Page 27 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
"More tea, Sir Rhyen!" she declares, brandishing a porcelain teacup no bigger than my thumb. The entire set is enchanted—a gift from Lira, who insists every proper household needs magical tea service for "important guests." The cups shimmer with soft illusion spells that make them appear full of steaming liquid even when they're empty, and the tiny cakes shift flavors with each bite, cycling through chocolate and vanilla and something that tastes suspiciously like sunshine.
I accept my miniature cup with the gravity the moment demands. "Your Majesty is too kind."
"I'm not Your Majesty," she corrects, bouncing on her improvised throne. "I'm Empress Ava the Magnificent, Destroyer of Dragons and... and... what else am I good at?"
"Staying up past bedtime," Lenny suggests dryly from her position on the grass beside the bench. She's changed from her morning attire into a simple blue dress that brings out the gold flecks in her amber eyes, her ash-brown hair braided loosely over one shoulder. The afternoon light catches the subtle waves, making it shine like polished wood.
I've thought about her smile the past few days. I hadn't meant to say the words out loud, but I can't find it in myself to regret it. I will never push Lenny, and she knows how much I love Ava. How would she feel if she knew about my feelings about her? I'm not sure, but a small part of me wants to find out.
"That's not very royal," Ava protests.
"Empress Ava the Magnificent, Destroyer of Dragons and Conqueror of Bedtimes," I offer.
Her violet eyes light up. "Yes! That's perfect!"
She proceeds to pour imaginary tea for an assembled court that includes three of Lira's enchanted garden sprites—tiny creatures no bigger than my fist that flutter around the flowers and occasionally steal berries from the kitchen garden. They perch on the edge of the stone bench like miniature courtiers, their gossamer wings catching the sunlight as they chirp approval at Ava's royal proclamations.
Lenny plays along with the elaborate fantasy, curtseying when Ava knights her "Lady Mama the Wise" and accepting her own thimble-sized teacup with appropriate ceremony. But it's the moments between the pageantry that capture my attention—the way her shoulders relax when she thinks no one's watching, the genuine smile that transforms her entire face when Ava does something particularly amusing.
She's beautiful when she lets her guard down. Well, she's always beautiful, but more so now. Not just the careful, wary beauty she wears like armor, but something softer and more genuine that makes my chest tight with want. When she laughs at one of Ava's more ridiculous royal decrees, the sound registers somewhere deep in my bones, warm and musical and completely unguarded.
"Sir Rhyen," Ava announces, "you have to drink your tea properly. Pinkies up!"
I adjust my grip on the tiny handle, extending my little finger with exaggerated precision. "Is this acceptable, Your Imperial Magnificence?"
"Much better. Now you, Lady Mama."
Lenny obediently adjusts her hold on her cup, and I find myself watching the delicate way her fingers curve around the porcelain. Her hands are small but strong, marked with faint scars that tell stories I wish she didn't carry. When she lifts the cup to her lips and pretends to sip, there's something almost childlike in the gesture that makes me wonder what she was like before life taught her to be afraid.
The afternoon light filters through the garden vines, casting dancing shadows across her face. She's sitting close enough that I can see the freckles scattered across her nose, can catch the subtle scent of the soap she favors. Close enough to reach out and touch, if I were brave enough to risk shattering this perfect moment.
"Tell us about your warriors, Sir Rhyen," Ava commands, apparently bored with tea service. "Are they very fierce?"
"Some of them," I allow. "Most are just young xaphan learning to fly in formation without crashing into each other."
She giggles. "Do they crash a lot?"
"More than they'd like to admit."
"Are there lady warriors too?"
"Many of them. Some of the best fighters I know are women."
This earns me an approving nod from Ava and a quick, unreadable glance from Lenny. I wonder what she's thinking—whether she's remembering her own battles, her own strength, the night she fought for her freedom and won.
"I want to see them!" Ava announces with the casual confidence of someone who's never been told she can't have something she wants. It's endearing knowing what life she truly came from. "Can we visit? I want to see the swords and the flying and everything."
My eyes find Lenny immediately, waiting for the swift denial I expect. Her protective instincts are finely honed after years of running, and the idea of taking Ava anywhere near a military installation should send every alarm she possesses into overdrive.
But instead of the immediate refusal, she hesitates. Her amber gaze meets mine across the small space between us, and I see the internal war playing out behind her eyes—maternal caution warring with something else. Trust, maybe. Or the growing realization that her world has expanded beyond constant flight and fear.
"It's not really a place for children," she says carefully, but there's no finality in her tone.
"I'm not just any children," Ava argues with four-year-old logic. "I'm Empress Ava the Magnificent. Empresses can go wherever they want."
"The training college has strict protocols," I say, addressing Lenny rather than Ava. "But I could arrange a brief tour. Just the basic facilities, nothing dangerous. The younger cadets would probably enjoy meeting her."
Lenny's fingers tighten around her teacup. "She's half-demon. You said yourself that some people?—"
