Page 20 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

"I'll get them," I interrupt, perhaps too quickly. The thought of her venturing out alone, where Kaelith's spies might lurk, sends a cold spike through me. "Still some work to do here first."

"You've been working since dawn," she observes, leaning against the doorframe. "It's not a task anyone assigned you."

I look up at her, meeting those hazel eyes that see more than I'm comfortable with. "Not everything worth doing comes from orders, Aurelie."

The next morning, I wake earlier than usual, anxious to finish my work. The cradle is complete, polished to a shine after Aurelie retired for the night. I've moved a small oak dresser into the room as well, along with a cushioned rocking chair I bought from a neighbor years ago and never used. The mattress from the market fits perfectly in the cradle—soft but firm, covered with the linen I selected after an hour of indecision. The blankets are light but warm, suitable for the changing seasons.

I stand back, surveying the transformed space. No longer my study—something else entirely. The bookshelves remain, now holding a different promise. Stories to be read aloud someday, knowledge to be shared.

My fingers trace the carvings I added to the cradle's headboard—a scattering of stars and a few small birds in flight. Nothing elaborate, just simple shapes etched into the wood with my smallest knife. I don't know why I added them. Just felt right.

Sephy's morning cries announce the day has begun in earnest. I hear Aurelie stirring, her soft footsteps padding toward the drawer where Sephy has slept these past days. I retreat to the kitchen, busying myself with breakfast preparations.

Minutes later, Aurelie appears in the doorway to the nursery. Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide as she takes in the transformation. I watch from the hallway, pretending to be passing by.

"Rolfo..." she whispers, stepping fully into the room.

I shrug, uncomfortable under her gaze. "Finished it last night."

She moves to the cradle, her hand brushing along the polished edge. Her fingers find the carvings, tracing the outline of a bird with something like wonder.

"You did all this in one day?"

"Wasn't much else to do," I mumble, though we both know it's a lie. My duties as a guardsman keep me busy enough. This was a choice.

She opens the small dresser, finding the tiny clothes I purchased folded neatly inside. Nothing fancy—practical garments in soft fabrics, things that will grow with Sephy for a while at least.

"The chair," she says, running her palm over its curved arm. "For feeding her?"

I nod, my throat suddenly tight. I hadn't vocalized the purpose, even to myself. Just knew she needed somewhere comfortable to sit with the baby.

Aurelie returns to the cradle, lifting Sephy from the temporary bedding she's known since birth. With careful movements, she lowers her daughter into the new cradle, adjusting the blankets around her tiny form.

"Look, little one," she whispers. "Your own bed. Not a drawer anymore."

Sephy blinks up at us, her violet eyes curious. She doesn't cry at the new surroundings, just wiggles her arms free from the blanket and reaches upward.

"She likes it," Aurelie says softly.

"The wood is warm," I explain, stepping closer. "Holds heat well. Should be comfortable for her."

Aurelie turns to me, and I'm startled by the moisture in her eyes. "Thank you. This is... it's more than I ever expected."

"It's nothing," I insist, looking away. "Just a bed."

"It's not nothing." Her voice is firm now. "You used your prized wood. You carved stars and birds. You bought clothes and blankets. This isn't 'nothing,' Rolfo."

I shift my weight, uncomfortable with her gratitude. "She needed it."

Aurelie watches me for a long moment, seeing more than I wish to reveal. Finally, she smiles—a rare, genuine smile that transforms her face. "Yes. She did."

I find myself drawn to the cradle, watching as Sephy's eyes grow heavy, her tiny body relaxing into the new mattress. Something pulls tight in my chest—a feeling I can't name.

"She'll sleep better here," I say quietly. "Safe."

"Yes," Aurelie agrees, her shoulder brushing mine as we both lean over the cradle. "She will."

I turn to leave, but I notice that Aurelie hesitates. Turning around, I lean against the door frame, my forearm braced above my head as I watch Aurelie move back to the impossibly small garments I purchased. She handles each piece with reverence, smoothing invisible wrinkles, aligning tiny seams with careful fingers. Something settles in my chest at the sight—a feeling of rightness I've rarely experienced.

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