Page 21 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
My cheeks warm at the innocent request, but Rhyen just chuckles. "I think that's an excellent choice. Blue suits you."
The ribbon vendor—a middle-aged woman with flour dusting her apron—smiles warmly as we approach. "What a lovely little one. Those eyes are extraordinary."
I feel my shoulders tense automatically, but the woman's tone holds nothing but genuine admiration. She helps Ava pick out a gorgeous blue ribbon, chattering about how it brings out the gold flecks in her violet irises. When Rhyen pays for it with easy generosity, tying it carefully in Ava's curls, the vendor beams at all three of us.
"Beautiful family," she says warmly, and something painful twists in my chest at the casual assumption.
We move through the market peacefully for nearly an hour. Rhyen buys Ava a carved wooden thalivern that makes her gasp with delight. I select the supplies we need while he keeps her entertained, pointing out different wares and explaining how various items are made. For precious minutes, I let myselfimagine this is simply what life could be—safe, normal, filled with small joys instead of constant vigilance.
Then a man at the weapon smith's stall gets a clear look at Ava's face.
I see the exact moment recognition flickers in his eyes. The way his expression shifts from mild curiosity to something harder, more calculating. His gaze travels from Ava's unusual eyes to the tiny hint of horn barely visible beneath her ribbon, then back again.
"Interesting child," he says, voice carrying just loud enough for nearby vendors to hear. "Don't see many like that around here."
The words slice through the market's ambient noise like a blade. Conversations quiet. Heads turn. I feel dozens of eyes suddenly focusing on us with the weight of judgment and suspicion.
"Mama?" Ava's voice is smaller now, uncertainty creeping in as she notices the shift in atmosphere.
"Half-breed," someone murmurs from a few stalls over. "Should've known."
"What's one of those doing so far from Ikoth?"
"Nothing good, I'd wager."
The whispers rise like smoke, spreading from vendor to vendor, customer to customer. I feel the familiar ice of panic beginning to form in my veins. This is how it always starts—the noticing, the whispers, the way normal people suddenly seem to remember that creatures like my daughter aren't supposed to exist in their safe, orderly world.
My hand tightens on Ava's, and I take a careful step backward, mapping the quickest route to the market's edge. But before I can move further, Rhyen shifts position.
He doesn't make a show of it, doesn't announce his intentions. He simply moves with fluid grace until his broadframe blocks the worst of the staring eyes, creating a protective barrier between us and the growing crowd of onlookers. His wings remain folded, but there's something in his posture—a coiled readiness, a predator's stillness—that speaks of imminent danger for anyone who presses too hard.
"Come on," he says quietly, his hand finding the small of my back in a gesture that's both protective and steadying. "Let's finish our shopping."
But the damage is done. Word has spread through the market like fire through dry grass. More people gather, not quite close enough to be threatening, but near enough to make their opinions known.
"Demon spawn," a woman hisses from behind a fabric stall. "Shouldn't be allowed on our continent."
"Probably escaped from the slave markets," another voice adds. "Should send it back where it came from."
Each word hits like a physical blow. I feel Ava's small body pressing closer to mine, her earlier joy withering under the weight of so much hostility. This is exactly what I'd feared, what I'd spent five years trying to avoid. All these people, looking at my beautiful, innocent daughter and seeing only something to be despised.
"Mama," she whispers, "why are they being mean?"
Before I can answer, a man steps directly into our path. He's tall and well-dressed, with the kind of confident bearing that speaks of someone accustomed to having his opinions heard and respected. His eyes fix on Ava with open disgust.
"Demons have no business on this continent," he declares, loud enough for half the market to hear. "That thing is an abomination. A reminder of why we should have finished the job years ago instead of agreeing to their pathetic cease-fire."
The words hang in the air like a challenge. Around us, the crowd seems to hold its breath, waiting to see how thisconfrontation will play out. I feel paralyzed, caught between the instinct to flee and the fierce need to defend my daughter.
Then Rhyen steps forward.
His wings spread slightly—not fully extended, but enough to emphasize his impressive wingspan and remind everyone present exactly what he is. The movement is fluid, controlled, but unmistakably threatening. His celestial blue eyes lock onto the man with laser focus, and when he speaks, his voice carries the kind of authority that stops arguments before they start.
"That 'thing,'" he says, each word precise and deadly quiet, "is a four-year-old child. And if you or anyone else in this market has a problem with her presence here, you're welcome to discuss it with me."
The man's confident expression wavers as he takes in Rhyen's full height, his obvious strength, the way his wings catch the light with an almost ethereal glow that marks him as high-ranking among his people. But stupidity or pride drives him forward.
"A xaphan defending demon filth?" He sneers, though there's less conviction in it now. "How far the mighty have fallen."
