Page 1 of Demon Daddy's Little Girl

1

ADA

Itug Rose closer as we wind through the packed marketplace, my fingers white-knuckled around her tiny hand. The sea of bodies press against us from all sides - merchants hawking their wares, nobles in their fine silks, servants rushing on errands. Every flash of a guard's crimson uniform sends ice through my veins.

"Mama, look! Pretty flowers!" Rose points toward a stall draped in blooming moonvines, their violet petals matching her unusual eyes.

"Not now, sweetling." I guide her past, keeping my head down as another patrol marches by. The spice merchant's stall sits at the far end of the market square, the air growing thick with the scent of imported seasonings.

"But they sparkle," she whispers, still craning her neck to see the flowers. Her honey-blonde curls catch the sunlight as she twists around.

"I know. Maybe another time." The words taste bitter - another empty promise to add to the growing collection. My own braid has started coming loose, wisps of hair clinging to my neck in the humid air.

A nobleman's carriage rumbles past, forcing us to press against a nearby stall. The merchant eyes Rose's violet gaze with too much interest. I shift to block his view, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Are we playing hide and seek again, Mama?" Rose's small fingers squeeze mine. Even at four, she's learned to read the tension in my shoulders.

"Something like that." I scan the crowd near the spice merchant's stall. Someone is supposed to meet us here - someone who can help us slip past the city walls and to safety. But the market square teems with more people than usual, merchants shouting their wares while children weave between stalls.

Another patrol approaches. I duck into the shadow of a textile merchant's awning, lifting Rose into my arms. She buries her face in my neck, her birthmark hidden behind her ear pressing against my skin.

"You're squeezing too tight," she mumbles into my collar.

I force my grip to relax. "I'm sorry, sweetling." But I don't set her down, not with so many eyes that could spot her telltale violet gaze.

Rose's stomach growls loud enough for nearby shoppers to turn their heads. Her small fingers tug at my sleeve, pulling the worn fabric.

"Mama, the bread smells so good." Her violet eyes fix on a display of fresh loaves, steam still rising from their golden crusts. "Just a little piece?"

My own stomach clenches at the aroma of warm yeast and herbs. The vendor arranges his wares with practiced motions, breaking open a crusty loaf to show a customer the soft interior.

"Not here, sweetling." I stroke her curls, remembering the last of our coins spent on the information about our contact."Once we meet our friend, we'll have a proper meal. With butter even."

"Promise?" She peers up at me, lower lip trembling. Dark circles shadow her eyes - she barely slept last night in that cramped alley.

"Cross my heart." I trace an X over my chest, our little ritual that never fails to make her smile. Even now, exhausted and hungry, her face lights up.

I need to pull out the note, to confirm the information. And as much as I hate to, that means I need to put Rose down, if only for a moment.

"I'm going to set you down, okay? You stay right next to me."

She nods. "Right next to you."

A noble lady sweeps past, her silk skirts brushing Rose's arm. I pull her closer, angling my body between them. The lady's eyes linger on Rose's unusual coloring before she continues on her way.

"My tummy hurts," Rose whispers, pressing her face into my side.

"I know, love." Guilt twists in my chest. I should have saved some of the bread from yesterday, should have found a way to make it last. "Let's play a game while we wait. Can you count how many red flowers you see in the market?"

She straightens, always eager for a challenge. "I saw three by the sparkly ones!"

"Good start. Keep counting." I smooth her curls back, tucking a loose strand behind her ear where her rose-shaped birthmark hides. The distraction works - her grip on my sleeve loosens as she scans the stalls for more flowers.

A sharp cry pierces through the market's bustle. My muscles tense as shouts erupt near the spice merchant's stall, followed by the telltale clank of guard armor.

"Thief! Stop that wretch!"

The crowd surges toward the commotion. I yank Rose behind a merchant's cart laden with pottery, pressing us both into the shadows beneath its awning.

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