Chapter 4: How to Accidentally Become a Demon Queen (Kind of)

  I know what you’re thinking.

  “You? The girl who lived 28 years on Earth as a broke member of the working class, suddenly walking around as some ‘noble’? Judging commoners? Attending a school that looks like it was designed by Barbie’s royal architect?”

  Yeah. Sounds fake.

  And you’re right to ask: How did I get here? What identity am I using? And what cosmic glitch landed me in a school where gemstone tiaras are part of the uniform code?

  Well. Let’s rewind, shall we?

  It all started three years ago, give or take. About a week after I woke up inside a suspiciously ornate coffin (red velvet interior, very cozy), and opened the lid to find a bunch of horror movie rejects kneeling like I was their long-lost messiah.

  Spoiler alert: they were not extras from a film set.

  They were demons. Like, actual horned, fanged, winged creatures with bad attitudes and excellent posture.

  Now, I may not have a lot going for me—I wasn’t rich, powerful, or particularly graceful—but if there’s one thing I do pride myself on, it’s my ability to adapt. Some people scream, some faint, some try to run. Me?

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  I just blinked and took notes.

  So:

  Not on Earth.

  If this is Earth, it’s the part that doesn't show up on Google Maps.

  These demon things are real.

  Somehow I understand their language, even though their mouths move like corrupted video game glitches.

  And—minor detail—they think I’m some kind of demon queen.

  Yeah. Queen.

  Not king. Don’t be sexist.

  Naturally, I tried to explain they had the wrong person. Told them straight up: “Hey, I’m not your queen. I just work customer service and cry in the shower.”

  They smiled.

  Apparently, the whole “I don’t remember anything” thing? Super common. They told me the memory loss was a side effect of the “rebirth spell” I—their queen—cast to cheat death.

  So my “delusions of mortality” were just part of the process.

  Great. Love that for me.

  Now, in hindsight… after seeing them casually hunt prey that looked a little too humanoid for comfort… maybe admitting I wasn’t their almighty dark monarch wasn’t the brightest move. Good thing they didn’t believe me.

  Fast-forward two days. I’m still alive. Win.

  Then, my personal demon butler—yep, that’s a thing—comes in, all formal and dead-eyed, and says, “Your Majesty, we’ve brought you a gift from the surface world.”

  Enter: a couple. Man and woman. Dressed in what looked like fancy ballgowns that had been through a blender. Clearly captives. But alive.

  “They are influential,” said the butler, like he was offering me organic caviar. “A noble delicacy.”

  Oh. Oh no.

  See, I’m adaptable. But not eat-people-raw adaptable. That’s a line, even for me.

  So, I didn’t eat them. Obviously.

  I befriended them. Because apparently being queen means nobody questions your decisions, even if you’re turning your “meals” into houseguests.

  One thing led to another, and I found a mirror.

  And that’s when I noticed… the body I was in?

  Yeah. Not my original, tired, 28-year-old Earth body. No dark circles, no split fingers, no caffeine withdrawal tremors.

  Instead, I looked like a 16—or maybe 17—year-old version of me… filtered. Like, “magical Instagram glam” filtered.

  Long, dark-red hair so deep it looked black in shadows. Smooth, glowing skin. Elongated canines. A little too sharp. A little too… demon-y.

  Suddenly, the whole “they didn’t believe I was human” thing made a lot more sense.

  Anyway, long story short: I faked having “secret surface plans,” told my new besties to help me fake my departure, and left the underworld.

  No one stopped me.

  (For how that went… well, refer to Chapter 1.)

  As for how I got from demon queen to noble lady in Regal Gem Academy?

  That’s a story for another day.

  One step at a time, people.

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