Page 22 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
Rhyen's expression doesn't change, but something deadly enters his eyes. The temperature around us seems to drop several degrees.
"That child," he says, his voice carrying the kind of quiet menace that makes smart people back away slowly, "is under my protection. Anyone who threatens her, insults her, or so much as looks at her wrong will answer to me personally. Are we clear?"
His hand rests casually on the pommel of his sword—not drawn, not even threatening to draw, but the implication is unmistakable. Around us, the crowd begins to disperse with the sudden urgency of people who've just remembered pressing business elsewhere.
The well-dressed man's face flushes red, but he's not stupid enough to push further. He retreats with as much dignity as he can salvage, muttering under his breath about "unnatural alliances" and "the corruption of noble bloodlines."
Rhyen watches him go with the patient attention of a predator tracking wounded prey, ensuring he's well and truly gone before turning back to us.
"Are you all right?" His voice has gentled completely, all traces of that deadly authority replaced by genuine concern.
I realize I'm shaking—not with fear, but with something more complex. For five years, I've fought these battles alone. I've stood between Ava and the world's cruelty with nothing but desperation and maternal fury to shield her. But watching Rhyen step forward without hesitation, watching him claim her as worthy of his protection with such unwavering certainty...
"Rhyen was really scary," Ava whispers, but there's awe in her voice rather than fear. "Like a dragon protecting treasure."
"Something like that," he agrees, crouching down to her level. "Are you okay, little one?"
She shakes her head, then wraps her small arms around his neck with complete trust. "Thank you for making the mean people go away."
Over her dark curls, his eyes meet mine. There's something fierce in them, a protectiveness that goes beyond mere politeness or temporary obligation. This isn't the careful kindness of someone doing their duty. This is the raw, uncompromising devotion of someone who would burn the world down before letting it harm what they love.
And I realize that he doesn't just care about Ava the way someone might care about any child in need of protection.
He loves her. Loves her with the fierce, unconditional intensity I thought only parents could feel. Loves her enough to face down a hostile crowd without a moment's hesitation. Lovesher enough to claim her publicly as his to defend, regardless of what that association might cost him politically or socially.
The knowledge settles into my chest like warm honey, sweet and overwhelming. For so long, I've been the only one who saw Ava's worth, the only one who believed she deserved love and safety and joy. But watching Rhyen's gentle hands smooth her ribbon back into place, seeing the way he looks at her like she's something precious beyond measure...
I'm not alone anymore. We're not alone anymore.
And for the first time since that night I killed my master and fled into the darkness, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—we might actually be safe.
10
RHYEN
Ishift Ava's sleeping form higher on my chest as we pass through the gates of my estate, her exhaustion from the market had her drooping before we even left. She weighs almost nothing in my arms—this tiny creature who's managed to slip past every defense I've spent decades building. Her dark curls tickle against my forearm as I adjust my grip, careful not to wake her.
"She's completely worn out," I murmur, noting how her small fist clutches the wooden thalivern I bought her, even in sleep.
Lenny nods but doesn't say anything. She's been silent since everything happened, and I don't know how to make it better. Iwillprotect Ava, but I can't always stop words—though I wish I could.
Quietly, we walk upstairs to their wing. There's something different in her expression tonight—less of the wariness that usually shadows her features, though the tension in her shoulders suggests she's still processing everything that happened in the market.
The suite feels different with both of them in it. Warmer somehow, filled with the kind of quiet domesticity I never thought I'd want. Firelight dances across the walls, casting everything in soft gold that makes Lenny's pale skin seem to glow.
In the bedroom, I lower Ava onto the smaller of the two beds—though Lira has told me they still sleep together despite having an entire suite—with the care I'd use handling spun glass. She mumbles something unintelligible and burrows deeper into the pillows, the blue ribbon still threaded through her curls catching the lamplight.
Lenny moves around me with practiced efficiency, tucking blankets around her daughter's small form, checking that the carved toy is secure in her grip. Her movements are fluid, economical—every gesture speaks of years spent perfecting the art of caring for this child in less than ideal circumstances.
"Sleep well, little one," I whisper, brushing a curl back from Ava's forehead. Even unconscious, she leans into the touch, completely trusting.
Something tightens in my chest. When did this fierce, innocent child become so essential to my peace of mind? When did her happiness become more important than my own carefully ordered existence?
I straighten, intending to leave them to their evening routine, but Lenny's voice stops me at the threshold.
"Would you..." She pauses, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "Would you like to stay for tea? I mean, if you're not too busy."
The invitation catches me off-guard. In the weeks they've been here, our interactions have been pleasant but carefully bounded—conversations about practical matters, shared meals with Ava chattering between us, moments of connection thatnever quite crossed into intimacy. We've never been alone, though, and I've been careful never to push her too hard.
