Page 5 of The Demon's Little Girl
Except lately, the boundaries of those categories have started to blur in ways that make me deeply uncomfortable.
I finish with the zarryn and step out of the stables, intending to head straight to my study to update the trade ledgers while the day's negotiations are still fresh in my mind. The numbers won't record themselves, and there's satisfaction in the orderly columns of profit and loss, in problems that can be solved with logic and careful planning.
But as I round the corner toward the main house, voices drift from the kitchen gardens, drawing my attention despite my intention to bury myself in paperwork. I recognize the speakers immediately—Akira's practical tones mixing with Tom's more animated chatter, and underneath it all, a third voice that never fails to make me pause.
Liora.
Instead of continuing toward the house, I find myself moving toward the garden wall where a gap in the stone provides a clear view of the working area. I tell myself I'm just checking on the progress of the autumn preparations, ensuring my staff has everything they need for the coming season. That's all.
It has nothing to do with the way my pulse quickens at the sound of her laughter.
The scene before me is purely domestic—Akira directing the cleaning and sorting of tools while Tom sharpens blades on a whetstone, his technique improving but still requiring theoccasional correction. And there, kneeling beside a collection of hand tools, is Liora.
She's traded her usual tunic for something more practical—a simple work dress in deep green that brings out the amber flecks in her eyes. Her thick curls are pulled back from her face with a leather tie, though several strands have escaped to frame her features in the afternoon light. She works methodically through each implement, checking for damage and setting aside those that need repair.
"This one's beyond saving," she says, holding up a small pruning knife with a blade worn down to barely an inch. "The handle's cracked too."
"Add it to the discard pile," Akira replies without looking up from her own task. "Tom can use the metal for something else. Waste not, want not."
"Could make a decent letter opener," Tom suggests, glancing over at the damaged tool. "Or maybe a small paring knife for detail work."
Liora nods, already reaching for the next item. "Good thinking. Akira, what about this one? The edge is chipped, but the rest seems solid."
I should move on. Should go to my study and let them work in peace. Instead, I remain where I am, watching the easy rhythm of their collaboration. There's something hypnotic about the way Liora moves—economical gestures, careful attention to detail, the quiet competence she brings to every task.
She's always been like that. From the first day she arrived at my estate, terrified and expecting the worst, she's approached everything with the same methodical dedication. I remember watching her learn the layout of the house, memorizing the locations of supplies and the preferences of other staff members. Never demanding special treatment or trying to charm her way into easier assignments.
Just...steady. Reliable. Strong in ways that have nothing to do with physical power.
"You're wool-gathering again," Akira says to her, and Liora's cheeks color slightly.
"Sorry. Just thinking about the best way to organize these for storage."
But I caught the dreamy expression that crossed her features before Akira spoke, the way her hands stilled on the tool she was examining. Whatever she was thinking about, it wasn't storage solutions.
The knowledge that she has thoughts and dreams beyond the daily routine of my household doesn't bother me. She's not property, despite the circumstances that brought her here. She's a person with her own inner life, her own hopes and concerns and secret wishes.
I wonder what she was thinking about. I wonder far more often than I should.
Tom launches into a story about his attempts to train the younger stable hands, his voice animated with the kind of enthusiasm he brings to everything. Liora listens with genuine interest, asking questions and offering suggestions that show she's actually paying attention rather than just being polite.
That's another thing about her—she cares. Not just about her own responsibilities, but about the people around her. She remembers that Tom worries about the animals during storms, that Akira's joints ache more in cold weather, that the scullery maids get overwhelmed during busy periods. Small kindnesses that she has no obligation to provide.
Kindness that extends to me as well, though I've never done anything to earn it beyond basic decency.
She laughs at something Tom says, the sound bright and genuine, and I feel that familiar tightness in my chest. When did her happiness become so important to me? When did the soundof her voice become something I actively seek out during the day?
I know exactly when. Two years ago, during the worst of the trade disputes that nearly cost me three major contracts. I'd been working eighteen-hour days, surviving on kafek and stubbornness, when she'd appeared in my study with a tray that held more than the usual fare. Hot soup, fresh bread, even a small dish of the honey cakes Akira makes for special occasions.
"Thought you might need more than just meat and bread today," she'd said simply, setting the tray down with the same efficient movements she always used.
But when I looked up at her, really looked, I'd seen something in her expression that stopped me cold. Concern. Not the careful attention of a servant worried about her master's mood, but genuine worry for my wellbeing.
"Thank you," I'd managed, and she'd smiled—not the polite curve of lips she offered during formal interactions, but something warm and real and directed entirely at me.
That was the moment everything changed. The moment I realized that somewhere in the routine of daily interactions, something had shifted between us. She wasn't just a servant in my household anymore. She was...
Well. She was Liora. And that meant something I couldn't quite define.
