CHAPTER 56: CRUMPETS WITH THE QUEEN

Maribelle sits cross-legged on a crimson velvet cushion, staring at the porcelain teacup trembling gently between her fingers. Her sword arm aches, not from battle, but from a full hour of pretend pastry slicing and etiquette roleplay with a pint-sized demon-kin princess.

She needs hard liquor. She gets jasmine and hellflower blend instead.

Across from her, lounging like a bored goddess on a chaise carved from volcanic glass, is the Demon Queen herself.

Vexena sips her tea in silence, eyes closed, lips curved in subtle satisfaction. Her silver-white hair falls in waves over her dark, silken gown, trimmed in star-stitch. She looks every bit the mythical destroyer of kingdoms. But lately... she’d become something else.

A conversationalist.

"Tell me again," Vexena days suddenly, cracking one eye open, "what was Vuvela like during her teenage years?"

Maribelle groans.

"I thought this was tea time, not torture."

The Queen chuckles softly, swirling her cup.

"Indulge me. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard stories about daughters that don’t involve betrayal, rage, and kingdom-shattering heartbreak."

Maribelle sighs, giving her tea a thoughtful swirl.

"Well," she begins, "she was brilliant. I knew it the moment she built her first autonomous toaster. It burned our house down. But, gods, it did so efficiently."

Vexena smiles, genuinely this time.

Maribelle leans forward. "She started inventing things before she could even tie her own boots. Half of them blew up. One turned our neighbor’s prize goat invisible for a month."

"I assume it came back?"

"...Mostly."

Their laughter mingles in the incense-thick air. Despite herself, Maribelle has started to... enjoy these chats. After almost a week in the Demon Lands, navigating the royal court’s silent cruelty and her pint-sized captor’s unpredictable tyranny, these strange tea breaks had become the only part of the day that didn’t feel like a knife under her ribs.

For all her power, Vexena is a lonely monarch. And for all her snide remarks, Maribelle’s a tired mother missing her daughter.

"So," Vexena says, brushing a silver strand behind her ear, "what about the golden one?"

Maribelle blinks. "Pip?"

The Queen nods. "Is he... really as potent as the rumors suggest?"

Maribelle smirks, sipping her tea.

"You’re asking a former war hero about a pleasure construct?"

Vexena tilts her head expectantly.

Maribelle sighs dreamily. "He was barely functioning when I tested him. Had no idea what he was doing. He was in ’test mode.’ He had no concept of intimacy. He was polite and apologetic the entire time."

She pauses.

"And yet..." Her voice lowers. "He was still the most mind-blowing experience I’ve ever had."

Vexena blinks.

"Even half-awake, barely booted, he did things to my nerves I didn’t think were physically possible."

The Queen lifts a delicate brow.

"I can only imagine what he’s capable of now that he’s fully activated, emotionally bonded, and surrounded by willing muses."

Vexena’s lips curl into a sly grin.

Maribelle narrows her eyes.

"...You’re not thinking of killing him, are you?"

The Queen chuckles, looking down at her tea.

"No. Not yet, anyway."

"’Not yet?’ That’s not comforting."

"I don’t want him dead. I want to understand his power. It’s not just mechanical. There’s something deeper."

Maribelle taps her cup. "So you admit he might be able to defeat you?"

Vexena’s smile turns wistful.

"If he could... I would welcome the challenge."

Maribelle’s eyes gleam.

"...So, you want to be defeated?"

Vexena freezes.

The silence stretches, soft and heavy as velvet.

She stares into her tea.

"...I don’t want to die," she says at last. "But if my death meant restoring what I broke... lifting the curse, giving this world a second chance... then yes. I would accept it."

She looks up, eyes hard again. "But that doesn’t mean I’ll lie down and let him win."

Maribelle chuckles.

"I didn’t think you would."

Vexena crosses her legs, folding her hands elegantly on her lap.

"Do you think he could defeat me?"

Maribelle sets her cup down with a smirk.

"One day, maybe... if you’re willing."

The Queen squints. "Willing? What does that mean?"

Maribelle leans in, her voice low and teasing.

"He’s not going to beat you on the battlefield."

She pauses.

"...He’s going to beat you in the bedroom."

Vexena stares.

Then burst into laughter. Loud, rich, echoing through the high-vaulted chamber.

"You’re playing with fire, Blackthorn. It’s been over twenty years since I’ve been touched. If your Pleasure Prince is really as divine as you claim..." she trails off, fanning herself dramatically.

Maribelle raises her brow.

"...you might end up jumping him?" she guesses.

"I might devour him," Vexena says, eyes gleaming.

Maribelle laughes, but it comes out a bit nervous.

"So," she asks, trying to shift topics, "what are your plans with the team?"

"For now?" Vexena replies, reclining once more, her smile turning secretive. "I’m simply watching. One of my generals is with them now."

--------------

Back at Knob’s Hill...

The moon glows gentle and wide over the peaceful farmland. Crickets sing their songs. Owls blink lazily from thatched rooftops. The cobblestone paths shimmered with the light of leftover festival candles.

Inside a cozy old house, Pip slowly lowers himself into a plush armchair, his circuits sighing with satisfaction. Steam hisses gently from his shoulder vents. He’d cleaned, comforted, and pleasured more clients in the last day than most constructs saw in a year.

He gives a quiet beep, leaning back and letting his chassis hum with the soft lull of contentment.

Penelo snores softly from a nearby hammock.

Vuvi lay tangled in blueprints and half-eaten snacks on her bed, her head resting on her pillow like a sleeping cat.

All was calm.

Or so it seems.

Far above the cottage, hidden in shadow and moonlight, three figures float silently.

One, a demon-kin general in a long obsidian coat trimmed in blood-thread peers down with a monocle that flickers with magical readings. His face long and cold, his voice smooth as smoke.

"He’s powerful," he murmurs. "But raw. Untempered. Like molten metal before it’s forged into a weapon."

Beside him, a lithe, spider-limbed woman with blades for fingers traced idle symbols in the air, whispering an ancient lullaby.

Behind them floats a silent, glowing figure. Her body cloaked in divine light. Long, svelt wings of white feather curls around her body while a small ring of light hovers over her head.

The general closes his monocle with a snap.

"Keep your eyes sharp. The Queen has plans for the golden one."

And with a shimmer of black light, they vanish into the night.