Page 20 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
Iwake with sunlight streaming through windows that aren't barred or covered with heavy drapes, and for a moment, the simple luxury of natural light makes my chest tight with something between gratitude and disbelief. Three weeks here, and I still can't quite accept that this is real. That we're safe.
Ava's already awake beside me, most likely having come up after her morning ritual with Rhyen, humming quietly as she arranges her few belongings—a worn cloth doll, the wooden practice sword Rhyen gave her, a collection of smooth stones she's gathered from the garden. She's made this room her own in ways I never could, claiming space with the fearless confidence of someone who's never had to doubt their right to exist.
I know she technically has her own, but I"m not sure how to let her be that far from me. I already struggle with letting her out of my sight even though everyone does so well with her.
"Morning, little star," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her dark curls.
"Morning, Mama." She beams up at me, violet eyes bright with the promise of another day filled with adventures. "Do youthink Rhyen will teach me how to block with my sword today? I almost got it yesterday, but my feet were wrong."
"I'm sure he will." The certainty in my voice surprises me. When did I stop questioning whether he'd keep his promises?
Downstairs, the kitchen already smells of fresh bread and brewing meadowmint tea. The staff moves with quiet efficiency around us, but not the tense, fearful kind I remember from Ikoth. Here, the energy feels warm, purposeful. Safe.
I'm reviewing my mental list of supplies we need when Ava pipes up from her perch at the kitchen table.
"Can we go to the market today, Mama? I want to see all the pretty things again."
My hands still on the tea cup I'm holding. The market means crowds. Strangers. Eyes that might notice too much about a little girl with violet eyes and tiny horns hidden beneath dark curls.
"I was just going to ask one of the maids to fetch what we need," I say carefully.
"But the market is more fun," Ava wheedles. "Remember how many different colors the ribbons were? And that man who carved little animals out of wood?"
Before I can formulate a gentle refusal, Rhyen's voice carries in from the doorway.
"What's this about the market?"
He fills the space casually, still wearing his training clothes from whatever early morning routine he follows. His silver hair is pulled back, and there's a light sheen of sweat on his bronze skin that suggests he's been sparring. The sight shouldn't affect me the way it does—this casual display of controlled power, of strength that could destroy but chooses instead to protect.
"I need a few things from the market," I explain, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
"And I want to go!" Ava announces.
"Excellent idea." His tone is so matter-of-fact that I blink in surprise. "I need to pick up a few things myself. We could all go together."
"Together?" The word comes out smaller than I intended.
"Unless you'd prefer not to." His blue eyes find mine, and there's no pressure in them, no expectation. Just an offer, freely given. "But I thought you might enjoy getting out of the estate for a while."
Ava bounces in her chair. "Please, Mama? Please? Rhyen can show us all the best stalls!"
My first instinct is to refuse. The market means exposure, vulnerability. It means trusting that Rhyen's presence will be enough to keep us safe if someone looks too closely at Ava's features. It means believing that he won't simply disappear if trouble finds us.
But when I look at his face—at the quiet certainty there, the way he's positioned himself between us and the rest of the world even just standing in the doorway—something in my chest loosens.
"You'd stay close?" The question slips out before I can stop it, revealing more of my fear than I meant to.
"Every step," he promises, and the simple conviction in his voice makes me want to believe him. "I won't let anything happen to either of you."
I study his expression, searching for the tells I've learned to recognize—the shift of eyes that means someone's calculating how much trouble I might be worth, the slight tightening around the mouth that suggests patience wearing thin. But Rhyen's face remains open, patient. Protective.
"All right," I say finally, and Ava's delighted squeal nearly splits my eardrums.
An hour later, we're walking through the busy streets of New Solas, and I'm trying to remember the last time I moved througha crowd without every muscle coiled for flight. Rhyen keeps his word, staying close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his large frame, but not so close that I feel trapped. Ava skips between us, her hand secure in mine, chattering about everything she sees with four-year-old enthusiasm.
The market spreads before us in a riot of colors and sounds. Vendors call out their wares from wooden stalls draped with bright fabrics. The air carries the scent of fresh bread, roasted nuts, and those goddess hearts from the bakery that make Ava's eyes widen with longing. For a moment, surrounded by normal people living normal lives, I almost feel like we could belong here.
"Look, Mama!" Ava tugs on my hand, pointing toward a stall selling hair ribbons in every shade imaginable. "Can I have a blue one? Like Rhyen's eyes?"
