Her mother’s tenderizing hammer smacked down with explosive force. The pots and pans dangling over the stove rattled. Ripples went through the raw slab of demon-elk flank steak. From the size of the mallet, you’d think it had been dragged off the battlefield, and you’d be right. It was one of the many souvenirs from her mother’s days as a campaigner and demon lord companion before settling down and marrying the monster of her dreams.

     As Lord Nocturnus’ beloved wife, she didn’t have to cook for him. There were servants aplenty. This was an act of love. The cooks, formerly standing to the side until needed, had been chased away by Irissa, who wanted a private word with her very pregnant mother.

     “My life sucks!” Irissa announced.

     “We’ve had this talk many times, dear. Don’t let things get to you. In other realities, you’d be considered a staggering beauty.”

     “I don’t stagger. And I don’t live in some other reality. I live in this one. And it hurts.”

     “They’re only idle whispers. You’re the daughter of the demon lord. Nobody says these things to your face.”

     “That’s the problem. They know I’d lop their fool heads off. But the whispers are always there, and looks of horror when I’m not wearing the mask.” The skull face lay face-up on the table, white porcelain with dainty horns and a lovely grimace. “What’s even worse are the stares of pity.”

     Her mother sighed, giving the fifty-pound steak a couple more reverberating whacks. “One day, someone will come along and see you with the eyes of the heart and love you deeply, forever. It might be worth considering a trip out of these mountains; broadening your horizons.”

     “Traveling demon kingdoms isn’t going to change the fact that demons find my human blood offensive. Why couldn’t I take after my father more?”

     “You’d never know it, looking at my plain, bland face, but I’m from a family where uncommon beauty is common. I was the exception and unloved, until your father got summoned to my homeworld and I scrummed at first sight. I was hopeless about love until it walked up and smacked me loony, metaphorically speaking. Coming to this world with him was the best thing I ever did, until giving birth to you.”

     The mallet fell once more, like a boulder from a catapult. The stubborn meat was definitely losing the battle.

     “Your time will come, Irissa. When it does, don’t hesitate! Grab your opportunity with both hands and run off with it.”  She set the mallet aside and flipped the huge chunk of slightly purple behemoth meat. She picked up the mallet again.  “That’s what I did, and I’ve been very happy. All any woman needs is the right man to love her—and if he comes along with a castle and a treasure room or two—that’s gravy.”

     The mallet continued to whack happily.

     “Want me to do that for you?” Irissa stared at her mother’s extended stomach. “You shouldn’t do anything that might harm the baby.”

     “It’s fine, dear. Besides, this is delicate work.” The mallet slammed heavily. “The last time you helped, you pulped the meat and broke the table in half. In pure power, you are your father’s daughter. Run along and play. I hear outlanders have been skulking about the village. Maybe you can catch one or two for your father. If nothing else, it will divert you from your troubles.”

     “Okay.” Irissa picked up her mask. Her father had asked her to wear it when leading his troops into battle. He’d said flawless porcelain skin, symmetrical features, and a full soft mouth tended to frighten not only the enemy, but those fighting along with her. Growing up, she’d always been told she was his beautiful princess. Demon lords were good at lying, it was a job requirement, but she’d always sensed the lie.

     She shut away her heart-shaped face, letting only her smoldering blue eyes show. With a forty-pound sword strapped to her back, she stormed away.

     Out in the hallway, demons cowered back from her petite presence, recognizing swift death when they saw it. Their looming bodies were draped with spiky armor. They bristled with weapons. Exposed skin was pale blue, green, or sometimes rose pink. Eyes were always black as were their unruly manes. Some demons were tusked, some had claws and horns, but most looked human like her father, a bit gigantic with blunt, rough-hewn, features.

     They held their breath, keeping quiet until she turned a corner. They meant to speak quietly but their demon voices carried well, chasing after her. “How can something so small be so scary?”

     “I don’t know! Almost twenty now and still unmarried. Poor thing. Gives her a real mood.”

     “Too bad no one’s willing to beat some beauty into her face.”

     “Shush, don’t even jest about such a thing! It’s worth your life! She’ll dare you to try.”

     “W-what? I didn’t say anything. You musta heard wrong.”

