Page 61 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

I let my eyes drift to where Ada sits beneath the sprawling branches of an old nymphwood tree. Sephy is on a blanket beside her, my little girl now eight months old and determined to master the art of crawling. She rocks back and forth on her hands and knees, her silvery-blonde curls catching the dappled sunlight that filters through the leaves.

"That's it, sweet one," Ada encourages softly, her warm brown eyes watching with the patient attention she gives to all growing things, whether plants or children. "You can do it."

Sephy makes a sound somewhere between a grunt and a giggle, pushing herself forward a few inches before flopping onto her belly. But instead of frustration, she looks up at Ada with that serene smile that still hits me like a punch to the gut every time. How can something so small hold so much power over me?

"She's stubborn," I call over, unable to keep the pride from my voice. "Gets that from her mother."

Ada raises an eyebrow. "And not from you at all, I suppose?"

I feel my lips twitch. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dezoth snorts from his position, which earns him a glare from me that holds no real heat. It's still strange seeing him like this—the intimidating captain of the Elite Guard, leaning against a tree, watching children play in his garden. But the past months have changed all of us.

Rose suddenly lets out a triumphant squeal. "Uncle Rolfo! Look!" By some miracle, she's managed to get the thalivern to land on her outstretched finger. She stands frozen, hardly daring to breathe as the creature slowly opens and closes its gossamer wings.

"That's incredible!" I answer back.

"Perfect stillness," Dezoth says, his deep voice gentle as he moves carefully to crouch beside her. "That's how you earn their trust."

The look of wonder on Rose's face is something I'll never tire of seeing. After everything she and Ada went through, these moments of pure childhood joy feel like victories.

Sephy, not to be outdone by her older companion, suddenly surges forward with unexpected determination, managing to move forward a few inches on her hands and knees before reaching Ada's leg and grabbing onto the fabric of her dress with a triumphant babble.

"Would you look at that," Ada laughs, scooping Sephy up and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Someone's decided today's the day."

"She's going to be trouble once she's mobile," I say, making my way across the grass to join them.

"Going to be?" Ada teases, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "As if she isn't already, with you wrapped around her tiny finger."

I can't deny it. From the moment I cut Sephy's cord in that desperate night that feels both yesterday and a lifetime ago, I've been completely hers.

I settle back against the trunk of the tree, pulling Aurelie closer to me. She nestles into my side like she was made to fit there, her feet tucked under her on the blanket, head resting against my shoulder.

My arm wraps around her shoulders—a gesture that once felt foreign but now seems as natural as breathing. Her hand finds mine, her slender fingers tracing absent patterns across my calloused palm as she listens to Rose, who has abandoned her father for now.

"And then the flower talked back to me!" Rose declares with absolute conviction, her violet eyes wide with sincerity as she spins her tale. "It said, 'Good morning, Rose! You smell nice too!'"

Aurelie laughs, the sound soft and melodic. It still hits me sometimes—how different she sounds now compared to when I first found her. Back then, her voice was barely a whisper, frayed at the edges with fear and exhaustion. Now it rings clear and true, uninhibited.

"Is that so?" Aurelie responds, her eyebrow arching playfully. "And what did you say to this chatty flower?"

"I said 'thank you' because that's polite," Rose answers with perfect four-year-old logic. "Papa says manners are important."

Dezoth, who's been pretending not to listen while he inspects a newly planted bush, straightens slightly at the mention of his name. "They are," he confirms solemnly, though I catch the ghost of a smile on his usually stern face.

I can't stop looking at Aurelie. The sunlight catches in her auburn hair, bringing out threads of copper and gold. There are little lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiles—tiny maps of happiness that weren't there months ago. Every time I see them, something in my chest tightens and expands all at once.

Sephy makes a determined sound from her spot on the blanket, drawing Aurelie's attention. With practiced ease, Aurelie reaches over to brush our daughter's silvery-blonde curls back from her face.

"You almost had it, little moon," she murmurs, using the nickname that came to her the first night Sephy slept through the darkness without crying. "Try again."

There's something mesmerizing about watching Aurelie mother our daughter—our daughter, though she came into the world through pain I couldn't prevent. The way she touches Sephy, speaks to her, anticipates her needs—it's the most natural thing in the world, yet I find myself struck by the wonder of it nearly every day.

I squeeze Aurelie's hand, overwhelmed by a feeling I once wouldn't have recognized. She turns to look at me, her hazel eyes meeting mine with a question in them.

I don't say anything. I don't need to. The understanding that passes between us is beyond words—a shared knowledge of exactly how much we risked to be sitting here in this garden, in this pocket of peace we carved out of fear and fire. It's ours. Against all odds, it's ours.

I bring her hand to my lips and press a kiss against her knuckles, my thumb brushing over the spot where Kaelith's mark used to be—now just a faint scar, fading more each day.

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