Page 1 of The Demon's Little Girl
1
LIORA
The kitchen hums with morning activity as I push through the heavy wooden doors, steam rising from pots and the scent of fresh bread warming the air. Akira, the head cook, glances up from where she's ladling thick porridge into a ceramic bowl, her graying hair escaping from its bun in wispy tendrils.
"Right on time, as always." She gestures toward the tray she's prepared on the counter. "His breakfast is ready."
I nod, moving toward the spread with practiced ease. Six years of this routine has worn smooth grooves into my morning: wake before dawn, dress in my comfortable tunic and pants—no restrictive skirts or servant's uniform required, thank the gods—and collect Rovak's first meal of the day. The tray holds his usual: thick cuts of tuskram meat, still sizzling from the pan, a bowl of the hearty grain porridge he prefers, and fresh bread with butter that Akira churns herself.
"He's been up since before sunrise again," Tom mutters from where he's kneading dough, flour dusting his forearms. The young man's always been chatty, especially when he's worried."I saw light coming from his study when I went to check the storage rooms."
"Nothing new there." I lift the heavy ceramic mug of kafek—black, bitter, and strong enough to wake the dead—and set it carefully on the tray. "You know how he is with the eastern port reports."
The other servants nod knowingly. We've all learned Rovak's patterns over the years, the way he throws himself into work when something's bothering him. Not that any of us would dare ask what keeps him awake. Well, except maybe me.
I trace the edge of the tray with my finger, my mind drifting as it often does during these quiet morning moments. Six years. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime, sometimes like yesterday. I can still remember the bone-deep terror that consumed me when the carriage first rolled up to his estate—the way my hands shook in the iron shackles, how my stomach churned with stories I'd heard about demon masters and what they did to human servants.
The massive gates had groaned open, revealing a sprawling stone manor that looked more like a fortress than a home. Gothic arches and tall windows, gardens that actually looked maintained rather than wild. I'd expected something darker, more sinister. Instead, it was... almost elegant.
They'd dragged me from the carriage, my legs barely working after the long journey from the auction block. I kept my eyes down, the way they'd taught us, but I could feel his presence before I saw him. The air itself seemed to shift.
When I finally looked up, my breath caught.
Rovak stood on the front steps like something carved from shadow and stone. Taller than any being I'd ever seen, his dark gray skin seeming to absorb the afternoon light. Those horns curved back from his skull like a crown, polished obsidian thatcaught the sun. His black eyes fixed on me, unreadable as they traced over my trembling form.
I waited for the cruel smile, the predatory gleam I'd been warned about. Instead, he simply nodded to the man who'd brought me.
"Remove the shackles."
His voice was deep, gravelly, but not harsh. Matter-of-fact. The iron fell away from my wrists, and I rubbed at the raw skin beneath, still waiting for the catch.
"Akira will show you to your quarters," he said to me directly, those dark eyes meeting mine without malice. "You'll work in the kitchens and help maintain the house. Nothing more complicated than that."
Then he'd turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with my mouth slightly open and my worldview thoroughly shattered.
"Liora." Akira's voice snaps me back to the present. She's watching me with knowing eyes, a slight smile tugging at her weathered features. "Wool-gathering again?"
Heat creeps up my neck. "Just thinking about the day ahead."
"Mmm." She doesn't look convinced. "Well, his food's getting cold while you daydream."
I lift the tray, testing its weight. Everything's arranged just how he likes it—the meat on the left, porridge in the center, bread and kafek on the right. I've had six years to perfect this small ritual.
"Did you remember the honey?" Tom calls over his shoulder, still working the dough with more force than strictly necessary.
I check the small ceramic pot tucked beside the bread. "Got it."
"Good. He was asking for it yesterday when you brought lunch up."
The mention of yesterday's lunch delivery makes my stomach flutter unexpectedly. Rovak had looked up from his papers when I'd entered, those dark eyes focused entirely on me for a heartbeat longer than necessary. He'd thanked me, like he always does, but something in his expression had been different. Softer, maybe. Or maybe I'd imagined it.
"I should get going." I adjust my grip on the tray handles. "Before it gets cold."
"Course you should." Akira turns back to her stove, but I catch the knowing look she exchanges with Tom.
The other servants have never said anything directly, but I'm not blind to their glances. The way they watch me when I return from Rovak's study, searching my face for... what? Signs of mistreatment? Evidence of something more than a servant delivering meals?
If only they knew how carefully nothing has ever happened. How Rovak keeps exactly the right distance, treats me with the same respectful courtesy he shows his business associates. How he's never once made me feel like anything other than a valued member of his household.
