The concept of "personal space" is a luxury usually afforded to supreme rulers of darkness. When you are the Demon Lord, people generally stand at least ten feet away from you, mostly out of fear that you might spontaneously combust them.
Valdred missed those days. He missed them dearly.
It was 8:00 AM on the third day of Elara's employment. Valdred stood in front of the heavy oak door of what used to be his Private Study. It was a sanctuary of silence, lined with books on military strategy, dark history, and the intricacies of goblin economics. It was where he went to think.
Now, a crudely drawn sign had been taped over the brass nameplate. In glittering pink ink, it read: "THE GENIUS MAGE'S LAIR (Knock or get hexed)."
Valdred stared at the pink glitter. It seemed to mock the gloomy stone walls of the corridor.
"My Lord," Lilith whispered from behind him. She was hovering a few inches off the ground, holding a fresh clipboard and looking deeply unhappy. "Must we go in there? We could just... seal the door. Brick it up. Pretend she never existed."
"We cannot brick up the strongest mage on the continent, Lilith," Valdred sighed, the weight of the world on his armored shoulders. "We have a strategy meeting. She is a General now. She must attend."
Valdred raised a gauntleted fist and knocked. Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Enter!~" a voice chirped from inside.
Valdred pushed the door open.
The transformation was horrified. His austere, dark-wood study had been… colonized. The heavy velvet curtains had been pulled open to let in the gray, gloomy light. The majestic desk was covered in empty snack wrappers, half-finished schematic drawings, and several potted plants that were definitely carnivorous.
And there, spinning in his high-backed leather chair, was Elara.
She was still wearing those ridiculous oversized robes. One of her fuzzy bear slippers was dangling off her foot. She was currently levitating a quill pen, using it to doodle a mustache on a portrait of Valdred's grandfather, the Dread Lord Malak.
"Morning, Boss!" Elara grinned, stopping the chair with her foot. "You look stiff today. Did you sleep in your armor again? That's bad for your back. You're going to be a hunchback Demon Lord before you hit four hundred."
"I do not sleep in my armor," Valdred lied automatically. He walked into the room, stepping over a pile of books. "Elara, please stop defacing the portrait of my ancestor. He conquered three kingdoms."
"He looks grumpy," Elara said, flicking her finger. The ink mustache vanished. "Like his grandson."
Lilith floated into the room, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "This room is a pigsty. It smells of... sugar. And laziness."
"It smells like genius," Elara corrected, leaning back and putting her feet on the desk. "So, what's up? Is the Hero Leo crying at the gates? Did the dragons go on strike? Or did you just come here to admire me?"
She pulled her glasses down her nose and winked at Valdred.
Valdred felt a familiar headache forming behind his eyes. "We are here to discuss your... appearance."
Elara blinked. She looked down at her robes. Then she looked back at him, her expression shifting into a sly, teasing smirk.
"My appearance?" She slowly stood up, walking around the desk until she was standing right in front of him. She grabbed the edges of her baggy robe and twirled slightly. "Why, Demon Lord-sama? Does my outfit bother you? Do you prefer... something else?"
She leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Something... less?"
Valdred choked on his own breath. "NO! Absolutely not less! More! I mean—different!"
Lilith stepped in, looking offended on a professional level. "What Lord Valdred means is that you look like a homeless vagrant. You are a General of the Dark Army now. You represent the Citadel. You cannot walk around wearing a bathrobe and slippers."
"They aren't slippers," Elara said, wiggling her toes. "They are 'Tactical Comfort Footwear.' But I get it. You guys are jealous of my drip."
"We are not jealous of your 'drip'!" Lilith snapped. "We have a dress code! Uniforms are mandatory for all officers."
"Uniforms?" Elara made a face. "Ugh. I hate uniforms. The Hero's party made me wear these white priestly robes. It felt like wearing a napkin. I spilled coffee on it once and Leo lectured me for three hours about 'purity'."
"Our uniforms are not white," Valdred said, trying to regain control of the conversation. "They are black. Crimson. Steel. They inspire fear."
"Fine," Elara sighed, throwing her hands up. "If it'll make you happy, Boss, I'll play dress-up. But I warn you... I have expensive taste."