     Heading toward the royal stable, her simmering thoughts turned to the outlanders. Her mother hadn’t said if they were human adventurers, elves, orcs, trolls, or demi-angels.

     Well, I suppose I’ll find out when I catch one.

     She reached the long hall of the stable and hurried to where her dire-stallion rested. She unlatched and opened the door to the stall. Deth Wynd stomped clawed feet, clacking a greeting, impatient to be out. He came nuzzling, taking a stalk of softened sweet cane from her hand. Crushing the treat in his yellow beak, he chomped with delight. “Gud!” the dire-horse said. “Morr!”

     “We’ll swing through the market, and I’ll buy you more,” she promised.

     She didn’t use a bit or reins. This was a warhorse trained to respond instantly to subtle signals from his rider. They worked well as a team. She threw on a blanket and saddle, cinching it in place. A flat-footed jump carried her into the saddle. The horse needed no instructions, padding out into the wide aisle between stalls. Leaving, she didn’t see any of the stable boys. She figured they were hiding. Someone had scared them with the story that she frequently fed lazy stable boys to her horse.

     Totally untrue . I’d never treat a horse that way.

     They tore across the courtyard, around to the keep’s main gate, and galloped under the hanging portcullis, across the drawbridge, onto the main road. Deth Wynd’s claws thudded heavily, his stiff, red-feathered mane a nice contrast to his jet-black body. Dust billowed in the demon horse’s wake.

     Well above the lower world, the keep had a number of deep wells. The closest village lay at the bottom of a series of tiers nestled along a slow, wide river thick with sweet cane. The giant sun colored much of the world with crimson.

     At the bottom of the road, the details of the village grew clearer. Outside the walls was a barracks for soldiers whose job it was to deal with village issues and be a deterrent to rogue bands of demons.

     Inside the walls, the brick and wood houses and businesses were protected by high, gray walls and blocky towers. One of her father’s gold, red, and black banners rippled from a flagpole at the barracks. Similar pennants fluttered from the cone-shaped caps of the watchtowers.

     Approaching the main gate, Irissa merged with traffic heading into the village. Soldiers—with ax-headed pikes, wearing leather kilts, sandals, and shoulder-hinged breast and back plates—inspected the wagons on the way to the market. Six-legged demon-oxen huffed and bawled, tugging their loads along.

     Slowing, she cut the line.

     The soldiers waved her through, not wanting a closer look. She followed the main street to the booths at Merchants’ Square. She dismounted, leaving her horse under the waxy-leafed canopy of a gnarled tree. Deth Wynd would patiently wait for her return or come if she whistled.

     As she strolled about, voices muted around her. She felt fearful eyes following her every move. Her horned-skull mask and quick temper were well known, as was her massive weapon—Pate Cleaver, sword of legend. The idea that any of the merchants would dare cheat her was preposterous. Her father would jerk the meat from their still-living bones and feed it to the wyverns. Entire clans had been wiped out for less cause.

     Irissa stopped to buy a small bundle of young sweet cane and held out a copper coin with her father’s face stamped upon it.

     Trembling, smiling weakly, the old woman in the booth waved off the coin. “No, please, take the cane with my compliments. Others, knowing you buy from me, will come in droves.”

     In droves? As if.

     She smelled the lie. The woman didn’t believe it. Irissa didn’t argue. The old woman tied the cane with a cheerful black ribbon. Irissa took the cane and moved on. She eyed a display of bronze daggers jeweled with rune stones. The weapons were able to curse anyone stabbed. Though pretty, she didn’t stop.

     A few booths down, she shifted to another side of the square and heard a commotion ahead of her. Two massive demon soldiers lumbered toward her, chasing a small, cloaked figure who refused to stop despite their threats of grave bodily harm.

     That wouldn’t win me over either. Not that I run from anything.

     She stepped into the path of the fugitive, expecting him to recognize her and collapse in terror, begging for his life. He didn’t collapse. He didn’t beg. He didn’t slow down. Running blindly, he looked behind him to see if the soldiers were close. If anything, he ran faster.

     Surprised, she was knocked to the ground, her mask flying away, clattering. The runner stretched out on top of her. His face swung around to where she could see into his hood’s shadow. Such shadows could not defeat the piercing power of her half-demon gaze. He had guileless, green eyes flecked with gold. A red scarf covered his lower face.

