Chapter 19: Tall Tales From a Ridiculous Source
"Stories," Vaelory announced, like she was about to unveil state secrets. She perched on the edge of my bed with both knees together and the kind of dramatic inhale one reserves for funerals or the final act of a particularly petulant opera. "About the demons."
"Really?" I asked, intrigued.
"Yes. There are a lot of them, and I kid you not—they are all true," she said solemnly.
"Tell me about them."
She folded her hands as if arranging the words into proper bowls. "Alright, listen, Your Highness. It should be noted that the demon realm isn't like our own. It's filled with caves and cliffs and mountains all painted in soot and lava."
"What? Why?"
"They say there is a continuous lava fall in the demon realm. They don't even walk on the kind of floor we walk on. Theirs is made of flowing lava, and one has to hop for fear of their legs burning."
I frowned as I tried to imagine it. "That's… rather inconvenient. I can't imagine hopping will stop one's feet from getting burned by lava."
"They are demons, Your Highness. Of course it wouldn't affect them."
"If the floor is made of lava, then what about their houses? How do they furnish them? You can't possibly tell me that the lava is in their homes too."
"But it is," she said with a gasp. "The beds are placed on pillars and sideways so the lava doesn't touch them."
Okay… this was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard in my life. And here I was, on the verge of believing her.
"And their dining halls are decorated with the heads of the fallen. While eating, they stare into the eyes of a fallen demon—or one of their enemies. And there are always wars. They fight battles every passing day."
And it gets more ridiculous.
"They use the wings of dead creatures as napkins and drink the blood of their enemies. They force everyone who visits them to drink from it too. The forks talk as well."
"Like how our chandeliers and some silverware have a mind of their own?" I asked.
"No!" she said with a horrified gasp. "This is different. The forks can eat up a whole human. And they cry until you give them attention. The candelabras sing and the teacups speak too."
"And let me guess—they eat humans too?"
"Of course!"
Beauty and the Beast in another world but with a twist. Too bad I didn't believe a word of it.
"Who told you all this?" I asked.
"Your Highness, this is something everyone knows," she said matter-of-factly.
"But I want to know how you got your information specifically."
She released a sigh, then spoke up with great seriousness. "My third cousin's sister's father's neighbour's uncle's sister's mother's brother's niece's sister-in-law's cousin's nephew," she said, "He traded the information for a pair of mittens. And it was accurate information because there was one man from the family—on my mother's father's cousin's wife's side—that went to the demon realm once."
I stared at her with my mouth open. If there's one thing I learned from my past life, it's that information passed through that many mouths was always a lie. There was no truth to it—but I was more amazed by how she had managed to recall that entire absurd chain without missing a beat.
She sniffed and went on, undeterred. "Also, demons keep little fire-serpents curled up like rugs. They sing when they're bored. And sometimes—this is the important part—they decorate their halls with trophies taken from travelers. Heads, banners, hats. It's all very theatrical."
"Vaelory, I like you… I like you a lot. But you see, this tale you just told me about your brother's uncle's niece's—"
"My third cousin's sister's father's neighbour's uncle's sister's mother's brother's niece's sister-in-law's cousin's nephew," she corrected firmly.
I nodded. "Right. Whatever you said—it's ridiculous. There's no way that's true."
"Have you ever been to the demon realm, Your Highness?" she asked archly.
"Well, no, but—"
She patted my hand like I was the child here. "Then what I told you is the truth. My source is reliable, after all."
I was caught between laughing and hitting her, just so she could reset that thing she called a brain. But before I could decide, a knock sounded at the door.
Two polite knocks, followed by my father's voice. "Elyndravyssorathielindria?"
My father stepped inside, looking like someone who'd swallowed a tray of lemon tarts whole.
I glared at him. He squeaked, then immediately darted behind the long legs of my soon-to-be husband—since he was now my inevitable fiancé.
"Can I come in?" Zorathys asked calmly.
"You're already in," I replied.
"I'm lingering at the doorway," he corrected.
I rolled my eyes. "Come in, but don't let that mouse someone calls 'Father' step any further into my room. I'll kill him myself if you do."
My father didn't need to be told twice. He stayed safely outside as Zorathys walked in, a smirk on his face. He was dressed in a similar style to last time—all black—but his long hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail now, and those ruby-colored eyes were fixed on me.
"You're not ready," he said simply.
"I was busy," I replied. "You'll have to give me at least one more day so I can pack my things."
Zorathys's smile was slow and amused. He snapped his fingers. The sound was soft and precise, like a coin falling. Suddenly, boxes appeared—not the messy, thrown-together kind, but neat, labeled stacks by my wardrobe: Seafoam silks, Riding clothes, Essentials, Vaelory's kit, Miscellaneous. Everything was perfectly packed, as though the maids had spent hours doing it.
I tried to think of another excuse since the packing one had clearly failed.
"I'm not dressed. And Vaelory isn't either—she's the maid I'm taking with me," I said.
Zorathys smiled again and snapped his fingers.
In an instant, we were dressed—Vaelory and I both.
My riding coat was a dark forest green, cut for movement, with a high collar and discreet gold embroidery at the sleeves: vine patterns tiny enough to whisper royalty without shouting it. The skirt was slit for mounting, paired with dark fitted trousers and calf-high leather boots with gold buckles. Practical. Ridiculously elegant. Exactly the kind of style I preferred. My hair was swept into a sleek ponytail, and fine gloves covered my hands.
Vaelory's outfit was a warm chestnut tone. It didn't shimmer like her usual maid's uniform, but it allowed for easy movement. Her blonde hair was tamed into a sensible bun instead of the wild halo she usually sported.
"Any more excuses?" Zorathys asked, clearly amused.
I sighed in defeat. There were no more excuses. It seemed I would go to the demon realm after all.
Zorathys's smile softened as he looked at me. "Time to go home, Firefly."