The Royal Armory
The Armory was a cavernous hall filled with the smell of hot iron, leather, and sulfur. Rows of jagged swords, massive axes, and spiked armor lined the walls.
In the corner was the Tailoring Division.
"Eek!"
Two small, dog-like creatures—Kobolds—jumped in terror as Valdred's shadow fell over them. They were holding measuring tapes and needles.
"Lord Valdred!" squeaked the one on the left. He had floppy ears and was wearing a pair of goggles. "We are unworthy! Do not eat us!"
"I am not going to eat you," Valdred grumbled. "Pip, Pop. Stand up."
The Kobolds scrambled to their feet, trembling.
"This," Valdred gestured to Elara, "is the new Head Mage. She needs a uniform. Something that says 'Power', 'Authority', and..." he glanced at Elara's messy hair, "...'Hygiene'."
"Hi!" Elara waved. "I'm Elara. I like pockets. Lots of pockets. And nothing itchy."
Pip and Pop stared at her, then at Valdred, then back at her. A human? Commanding them?
"Well?" Elara clapped her hands. "Chop chop, doggies! Measure me!"
The next hour was an exercise in chaos.
Valdred sat on a bench near the forge, arms crossed, trying to look dignified while his new employee turned the armory into a fashion show.
Outfit #1: The Heavy Infantry.
Elara waddled out from behind the changing screen. She was wearing a full suit of black plate armor meant for a Doom Knight. It was three times her size. The helmet was on sideways, and the pauldrons were so wide she couldn't fit through the gap between the display racks.
CLANG. CRASH.
She tipped over and fell face-first onto the stone floor. She lay there like a turtle on its back.
"Help," her voice echoed from inside the helmet. "I have become a metal beetle. Is this your plan, Valdred? Immobilize me so I can't tease you?"
"Get her out of that," Valdred commanded, rubbing his face.
Outfit #2: The Sorceress Standard.
Lilith picked this one. It was a traditional "Dark Sorceress" outfit: a tight leather corset, a skirt with a slit that went up to the hip, fishnet stockings, and a cape made of raven feathers.
Elara stepped out. She looked uncomfortable. She tugged at the corset.
"I can't breathe," she complained. "How does Lilith wear this stuff? My organs are being rearranged."
Lilith smirked. "It emphasizes the silhouette. It distracts the enemy."
"It distracts me," Elara grumbled. She looked at Valdred.
Valdred looked. And then he immediately looked away, focusing intensely on a rack of spears on the far wall.
"Nope," Elara said, catching his reaction. A slow grin spread across her face. "Oho? Look at that reaction speed. You looked away instantly."
She walked over to him, the heels clicking on the floor.
"Hey, Boss," she poked his arm. "Why are you looking at the spears? Are the spears more interesting than me in a corset?"
"The spears are... very sharp," Valdred muttered, sweat forming on his brow. "Very well-maintained."
"You're blushing under that helmet, aren't you?" Elara teased, leaning into his field of vision. "You pervert. You like this kind of outfit, don't you?"
"I DO NOT!" Valdred shouted, standing up abruptly. "It is impractical! It offers no protection against magical backlash! Change immediately!"
Elara laughed, a bright, tinkling sound that seemed out of place in the gloomy armory. "You're so easy to read. It's cute."
Outfit #3: The Final Choice.
Thirty minutes later, the curtain pulled back for the final time.
"Okay," Elara said, stepping out. "I think... I think this is the one."
Valdred turned to look, bracing himself for another disaster. But he paused.
She hadn't chosen armor. She hadn't chosen the revealing leather.
She was wearing a modified officer's coat. It was black, with silver embroidery along the hem that matched her hair. It was tailored to fit her petite frame perfectly, giving her a sharp, military silhouette. Underneath, she wore a white dress shirt with a crisp collar and a short, pleated skirt that allowed for movement. She kept her own boots but had polished them.
She had also finally brushed her hair.
She looked... credible. She looked like a high-ranking officer of the Demon Army.
But she also looked incredibly small. The oversized coat sleeves covered her hands halfway, giving her a "child wearing her father's coat" vibe that somehow made her look even more dangerous.