     She reached for the dagger sheathed on her hip.

     Instead of scrambling up and continuing to run, the cloaked man stared at her face.

     He’s going to scream in horror and I’m going to cut out his tongue.

     He swept back his hood and pulled down the scarf, still staring. His hair was wavy, the color of ripened wheat. He flaunted a smile that made her heart pound. Oddly, he seemed unaware of his danger at her nearness.

     “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to knock down...” his words slowed, “someone so...”

     So ugly? Her blade cleared its sheath. Her grip tightened on the hilt. Say it and die, human scum!

     “Beautiful!” His last word emerged as a sigh of adoration.

     Her heart jolted violently inside her chest as raw emotions surged through her. The blade fell from her nerveless fingers. It was her turn to stare. Living among demons, she’d long learned to sniff out rare truths when she heard them. He was being honest. He thinks I’m beautiful!

     The soldiers towered over them. One of them clutched a two-headed battle-ax. “Stay still, princess, we’ll have the maggot off of you in a moment.” The ax whistled, cutting the air.

     She pushed the human aside and caught the descending blade with the palm of her enchanted gauntlet. She held the ax immobile, glaring at the soldiers. “Since when do I need help with killing?” She threw the ax back and rolled to her feet, recovering her knife. She stood between the fugitive and the guards, her mask on the flagstones, a crack above one eye hole, a horn broken off.

     “Go away,” she growled.

     Blanching from her exposed face, they fled in panic.

     She turned and saw the human on his knees, picking up her mask. He held it out to her. “Here, you dropped this. It’s a shame though to conceal such a pretty face. Oh! I’m being rude. Sorry.”

     She accepted her mask but didn’t put it on. She pointed at the bundle of sweet cane she’d also dropped. “That’s mine, too.”

     He scrambled to retrieve it for her.

     “You’re one of the outlander spies I heard about,” she said.

     He shed the cloak, no longer needing a disguise. His pants were tan and cut off at the knees. He wore a black, sleeveless shirt with some kind of aquatic beast—with a pointy nose, bearing rows of triangular teeth—pictured on it. A strange band encircled his wrist. It had glowing red glyphs of some kind, no language she recognized. He wore footwear made of black canvas, lashed on top with bright red cords.

     “I’m not a spy. This isn’t even my world. To tell you the truth, I have no idea where I am, or how I got here.”

     She smelled no deception to his words. Maybe this human didn’t know how to lie. And now that she listened closer, watching his lips moving differently from the words she heard, she realized he was actually speaking something alien; evidence a summoning spell had harvested him from another world, giving him the ability to communicate.

     He handed her the sweet cane. “I suppose I’m going to be tossed into a dungeon and hung in chains so rats can nibble on my toes.”

     “Do you have someone special in your life?” she asked.

     “A girlfriend? No.” He grinned, baring blunt, white teeth not unlike her own. “I’ve never been that popular. My name’s Joseph Oz, by the way. My friends call me Jawz, like the movie.” He gave her that blinding smile again.

     Movie?

     Putting aside the mystery of the stranger, she whistled for her warhorse. The sound of galloping approached. “I’m taking you into my personal custody,” she said. “I think it’s best.”

     “Well, if it’s you, I’ll probably be okay.”

     Her stallion thundered near, barely slowing. Dropping the damaged mask, she sprang into the air and landed in the saddle, dragging Jawz off his feet. She gathered him in and held him in front of her, his legs together, hanging off one side of the mount.

     Deth Wynd rounded a tree and headed back through the market. Buyers and vendors looked away from her exposed face. Small demon children wailed in fear. Someone retched, violently sick. “He’s hideous, too,” a merchant muttered.

     Idiots! Humans are supposed to look like...we do.

     “Cane?!” the horse inquired.

     “Got it,” she said. “Back to the castle. I’ve got to get ready for a date.”

     The world blurred for a while as Deth Wynd thundered back to the stable. She left him there, unburdened of saddle and blanket, with plenty of water, hay, and a few sweet canes to relish. The human stayed beside her, having little choice since she had a firm hold on his elbow. As they went into the castle, he stared wide-eyed at everything.

