Page 31 of The Demon's Little Girl
"How about I have breakfast brought to the sitting room instead? Like we used to." When she wasn't prying me from work in the study.
The suggestion hangs in the air between us, loaded with memories of mornings that felt easy and comfortable and right. When sitting across from each other felt natural, before everything got complicated by feelings I couldn't afford to acknowledge and circumstances that pulled us apart.
Liora's smile widens, and for the first time since she's been back, she looks genuinely pleased instead of carefully grateful.
"I'd like that," she says. "I've missed... I mean, it sounds nice."
She'd missed it. The admission sends warmth through my chest, because I've missed it too. Missed her company, missed the way she'd listen to my plans for the day and offer suggestions that were always better than what I'd come up with on my own. Missed having someone to share the quiet hours with before the rest of the world demanded my attention.
"Good. Give me a few minutes to arrange everything."
I stand, reluctantly letting Nalla release my fingers, and head for the door. But I pause with my hand on the handle, looking back at both of them framed by the morning light.
"Liora?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're home."
The words come out rougher than I intended, weighted with two years of searching and worrying and trying not to think about all the ways I might never see her again. But they're true, and she deserves to hear them.
Her eyes shimmer slightly, and when she speaks, her voice is soft with emotion she's not quite hiding anymore.
"So am I."
16
ROVAK
The breakfast I arrange isn't elaborate—fresh bread, soft cheese, sliced fruit, and meadowmint tea—but I have it set out in the sitting room in my wing where the morning light streams through the tall windows. The same table where we used to sit together, where she'd steal the last piece of bread while pretending she wasn't hungry, where I'd watch her hands move as she talked and try not to think about how much I wanted to reach across and touch them.
Akira looks like she wants to ask questions, but she doesn't. Thankfully, everyone has been giving Liora space—even Tom, shockingly. I think it's for the best they all keep their distance.
When Liora arrives with Nalla balanced on her hip, she pauses in the doorway like she's taking in the familiar scene. The hesitation lasts only a moment before she moves forward, but I catch it. That tiny beat of uncertainty, like she's not sure she belongs here anymore.
It's that hesitation that confirms what I've been suspecting—she's here, physically present, but the easy comfort we used to share is gone. She's withdrawn in a way that has nothing to do with shyness and everything to do with walls built for protection.Whatever happened during those two years, it changed her. Made her more guarded, more careful with herself.
I miss the woman who used to steal my food and tease me about my scowl. Miss the way she'd settle into her chair like she belonged there, like the space across from me was hers by right. Now she sits like a guest, polite and grateful and distant.
"The bread smells amazing," she says, settling Nalla in her lap with practiced ease. The little girl immediately starts reaching for everything within arm's distance, fascinated by the array of options in front of her.
"Akira's been experimenting with different grains." I tear off a piece of the warm bread and hand it to her, noting how she accepts it with a quiet thank you that I don't love. That used to be her standard response when I made sure she ate enough.
She's thinner than she was before. Not dangerously so, but there's a sharpness to her collarbones that wasn't there two years ago, a tightness around her eyes that speaks of strain and careful resource management. Of making sure there was always enough for the baby, even if it meant going without herself.
The protective rage that thought triggers makes my hands clench around my tea cup, but I keep my expression neutral. Whatever hardships she faced while she was gone, demanding details won't help either of us now. What matters is making sure she feels safe here, making sure she knows she doesn't have to worry about having enough anymore.
"Here." I push the plate of sliced fruit closer to her side of the table, noting how her eyes track the movement with the kind of automatic calculation that comes from never being entirely sure when the next meal will come.
Nalla makes a grab for a piece of the soft yellow fruit, nearly toppling herself out of Liora's lap in the process. I reach across instinctively, catching the little girl's wrist before she can send herself tumbling to the floor.
"Easy there, little one. The food isn't going anywhere."
Nalla looks up at me with those unusual pale gold eyes, studying my face with the kind of serious intensity that seems too old for someone barely out of infancy. Then she grins, showing off tiny white teeth, and makes a sound that might be an attempt at my name.
"She's been doing that since yesterday," Liora says, and there's something like relief in her voice. Like she's been worried about how Nalla would adapt to being here, whether she'd be accepted. "I think she likes you."
"She's got good instincts." I keep hold of Nalla's small hand, marveling at how tiny her fingers are compared to mine. Her skin has the same warm bronze undertones as her mother's, but there's something else in the set of her features that speaks of mixed heritage. The shape of her eyes, the way her dark hair catches the light.
