Page 3 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Son
I follow the winding path through the garden, past the carefully tended beds of nightblooming flowers and the small fountain that tinkles peacefully in the evening air. The sound usually soothes me, but tonight it feels distant, muffled by the churning thoughts I can't seem to silence.
Then I see her, and everything else falls away.
Kaleen sits on the sun-warmed stone steps leading to the eastern terrace, her legs curled beneath her and a book balanced on her knees. The fading light catches the rich chestnut waves of her hair where it's escaped from her braid, creating a soft halo around her face. She's changed from her work clothes into a flowing dress of deep green that brings out the gold flecks in her eyes.
Those eyes find mine as I approach, and her expression shifts from contentment to concern in the space of a heartbeat. She closes the book without marking her place, setting it aside as she unfolds gracefully from the steps.
"You look like you've been wrestling with demons all day." Her voice carries that particular blend of warmth and wry observation that never fails to ground me. "And losing."
I attempt a smile, but it feels strained even to me. "Just the usual battles with impossible physics and unrealistic deadlines."
She moves closer, close enough that I can see the faint lines of concern creasing her forehead. Her hand lifts toward my face, then stops just short of touching, as if she's asking permission. I lean into the almost-caress, and her fingers trace the edge of the scar at my temple with a gentle touch.
"What's wrong? Really?"
The question cuts through all my careful defenses. Not because it's sharp, but because it's gentle. Because she asks like my answer matters to her in ways that go beyond curiosity or politeness. Like whatever burden I'm carrying, she's willing to help me bear it.
I catch her hand in mine, pressing her palm against my cheek for a moment before pulling it away. Her skin is soft and warm, callused in places from honest work, and wearing the delicate gold bracelet I had made to cover the faded brand on her wrist.
"The Vaelthorne project." The words come easier than I expected. "I need a specialized binding lattice for the stabilizer matrix. Moonshard grade, and there's only one quarry that produces it. Two days northwest, in the foothills near Kaerion."
Understanding floods her features. "Your deadline."
"Eighteen days. If I take the time to travel… Well, the deadline is already tighter than I like?—"
"And you'll miss it." She finishes the thought, then steps back slightly, her mind already working through possibilities. I cansee it in the way her eyes focus somewhere past my shoulder, in the subtle shift of her posture that means she's calculating angles and options. "What about your usual couriers?"
I asked around on my way home with no luck. "All contracted elsewhere. Autumn construction season."
She's quiet for a long moment, and I watch her thoughts play across her face like clouds passing over the sun. When she looks back at me, her expression is determined.
"I could go."
The words hit me like ice water. "Absolutely not."
"Why not? I know magical materials better than most of your couriers. I've handled every variety of runestone and crystal matrix your workshop has ever used. I can identify quality moonshard lattice, negotiate fair pricing?—"
"Kaleen." My voice comes out sharper than I intend, and she stops mid-sentence. I soften it, reaching for her hands again. "You've never traveled that distance alone. The roads between here and Kaerion aren't exactly safe for anyone, let alone..."
"Let alone a human woman?" There's steel beneath the silk of her voice now, the quiet strength that first caught my attention in the stoneworking yards. "I spent years managing dangerous deliveries for the syndicate, Domiel. I'm not some delicate flower who wilts at the first sign of hardship."
That's not what I meant, and she knows it. But the thought of her out there alone, facing whatever dangers the mountain roads might hold, makes something cold and protective unfurl in my chest. She's the most capable person I know, but she's also the most precious thing in my world.
"I know you're not delicate." I step closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her amber eyes. "That's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about?"
The honest question deserves an honest answer, even if it means admitting something I've never said aloud. "It's about the fact that losing this contract would be inconvenient, but losing you would destroy me."
Something shifts in her expression, the steel softening without disappearing entirely. She studies my face for a long moment, reading the truth written there.
"The quarry isn't that dangerous, is it? Just remote."
I want to lie, to manufacture hazards that don't exist just to keep her close. But she's asking for honesty, and she deserves it. "No. Remote and tedious, but not dangerous. The quarry master is reputable, the roads are well-traveled during the day."
She nods slowly. "Then let me help you."
The simple offer carries weight that goes far beyond the practical. This isn't just about solving my deadline problem. It's about trust, about partnership, about the choice to share burdens that we could technically handle alone.
