Page 21

RONNIE

T he afternoon sun slants through the trees as I lock up my shop, the key turning heavily in the old iron lock.

My nerves are frayed from Araton's presence, his eyes following my every movement throughout the day.

He kept his distance—physically, at least—setting up outside my shop beneath the low-hanging awning with an uncanny patience that reminded me of a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"Time to pick up Millie?" he asks, straightening from where he'd been leaning against the wall. The casual observer might miss the tension coiled beneath his relaxed posture, but I don't. His wings shift minutely, betraying his anticipation.

"Yes." I slip the keys into my pocket, avoiding his gaze. "She stays with Adellum during the day."

He falls into step beside me, too close and yet somehow not close enough.

The heat of his body radiates between us, a phantom touch that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

We walk in silence through the village, but it's anything but peaceful—the air crackles with unspoken words, with three years of absence and secrets.

When we reach Harmony's home, my steps slow involuntarily. The comfortable two story home with its neatly tended garden and smoke curling from the chimney has always represented safety to me. Today, it feels like I'm leading danger straight to its door.

"This is it," I say unnecessarily.

Araton studies the farmhouse, his golden eyes taking in every detail—the windchimes made of polished stones and copper wire that hang from the eaves, the clay pots of herbs lining the steps, the brightly painted door. His expression gives nothing away.

"It's... homey," he finally says.

Before I can respond, the door swings open, and Millie bursts out like a tiny whirlwind, her black curls bouncing and her small silver wings fluttering with excitement.

"Mama!" She races down the path, then skids to a stop when she notices Araton. Her golden eyes—so like his—widen with undisguised curiosity. "Who's that?"

Harmony appears in the doorway behind her, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. Her eyes immediately lock onto Araton, then flick to me with quiet concern. I give her a slight nod, hoping she understands that this is happening with my consent, if not my enthusiasm.

"This is..." My mouth goes dry. Three years of keeping this secret, and now the words won't come.

Araton doesn't wait for me to find my voice.

He crouches down to Millie's level, his massive wings folding elegantly behind him to maintain his balance.

In this position, with his imposing height diminished, the resemblance between them becomes startlingly clear—the same golden eyes, the same dimple that appears in his right cheek as he offers her a hesitant smile.

"Hello, Millie," he says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it. "My name is Araton. I'm your father."

The world seems to hold its breath. Millie tilts her head, studying him with that peculiar intensity she sometimes gets. I step forward automatically, protective instincts surging, but force myself to stop. This moment isn't about me.

"You have wings like me," Millie finally says, her voice small but not afraid.

"I do." Araton extends one wing slightly, the dusky gray feathers glinting with silver highlights in the afternoon light. "Yours are beautiful. Like starlight."

Millie's face breaks into a radiant smile, and she spins around, trying to look at her own wings. "Mama says they're special. Uncle Adellum has blue ones, but nobody else has silver like me."

"That's because you're very special," Araton says, and the raw emotion in his voice makes my throat tighten.

Harmony moves toward us, her steps measured and cautious. "I should head back inside," she says, her hazel eyes meeting mine with silent support. "Unless you need me to stay?"

I shake my head, grateful for her understanding. "We're fine. Thank you for today."

"Always," she says with a warm smile for Millie, then slips back inside, leaving us in our little triangle of tension and possibility.

Millie has already turned her attention back to Araton, her initial shyness evaporating like morning dew.

"Are you staying with us? Can you teach me to fly?

Mama says I'm too little still, but Uncle Adellum says I might be able to soon, and—" She breaks off suddenly, her golden eyes widening.

"Is that why we have matching bracelets? "

She thrusts out her small wrist, displaying the miniature version of the bracelet I now wear. Araton's eyes soften as he looks at it resting against her brown skin.

"Yes," he says simply. "Because we're connected."

"Can I show you my rocks?" Millie asks suddenly, already grabbing his hand without waiting for an answer. "Uncle Adellum helps me find the sparkly ones. I have a blue one that looks just like the sky when it rains!"

Araton looks up at me, silently asking permission. For a heartbeat, I'm transported back to that first night in my shop, when those same golden eyes had asked an entirely different question. I'd given in then too, against my better judgment.

"Go ahead," I say softly, stepping back to give them space.

The relief and gratitude that flashes across Araton's face is so raw it makes my chest ache.

As I watch him being led away by our daughter's tiny, insistent hand, a tangle of emotions knots itself in my stomach—happiness that Millie isn't afraid, relief that Araton is treating her with such gentle reverence, and an undercurrent of guilt that threatens to pull me under.

