Page 36 of The Demon's Little Girl
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm enough," she admits, the words barely audible. "If she deserves better than?—"
"No." The interruption comes out flat and final. "Don't finish that thought."
She looks at me with surprise at the vehemence in my voice, and I realize my hands have clenched involuntarily around Nalla's small form. The baby makes a questioning sound, and I force myself to relax, to gentle my grip and my tone.
"Any child would be fortunate to have you as a mother," I continue, meeting Liora's amber eyes directly. "Don't doubt that. Not ever."
The silence stretches between us, charged with unspoken questions and carefully guarded emotions. Nalla babbles happily in my arms, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around her, and for a moment I let myself imagine this as something more permanent. This easy companionship, this shared care for the tiny life nestled against my chest.
But imagination is dangerous territory. Because the more time I spend with Liora and her daughter, the harder it becomes to remember why I can't ask for what I want. Why I can't reach across the careful distance she maintains and see if there's any chance she might want the same things I do.
The sun is starting to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose that match Liora's eyes. Nalla has grown heavy against my chest, her earlier fussiness giving way to the drowsy contentment that comes from being held and soothed. Her breathing has evened out, and when I look down, her eyes are starting to flutter closed.
"She's falling asleep," Liora observes softly, and there's gratitude in her voice that makes my chest tight. "You have a talent for this."
I don't respond immediately, too caught up in the feeling of small fingers curled trustingly against my shirt and the way Liora looks at her daughter with such complete devotion. This moment feels precious somehow, fragile in its perfection, and I'm afraid to break it with words that might reveal too much.
But as the shadows lengthen and the first evening breeze stirs the aracin blossoms, I know it can't last. Reality will intrude soon enough—Nalla will wake and need feeding, Liora will remember the work waiting for both of us, the careful boundaries will reassert themselves.
For now, though, I let myself have this. The weight of a sleeping child in my arms and the woman I've wanted for years sitting beside me in companionable silence. It's not enough—will never be enough—but it's far more than I dared hope for when that slaver appeared at my door with news that changed everything.
19
LIORA
The days blur together in ways that feel both foreign and achingly familiar. Breakfast with Rovak has become routine again—not the careful, distant politeness of those first few days after my return, but something that echoes the easy companionship we shared before. Before I ruined everything by leaving.
This morning, he sits across from me with Nalla balanced on his lap, letting her grab at the edge of his cup while he drinks his tea. She's fascinated by the steam rising from the liquid, reaching for it with chubby fingers that close on nothing but air. Each failed attempt makes her more determined, and I can't help but smile at her stubborn persistence.
"She's going to knock that right out of your hands," I warn, spreading preserves on a piece of bread.
"She can try." His voice carries that low amusement that used to make my stomach flip, back when I was young and foolish enough to think my feelings for him meant something. "But I've got better reflexes than most one-year-olds."
As if summoned by the challenge, Nalla makes a sudden grab for the cup. Rovak smoothly lifts it out of reach, earningan indignant squawk from my daughter that makes both of us laugh. The sound feels rusty in my throat—genuine laughter has been rare these past two years—but it comes easier now. With him.
"You're encouraging her," I accuse, though there's no real heat in it.
"She's already plenty encouraged on her own." He shifts Nalla to his other arm so she can reach the small bowl of cut fruit I've prepared for her. "Yesterday she tried to climb Avenor while he was standing still. Nearly made it to his shoulder before he noticed."
The image of my tiny daughter using Avenor like a tree to scale makes me snort with laughter. "I'm sorry. I should watch her more carefully?—"
"Don't apologize." The firmness in his voice cuts through my automatic self-deprecation. "She's curious and bold. Those aren't faults to correct."
There's something in the way he says it, looking down at Nalla with what can only be described as fondness, that makes my chest tighten with emotions I'm not ready to examine. He's good with her in ways I never expected, patient with her fussing and genuinely delighted by her small discoveries. When she babbles her nonsense words at him, he responds like it's the most important conversation he's ever had.
It reminds me why I fell for him in the first place, all those years ago. The careful gentleness he showed beneath all that controlled strength. The way he made me feel seen and valued even when I was just another servant in his household.
"The traders from Bilgonith are arriving today," he mentions, pulling me from dangerous thoughts. "I'll be tied up in meetings most of the afternoon."
I nod, trying not to let disappointment show on my face. These negotiations have been weeks in the making—importantenough that he's mentioned them several times. But I've grown accustomed to his presence during the day, to the sound of his voice drifting from his study or catching glimpses of him in the corridors.
"Will you be working late?" The question slips out before I can stop it, and I immediately feel foolish for asking. His schedule isn't my concern, no matter how much I've come to anticipate our evening conversations in the gardens.
"Probably." His dark eyes find mine across the table. "But not too late. These traders like their amerinth, and negotiations always go smoother once they're properly drunk."
Nalla chooses that moment to successfully grab a piece of fruit, immediately trying to shove the entire thing in her mouth at once. Rovak's quick intervention prevents choking, breaking the fruit into smaller pieces while she protests the interference with vigorous arm-waving.
"Patience," he tells her in that same gentle rumble he uses when she's fussing. "Good things are worth waiting for."