     The demon guards and servants they passed came to a standstill, doing their own share of staring. Her possessive grip on the human did not go unnoticed. Whispers rose in her wake. She didn’t think it would take long for word to reach her parents. Her mother would be an ally. Her dad was going to be a problem.

     If worse comes to worse, I can always fake-cry. He’s weak against that.

     From one step to the next, a shimmering veil of purple light wrapped around them. Gravity fluctuated.

     “Not again!” Jawz said.

     Again? Then someone did bring him to this world by portal.

     The short-range spell dropped them in the Great Hall, before her father’s throne. The royal guards had them surrounded but weren’t brandishing weapons.

     Damn, he works fast. Someone must have really hurried to snitch me out.

     On his onyx throne—with its dragon-winged back—wearing crimson armor with gold trim, her father made an imposing figure. “What do you think you’re doing? Just who are you sneaking into the castle with, young lady?” His voice carried easily, a sibilant hiss like the slide of desert sand down a dune.

     She glared with righteous indignation. “I should ask what gives you the right to snatch us up and dump us here. Have you never heard of manners?”

     “I’m a demon lord, remember? Rudeness, murder, mayhem, soul-numbing chaos are my things. Stop deflecting and answer the question.”

     Irissa threw back her head and bellowed. Her cry filled the hall and rolled well beyond. “Moooooooomm! Dad’s being mean to me!”

     A stunned silence followed.

     A black aura crackled over the royal dais, curdling the air. The demon lord cringed as his wife waddled out of her violet-black portal, knitting needles clenched like knives, taupe-colored yarn trailing behind her as something amorphous unraveled from her care.

     The demon lord’s head turned slowly, as if his neck were rusted. He met his wife’s burning stare.

     “What’s going on here?” she asked. “Why is our daughter upset?”

     “I-I caught her with a boy!” Lord Nocturnus said.

     Irissa’s mom smiled, dispelling the oppressive aura around her. Her head whipped around. Her gaze sought out her precious child. “Really? How wonderful! We should start planning the wedding.”

     “Don’t you think that’s rushing things?” Jawz asked.

     “What the boy said,” Lord Nocturnus affirmed.

     Irissa turned teary eyes toward the human. “Don’t you like me?”

     “It’s not that,” Jawz said. “We just met. Maybe after a long engagement...”

     Irissa smiled in triumph, dashing away fake tears. “Then you’re proposing!”

     “We really need to stick him in the dungeon and torture him with hot irons for a while,” the demon lord said. “Then we’ll know all about him.”

     Jawz stared into Irissa’s shining eyes. “Yes. I am.”

     Irissa seized him in a death grip, hugging all the air from his lungs. His face reddened as he fought for air. She released him and he staggered, clutching his ribs.

     Irissa stepped between her father and her betrothed. “He’s mine and I’m keeping him.”

     “I’ll get you a unicorn instead,” her father said. “A black one with extra horns.”

     Irissa looked to her mother. “Haven’t you always dreamed of grandchildren? This might be your only chance.”

     Her mom pointed the knitting needles at the eye-slits of her husband’s battle helm. The threat of her surging hormones was as clear as the purple-black jags of lightning fluttering between the needle prongs. With the ripening child of a demon lord in her womb, her access to dark magic had soared to an obscene level. The keep was one wrong word away from obliteration.

     The queen smiled sweetly. “Dear husband, don’t you think you’re being unreasonable?”

     “Well, I...”

     “That’s settled then.” The queen waved the guards away.

     They scurried out.

     “Irissa, honey, take our guest for a stroll in the garden. He will, of course, be staying for dinner. I’ll have a room readied.”

     “Of course.” Lord Nocturnus grimaced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

     Irissa dragged Jawz across the Great Hall, hanging onto his arm with a death-grip. “The thorn bushes are exceptionally beautiful right now. All the icky petals have been pruned away. The wyvern-song is breathtaking in the labyrinth. And wait until you see the ice-moths dancing over the carnivorous mushrooms.” She slanted him a half-veiled look. “I might even let you steal a kiss.”

     “How...nice...” Jawz said. “So much better than hot irons.”

     Her eyes narrowed as a distracting thought intruded: Eventually, we’re going to have to find out who’s importing outlanders to our world, and why. But that can wait until after the honeymoon.