Chapter 8: The Queen’s Husband Ventures Out

It had been three days since Veydran the Proud (and now Broken) was kicked out of Ashenfall Castle with more bandages than dignity. Cael had mostly recovered, not that he had done anything strenuous, but Ashara had finally allowed him to leave the castle grounds. Not to run away, sadly. Just for a walk.

“I’m still sore, you know,” Cael murmured as they exited the obsidian gates. He clutched Ashara’s arm like a lifeline.

“You’re always sore,” she replied smugly, her long crimson cloak flowing behind her like wings. “You’ll live.”

“Barely,” he muttered.

Ashara didn’t respond. She was too busy glaring at every demon who dared to look at Cael for more than two seconds. Which was, unfortunately, all of them.

DEMON TOWN: A LOVELY NIGHTMARE

Ashenfall’s main town wasn’t horrifying per se...but it had a certain... aesthetic. Cobblestone streets shimmered faintly with red runes.

Lamps whispered ominous things when you passed. Vendors sold everything from flaming sugar skulls to delicately cursed jewelry. A two-headed dog politely bowed as they walked by.

“Did that mutt just nod at me?” Cael asked.

“That’s High Chancellor Grom’s pet. Bow back or it might eat your foot.”

He bowed. The dog wagged its tails and continued chewing on a skeletonized bicycle.

Demon townsfolk began noticing them. The Queen and her mysterious, suspiciously mortal husband. A ripple of whispers followed them.

“He’s tiny,” someone muttered.

“He’s cute,” whispered someone else.

“Is that a bathrobe?”

Cael tugged at his tunic self-consciously. It was the coziest thing he owned, and Ashara had said it looked regal.

Ashara merely smirked, brushing a clawed hand through his hair. “Let them stare. You’re mine.”

Cael was pretty sure that wasn’t comforting, but he nodded anyway.

STREET FOOD AND MERCHANT MADNESS

They stopped at a food stall proudly displaying: “Screech-Fried Delights – Fresh Screams, Always!”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Cael blinked. “Screech… fried?”

“It screams for exactly forty-three seconds before cooking!” the vendor announced proudly, holding up a still-wriggling mushroom with teeth.

Cael turned a violent shade of green. “I, uh… just had lunch.”

Ashara took a bite and promptly spat it out into a nearby fire elemental.

“Cael’s food is better,” she declared flatly.

The vendor collapsed in tears, clutching his ladle. “My family… my ancestors… I have failed them…”

ENTER THE TRADE FAIR

They soon arrived at the Ashenfall Trade Fair, a grand bazaar held once a year. Tents and magical stalls lined the black crystal plaza.

Races from across the continent were present: beastkin merchants hawking cloaks that screamed in the rain, dwarves selling volcanic brews, elves presenting shimmering plants that bloomed only when insulted politely.

Cael was dazzled.

Ashara, meanwhile, was led away by a merchant from the elven kingdom of Heart Springs. An elegant, suspiciously smirking woman named Faylen.

“I’m looking for… something special,” Ashara murmured, discreetly.

Faylen raised a brow. “Something for the human, yes? Something… endurance-related?”

Ashara coughed. “He bruises easily.”

“We have a fireproof bedframe and a charm to prevent concussions. Would you like matching ones?”

Cael, oblivious, wandered into the crowd.

THE RETURN OF THE BANDAGED IDIOT

As Cael browsed a rack of enchanted spatulas, a familiar voice rasped behind him.

“This isn’t over, human.”

Cael turned and screamed internally.

Veydran stood—or rather, leaned dramatically—on a polished cane. He was covered in bandages from head to toe, one eye barely visible beneath a mess of gauze. The eye glared with the intensity of ten failed marriage proposals.

“You!” Cael yelped. “Didn’t you get banned from the kingdom?”

“I was never banned,” Veydran growled. “Just hospitalized.”

“Same thing.”

Veydran clenched his fist. “I will win Ashara’s heart! She will see your weakness and—”

A booming voice interrupted:

“LAST CALL FOR ENTRIES! THE ASHENFALL TRADE FAIR COOKING COMPETITION BEGINS TOMORROW! SIGN-UPS CLOSE IN TEN MINUTES!”

Cael felt his soul leave his body.

“Oh, that sounds fun,” Ashara called from across the plaza. “Cael, I’m registering you.”

“You’re WHAT?!”

Veydran’s eye flared with demon fire. “Then I shall join as well! Let us duel with cuisine!”

“No. No dueling. No cooking. I’m not even—!”

“Done!” Ashara declared. “You’re entry number sixteen.”

Veydran hobbled up to the table. “Make me number seventeen. I will feed her a love-flavored stew!”

The registration demon blinked. “That… sounds unhygienic.”

CLOSING SCENE – DOOM IN AN APRON

Back at the castle, Cael sat on the kitchen floor, rocking slightly. “Why me…”

Ashara handed him a gleaming box of ingredients, beaming. “I believe in you. Besides...what could go wrong?”

Everything. Everything could go wrong.

Cael looked at the application form and thought,

“Why does the competition form say ‘blood-proof aprons mandatory’?”