Page 4 of The Demon's Little Girl
More human, despite the horns and gray skin that mark him as decidedly other.
"I'm sure Akira appreciates having such a dedicated philosopher on staff."
"She mostly appreciates having someone who can reach the high shelves without a stepladder."
Another chuckle. God help me, I could get addicted to that sound. Ihave.
"Speaking of reaching things," Rovak's expression grows more serious, though not in an unpleasant way. "I have to ride into Sarziroch later today. Meeting with a merchant who's been... difficult about some import agreements."
He says 'difficult' like other people might say 'pestilence' or 'plague.' I've heard enough about Rovak's business dealings over the years to know that when he describes someone as difficult, it usually means they're either trying to cheat him or have severely underestimated what they're dealing with.
"The spice merchant from the eastern ports?"
"The very one." He takes a long sip of kafek, and I catch the slight tightening around his eyes that means he's already strategizing. "Seems to think that because there's a cease-firewith the xaphan, he can renegotiate our existing contracts in his favor."
"And he's about to learn otherwise."
"Oh, he's definitely about to learn otherwise." There's something almost predatory in Rovak's smile now, the kind of expression that probably makes hardened merchants reconsider their life choices. "I don't particularly enjoy these trips to the city, but some lessons can only be delivered in person."
I can picture it—Rovak in one of his formal coats, sitting across from some overly confident merchant who thinks he can intimidate or manipulate his way to a better deal. The poor fool probably has no idea what kind of force of nature he's about to face across a negotiating table.
"Is Avenor going with you?" He might be my closest friend here, even if I sometimes go days without seeing him with his guard duties. And I know that Rovak is close to him, too.
"No." He shakes his head. "He's going to pick up some of our imports from the other side of the city. He'll probably be back late."
"Oh. Will you be back for dinner?"
The question slips out before I can stop it, too casual and concerned to be strictly professional. I busy myself with the bread, hoping he doesn't notice the way my voice caught slightly on the words.
"Planning on it. Though if the negotiations run long..." He shrugs, a gesture that manages to convey both resignation and mild irritation. "City merchants love to drag things out, convinced that wearing down their opponents is a valid strategy."
"They clearly haven't met you."
"No, they haven't." His smile returns, warmer this time, and I feel that dangerous flutter in my chest again. "But they will today."
The conversation flows so easily, so naturally, that I almost forget this isn't normal. That I'm a human servant sharing breakfast with a demon lord, discussing his business affairs like we're equals. That every smile he gives me, every moment of his attention, is a gift I have no right to treasure the way I do.
Because that's all this is—kindness from a good master. Rovak treats his animals well too, makes sure they're fed and comfortable and cared for. It doesn't mean anything beyond basic decency.
I need to remember that.
I need to remember that no matter how handsome he is, no matter how his rare laughter makes my heart race, I'm still just a human who was lucky enough to end up with a master who doesn't believe in cruelty. That's all this is. That's all it can ever be.
The bread suddenly tastes like ash in my mouth.
2
ROVAK
The negotiations went exactly as I'd expected—which is to say, poorly for the merchant and efficiently for me. Three hours of posturing, threats disguised as diplomatic language, and increasingly desperate attempts to salvage a deal that was never going to favor him. By the time I walked out of that overpriced establishment in the merchant quarter, I had both my original contracts intact and a new supplier lined up for the winter spice shipments.
The ride back to the estate should have left me in a good mood. Instead, I find myself restless, the familiar weight of isolation settling over my shoulders like an unwelcome cloak. The city always reminds me why I prefer the relative solitude of my lands—too many demons playing political games, too much posturing and false courtesy. Give me honest work and straight dealing any day.
I stable my mount myself rather than calling for Tom, needing the physical activity to burn off the lingering irritation from the day's business. The massive beast snorts his appreciation when I remove his tack, his dark coat gleaming with sweat from our hard ride. At least zarryn arestraightforward creatures—feed them well, treat them fairly, and they'll serve you without reservation or hidden agendas.
If only all relationships were so simple.
The thought catches me off-guard, and I pause in brushing down the stallion's flanks. Where did that come from? I'm not the type for philosophical musings about relationships. I have business associates, employees, and the occasional alliance of convenience. That's it. That's all I've ever needed.
