Page 16 of The Demon’s Little Girl

ROVAK

F our days of this careful dance around each other, and I'm done pretending it makes sense.

I pull on a clean shirt, the familiar weight of the fabric settling across my shoulders as I consider what the fuck I'm actually doing.

For four days, I've been treating Liora like she's made of glass—keeping my distance, speaking in careful measured tones, acting like she might disappear again if I breathe too loudly in her direction.

Like she's some fragile thing that needs protecting from my own presence.

It's bullshit, and Avenor's been telling me as much with every pointed look and raised eyebrow he can manage.

Yesterday he actually rolled his eyes when I handed Liora her dinner and retreated without so much as sitting down to share it.

"Coward," he'd muttered under his breath, not quite quiet enough for me to miss it.

He's right. I am being a coward. But the shock of seeing her again—Liora, after two years of searching and wondering and imagining the worst—hit me harder than I expected.

And seeing her with a child, with Nalla.

.. that tiny girl with her pale gold eyes and budding horns who looked at me without fear and reached for me like she belonged there.

It shook me enough that I've been avoiding Liora since.

The questions have been eating at me alive.

Where has Liora been? Who is Nalla's father?

Was she taken, or did she choose to leave?

Did someone hurt her? Did someone love her?

The not knowing is worse than any answer could be, but I haven't pushed because the careful way she holds herself tells me everything I need to know about how much she's willing to share right now.

Which is exactly nothing.

I fasten the buckles on my leather vest, checking my reflection in the polished metal mirror mounted near the window.

Same face looking back at me—angular features carved from dark stone, horns that sweep back in sharp curves, black eyes that most people find intimidating.

The face of a trade master who's built his reputation on being uncompromising and direct.

Not the face of someone who's spent four days tiptoeing around his own feelings like a nervous boy.

The truth is, I don't know what to make of this situation.

Liora was brought back by a slaver—dragged here against her will, technically.

She didn't choose to return. That means she might have a life somewhere else, people who matter to her, reasons for staying away that have nothing to do with me.

And if that's the case, then what right do I have to keep her here?

To assume she wants to stay just because this used to be her home?

The idea of letting her go again, of watching her walk away by choice this time, makes something cold and vicious coil in my chest. But I won't trap her here with obligations or guilt. Won't make her feel like she owes me something just because I've spent two years looking for her.

Even if the thought of her leaving again might actually kill me.

But I can't keep avoiding her like she's contagious.

Can't keep pretending this strange, careful politeness is sustainable when what I really want is to sit across from her at breakfast and listen to her make those dry observations that used to make me laugh.

To see her smile—really smile, not the careful, guarded expression she's been wearing since she got back.

I want to know she's safe. Want to know she's here because she chooses to be, not because she feels trapped by circumstance or obligation. And I want things between us to feel... normal. Whatever normal means now.

Time to stop being a coward.

The walk to her room feels longer than it should, my boots silent on the stone floors as I make my way through the quiet halls.

It's early enough that most of the household is still asleep, the kind of peaceful morning hour that used to belong to just the two of us.

Back when she'd meet me in the kitchen for tea and we'd talk about nothing important while the rest of the world woke up around us.

I miss that. Miss her. Miss the easy way we used to exist in the same space without all this careful distance and unspoken tension.

When I reach her door, I pause for a moment, listening for sounds of movement inside.

There's a soft murmur of voices—Liora talking to Nalla in the gentle tone she uses when she thinks no one's listening.

Something about the sound loosens the tight band around my chest. She's here.

She's safe. Everything else we can figure out.

I knock, two quiet raps that won't startle either of them if they're still half-asleep.

"Come in."

Her voice is cautious, like she's not sure who to expect.

When I push the door open and step inside, I find her sitting on the bed with Nalla cradled in her arms, both of them caught in the soft golden light streaming through the window.

Liora's dark hair is loose around her shoulders, caught between messy from sleep and deliberately styled, and she's wearing one of the simple dresses I had the household staff find for her—deep blue fabric that brings out the amber in her eyes.

She looks beautiful. She looks tired. She looks like she's bracing herself for bad news.

"Morning," I say, keeping my voice low so I don't wake Nalla completely. The little girl is alert but drowsy, making soft babbling sounds while she toys with the edge of Liora's sleeve.

"Morning." Liora's smile is small, uncertain. "Is everything all right?"

The question hits me wrong, like she's expecting me to deliver some kind of ultimatum or demand she doesn't think she can meet. Like she's been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the moment she walked through my gates.

Maybe she has been. Maybe that's why she's been so careful, so distant. Maybe she thinks I'm going to send her away.

"Everything's fine." I move closer, settling into the chair near the bed—the same one Avenor probably used last night, based on the way Liora doesn't seem surprised by my presence. "I wanted to talk to you."

Her shoulders tense slightly, but she nods. "What about?"