I was so sure I was right to leave, to protect Millie from a father who might not want her or might take her from me. Now, watching them together—their matching golden eyes, their identical expressions of wonder—I'm no longer certain of anything.

Araton was very serious about being in Millie's life. He sees her daily, and he seems enamored.

The first week of their new arrangement, I stand in my doorway, arms crossed over my chest like armor, watching Araton walk away with Millie skipping beside him. Her small silver wings flutter with each bounce, catching sunlight. My daughter's hand disappears inside his much larger one.

"We're going to catch thalivern by the river," she informs me with the gravity of someone announcing a diplomatic mission.

"Don't let her near the water alone," I call after them, hating the tremble in my voice.

Araton turns, the sun catching the gold in his eyes. "I'd sooner cut off my wings than let harm come to her."

I believe him, which terrifies me more than doubt ever could.

When they return that evening, Millie's curls are tangled with flower petals and her clothes bear the cheerful stains of adventure.

The sight of her perched on Araton's broad shoulders, those silver-flecked gray wings curving protectively around her smaller ones, creates a lump in my throat I can't swallow past.

"Mama! We found FIVE thalivern and Papa can make his voice sound like a black pitter bird and I climbed a tree and?—"

"Bath first," I interrupt, struggling to keep my expression neutral at her casual use of "Papa."

Araton sets her down with careful hands. "I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart."

He turns to leave, but Millie grabs his pant leg. "But you didn't tell Mama about the burigo that jumped on your head!"

That night, he stays for dinner.

By the second week, I find myself unconsciously setting a third plate at our small table.

Millie chatters through dinner, her golden eyes bright with stories, while Araton listens with an intensity that makes my chest ache.

He never interrupts her, never dismisses her nonsensical tangents.

I'd expected arrogance from him—the same smug confidence he'd always worn like a second skin—but with Millie, he's different. Softer around the edges.

"And then Uncle Ady said I could help with his painting tomorrow if I wanted, but Papa said we're going to look for special rocks for my collection, so maybe the next day?"

I glance up and catch Araton watching me over Millie's head, his expression unreadable. When our eyes meet, something electric passes between us—that same dangerous current that's always hummed beneath our interactions.

"Uncle Ady won't mind waiting," I say, finally breaking away from his gaze.

Later, after dinner, I find myself lingering in the kitchen longer than necessary, wiping down already-clean counters while Araton reads to Millie in the living room.

His deep voice carries through the house, rising and falling with the story.

When I finally join them, Millie is half-asleep on his lap, her tiny wings twitching with dreams.

"She's out," he whispers.

I should take her to bed, should usher him out the door with a polite but firm goodnight. Instead, I sit across from him, watching how carefully he cradles our daughter.

"You're good with her," I admit reluctantly.

Something flashes across his face—pain, anger, gratitude—too fast to identify. "I had three years to make up for."

The accusation lands like a slap, but I don't flinch. "I did what I thought was best."

"For her? Or for you?"

He carries Millie to bed before I can answer, his wings brushing the doorframe as he navigates the narrow hallway. When he returns, I expect him to leave, but he sits across from me again, the space between us charged with unsaid things.

"Teach me," he says quietly.

"What?"

"Teach me what she likes for breakfast. What stories make her laugh. Which songs help her sleep. Teach me three years of being her father."

That night, he stays until midnight.

By the third week, I find myself watching the sun's position in the sky, counting the hours until Araton brings Millie home.

They've established traditions already—she runs to him with pebbles she's found that match his wing colors; he pretends each one is a priceless treasure.

They have inside jokes I don't understand, silly songs with made-up words.

The jealousy I expected never materializes. Instead, there's a warmth in my chest when they're together, a completeness I hadn't realized was missing.

"Mama, can Papa stay for storytime again?" Millie asks one evening, her voice muffled against my neck as I carry her up to bed.

"If he wants to."

"He wants to," she says with the absolute certainty of childhood.

After she's asleep, we sit on my small porch, a respectful distance between us that somehow feels more intimate than touch. The night is velvet-dark around us, the air heavy with summer heat and unspoken possibilities.

"Why did you really come south?" I ask, breaking the fragile silence.

Araton's wings shift slightly—a tell I've begun to recognize when he's considering his words carefully. "I told myself it was for a change. New opportunities."

"And the truth?"

He turns toward me, moonlight catching on the sharp planes of his face. "I never stopped looking for you, fierce one."

The old nickname sends a shiver through me. I glance away, afraid of what he might see in my eyes. "I never thought you'd want... this. A child. Responsibility."

"You never gave me the chance to want it." His voice holds no accusation now, just quiet certainty. "But I do want it."

And I don't dare let myself hope he means more than his daughter.