung in the air between them, and Reese wondered if her mother knew. If she suspected. If some part of that ancient, fading power could still read the hunger in her daughter's eyes.
But the Queen just smiled, tired and warm, and set down her teacup.
"Stay for dinner," she said. "We so rarely have time together anymore."
"Of course, Mother." Reese returned the smile with one of her own, perfectly crafted. "I would be honored."
And as her mother stood again, groaning softly as her back protested the movement, Reese calculated.
The tremors were getting worse. The coughing was more frequent. The weariness was deeper than it had been even a month ago.
Not long now.
Not long at all.