It was not every day that the Demon Queen herself walked the streets of the village, much less with her human wife at her side and their daughter barely a year old balanced atop her hip, her little fist clutching a piece of sweet bread like it was the royal scepter.
Malvoria had half-expected her council to object, had braced for a storm of worried advisors and logistical nightmares about royal security, or at least a lecture from Veylira about "discretion" and "the fragility of peace."
But this morning she'd only found herself swept up by Elysia's enthusiasm, Kaelith's clamoring cries for "walk!" and her own secret desire to see the world she ruled through her daughter's eyes.
So here they were, cloakless, crownless, only a handful of discreet bodyguards trailing a polite distance behind.
The sun was just climbing above the rooftops, painting the rough stone streets of the village with streaks of gold and dusty blue.