"About this." I gesture between us, at the careful space we've been maintaining, the polite conversations that never go anywhere meaningful. "The way we've been dancing around each other like strangers."

Something flickers across her expression—relief, maybe, or recognition. Like she's been feeling the awkwardness too and didn't know how to address it.

"I don't want you to feel trapped here," I continue, watching her face for any sign of how she's taking this. "You were brought back by force, not by choice. If you have somewhere else you need to be, someone waiting for you..."

I let the words trail off, nodding slightly toward Nalla. The implication is clear enough. A child doesn't just appear from nowhere. Someone fathered her, and for all I know, that someone might be wondering where Liora disappeared to. Might be missing them both.

The thought makes my jaw clench, but I keep my expression neutral. This isn't about what I want. It's about what's right for her.

Liora is quiet for a long moment, her amber eyes searching my face like she's trying to read between the lines of what I'm saying. When she speaks, her voice is carefully measured.

"There's no one else."

The words come out hesitant, like she's not sure she should admit it. Like she's testing how I'll react to the idea that she and Nalla are alone in the world, without attachments or obligations pulling them elsewhere.

"No one?" I keep my tone gentle, not pushing for details she might not want to give.

She shakes her head, then seems to struggle with something else she wants to say. Her mouth opens, closes, and I can see the internal debate playing out across her features. Part of her wants to explain, and part of her is holding back for reasons I can only guess at.

Before she can tie herself in knots over it, I reach out and touch her cheek with the backs of my fingers.

Just a brief contact, gentle enough that she could pull away if she wanted to.

Her skin is warm and soft, exactly like I remember, and the way her eyes flutter closed at the touch makes something fierce and protective surge through my chest.

"I don't need to know everything," I tell her quietly. "Just that you're safe. That you're here because you want to be, not because you feel like you have to be."

When she opens her eyes again, there's something vulnerable and grateful in her expression that makes my breath catch. Like I've just given her permission to stop carrying some invisible weight she's been struggling under.

"I want to be here," she says, and the certainty in her voice is enough to make the last of my careful restraint crumble.

"Good." I let my hand fall away from her face, even though what I really want is to cup her cheek and keep touching her until she stops looking like she expects me to disappear.

"Because I don't want things to be awkward between us.

We used to... we were friends, before. I'd like that again, if you're willing. "

The smile that spreads across her face is small but genuine, the first real one I've seen since she came back.

It transforms her entire expression, chasing away some of the careful guardedness and letting me see glimpses of the woman I used to know.

The one who would tease me about my terrible jokes and listen to my complaints about trade negotiations with the kind of attention that made me feel like what I was saying actually mattered.

"I'd like that too," she says.

Nalla chooses that moment to make her presence known with a series of demanding babbles, clearly annoyed that the adults have been talking without including her in the conversation.

She pushes herself up in Liora's arms and reaches toward me with grabbing hands, apparently having decided I'm interesting enough to investigate more thoroughly.

"Someone wants your attention," Liora says, and there's laughter in her voice. Real laughter, not the careful politeness she's been giving me for days.

I extend my hands toward Nalla, letting her tiny fingers wrap around my much larger ones. She grins at me like we've just made some kind of important agreement, then promptly tries to bring my hand to her mouth to see if it's edible.

"Curious little thing," I observe, gently redirecting her away from trying to gnaw on my knuckles.

"She's always been like that. Into everything, afraid of nothing." The affection in Liora's voice when she talks about her daughter is unmistakable. Whatever circumstances brought Nalla into the world, there's no question about how much she's loved.

"Have you eaten yet?" I ask, an idea forming. "Both of you?"

Liora shakes her head. "I was going to take her to the kitchen in a little while."

"How about I have breakfast brought to the sitting room instead? Like we used to." When she wasn't prying me from work in the study.

The suggestion hangs in the air between us, loaded with memories of mornings that felt easy and comfortable and right. When sitting across from each other felt natural, before everything got complicated by feelings I couldn't afford to acknowledge and circumstances that pulled us apart.

Liora's smile widens, and for the first time since she's been back, she looks genuinely pleased instead of carefully grateful.

"I'd like that," she says. "I've missed... I mean, it sounds nice."

She'd missed it. The admission sends warmth through my chest, because I've missed it too.

Missed her company, missed the way she'd listen to my plans for the day and offer suggestions that were always better than what I'd come up with on my own.

Missed having someone to share the quiet hours with before the rest of the world demanded my attention.

"Good. Give me a few minutes to arrange everything."

I stand, reluctantly letting Nalla release my fingers, and head for the door. But I pause with my hand on the handle, looking back at both of them framed by the morning light.

"Liora?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're home."

The words come out rougher than I intended, weighted with two years of searching and worrying and trying not to think about all the ways I might never see her again. But they're true, and she deserves to hear them.

Her eyes shimmer slightly, and when she speaks, her voice is soft with emotion she's not quite hiding anymore.

"So am I."