"Well?" Elara asked. She did a little spin, the coat flaring out. She stopped and looked at him, biting her lip. "Pip and Pop worked really hard on the stitching. What do you think?"
Valdred stared.
For the first time, she didn't look like a nuisance. She looked like a partner.
"It is... adequate," Valdred started, falling back on his default setting. "It meets the regulations. The color scheme is correct. The material seems durable."
Elara's shoulders slumped. The light in her eyes dimmed slightly.
"Adequate?" she repeated dullly. "Just adequate?"
She looked down at her boots. "I guess... I guess I just look like a kid playing soldier, huh? Even with the uniform. Maybe I should just go back to the robes."
She turned around, heading back to the changing screen. Her steps were slow.
Valdred felt a pang in his chest. It wasn't the magical contract. It wasn't the fear of her leaving. It was... guilt. She had actually tried.
"Wait," Valdred called out.
Elara stopped, but didn't turn around.
"It is not just adequate," Valdred said, stepping forward. He struggled with the words. Why was praising an enemy soldier so difficult? Why did it feel like surrendering?
"Elara, look at me."
She turned slowly. Her expression was guarded.
"The uniform," Valdred said, his voice deep and sincere. "It suits you. It commands respect. You do not look like a child. You look like... a Queen of Magic. You look dangerous. And... quite stylish."
Elara's eyes widened behind her glasses.
"And," Valdred added, pushing himself to go further, "the silver embroidery brings out the color of your hair. It is... a very good look for you."
Boom.
A shockwave of mana blasted through the room.
The racks of weapons rattled. Pip and Pop were blown backward into a pile of shields. Lilith had to grab onto a pillar to stop from flying away.
Elara was glowing. Not just glowing—she was radiating pure, blinding white light.
She covered her face with her hands, but the light was leaking through her fingers.
"A Queen?!" she squealed, her voice high and shaky. "Stylish?! You noticed my hair?!"
"Elara, calm down!" Valdred shielded his eyes. "You're blinding the Kobolds!"
"I can't help it!" Elara shouted. "That was a high-tier compliment! That was a critical hit! My validation gauge is overflowing! I need to cast something! I need to release the energy!"
"Do not cast a spell in here!" Valdred yelled. "This is the armory! You'll blow us up!"
"I have to!" Elara spun around wildly. Her eyes locked onto a heavy iron training dummy in the corner—a massive slab of metal meant to test siege weapons.
"Take this!" Elara pointed a glowing finger at the dummy. "Plasma Lance: Overdrive!"
A beam of concentrated violet energy, thick as a tree trunk, shot from her finger. It hit the training dummy. The dummy didn't break. It didn't melt. It simply ceased to exist.
The beam continued, punched a neat, circular hole through the stone wall of the armory, went through the courtyard, through the outer wall, and disappeared into the dark clouds above the mountains.
Silence returned to the room.
Smoke curled from Elara's fingertip.
Pip and Pop were hugging each other, crying silently. Lilith was staring at the hole in the wall with a look of absolute resignation.
Elara stood there, panting slightly. The glow faded. She adjusted her glasses, which had gone crooked.
She turned to Valdred. Her face was still bright red, but that smug, self-satisfied grin was back in full force.
"Heh," she chuckled, brushing dust off her new coat. "See that, Boss? That's what happens when you treat your staff right."
She walked up to him, grabbed the lapel of his armor, and pulled him down slightly so she could whisper in his ear.
"But you know..." she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. "Calling me a Queen? That was pretty bold. Are you trying to propose, Demon Lord-sama?"
Valdred stiffened, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"I was merely being descriptive!" he stammered, pulling back.
"Sure, sure," Elara laughed, patting his chest plate. "Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, I'm hungry. Let's go get lunch. I heard the cafeteria serves mystery meat today. Let's go make the goblins nervous."
She turned and marched out of the armory, her new coat billowing behind her like a superhero cape.
"Coming, Boss?" she called over her shoulder.
Valdred looked at the hole in the wall. He looked at the trembling Kobolds. He looked at Lilith, who was writing 'Armory Wall Repair' on her clipboard with aggressive strokes.
He realized he was smiling under his helmet. Just a little bit.
"I'm coming," Valdred muttered.
He followed her out.