To Hunt a Demon King

To Hunt a Demon KingMadeleine Eliot Copyright © 2023 Madeleine EliotAll rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.Cover design by: Madeleine Eliotinstagram.com/madeleineeliotwritesMap design by: Lindsey Statoninstagram.com/honeyy.faePortrait design by: Kaja McDonald instagram.com/bookishaveril Printed in the United States of America To my hype girls, long may you hype! In the name of the Lady of the Moon,and the Lord of Death and Resurrection.In the name of the Mighty Ones of the Four Quarters,the Kings of the Elements.Blessed be this place, and this time,and they who are now with us. "Dryghten" Blessing Prayer (Gardnerian) Contents Title PageCopyrightDedicationEpigraphThe World of King and CovenPronunciation GuideThe Wheel of FortuneChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15The FoolChapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30EpilogueAcknowledgementsAbout The AuthorBooks in the King and Coven SeriesBooks in the Queen of All Fae Series The World of King and Coven Pronunciation GuideAkela: Ah-KEE-lahBeltane: BELL-tainCarnon: KAR-nonCerridwen: KARE-uh-dwenDemon: DEE-monDaemon: DAY-monElara: Ehh-LAR-uhhHerne: HURNOstara: Oh-STAR-ahOneiros: Oh-NEE-rowzSamhain: SAH-when The Wheel of FortunePart 1 Chapter 1 “Goddess curse me,” I growled, pulling the blackened pie from the oven as I coughed through the smoke that filled our tiny kitchen. I swear I had only left the thing in the oven for one minute too long, and somehow it was charred to a crisp.This was the third pie I had burnt in as many days, and I fumed at my own inability to produce an edible pastry. How was it possible that I could cast a hundred different spells and perform every piece of magic I came across, but baking was beyond me?“Maybe the fire was too hot,” said Mama consolingly, opening the window to let the smoke out, then leaning over my shoulder and grimacing at the blackened mess of a crust. “Or you left it longer than you thought.”“I swear, I followed the instructions perfectly,” I replied, throwing my apron down in frustration and wiping my sweaty face, probably leaving even more streaks of flour on my freckled cheeks.“Pie is complicated,” Mama said patiently, taking a knife and cutting away the blackened edges. “And what appears to be horrible at first glance may be wonderful underneath.” She gingerly removed the smoking crust, lifting the top to reveal golden peaches underneath. She beamed at me. “See?”I rolled my eyes at Mama’s insistence on being positive, accepting the fork she handed me and nibbling on one of the cooked peaches from the filling. It was heaven and somehow not too hot under the blackened crust, but I was determined to be annoyed.“Mmm,” Mama said, also biting into a steaming peach. “Delicious.”“It’s not a real pie without a crust though,” I complained, contemplating the dissected pie with animosity. My birthday was in two days, and I was determined that this year, as I would finally reach what witches considered maturity, I would make my own pie to celebrate. I was failing horribly.“I am happy to make your birthday pie, my heart,” Mama said, patting my shoulder as she began to tidy the mess I’d made of the kitchen. “I don’t think I mastered baking until I was in my fourth or fifth decade. You’ll get there eventually.”I sighed, frustration over the pie not my only source of annoyance this morning. I gathered the dishes and spoons and measuring cups, and joined her at the sink.“I’m sure,” I said sarcastically, taking the clean bowl she handed me and drying it like we did every evening after supper. “Just like how I’ll make it to the Coven meetings someday.”Mama stilled, her hand hovering in the air between the sink and the next dish before going to the black stone at her throat. She always wore the necklace, a black stone on a gold chain, wrapped in delicate threads of gold to hold it in place. It was a gift from my father, and she usually fiddled with it when she was uneasy.She wouldn’t tell me about him, no matter how many times I asked, but I thought she must have loved him. I would often catch her looking sadly at me when I was a child as she played with the necklace. It was unusual for a witch to be so attached to her witchling’s human sire.Witches did not marry, as mortal men were short-lived in comparison. Mortal men were needed for producing witchlings, as witches only bore daughters who would inherit their powers. The Crone and Coven declared that all mortals in the witchdom were required to live in the border villages near the woods, separate from the witches, but available for breeding. Love was almost never a factor in witch pairings, as long as the man had good looks and a strong disposition.My thick, wavy, copper hair and freckles had certainly not come from him. I looked like I could be Mama’s younger sister, her warm brown eyes glowing with the same golden light that could be found in mine, her copper hair and freckles the twin to my own.She was so different from my grandmother, who had thick, black hair and creamy pale skin, and eyes so icy they were devoid of any warmth. While I was pleased to be more like Mama in looks, I sometimes wished she was a little more like my grandmother in her beliefs about witchlings.“You don’t need to attend Coven meetings to be a witch,” Mama said, for what seemed like the millionth time this year, returning her hand to the dishes. “You still have a month before it’s mandatory.”I sighed. While most witches gained their Goddess-blessed gifts around puberty, it was traditional to wait until twenty-five to attend Coven meetings.