11. Ada
11
ADA
I watch Rose swing her legs under the table as she shovels another spoonful of stew into her mouth. Her honey-blonde curls bounce with each enthusiastic movement, and a small drop of broth trickles down her chin.
"And then I saw Cappy Dez doing his special moves in the yard." Rose punches the air with her tiny fist. "He went whoosh with his sword, and it was so shiny!"
Dezoth's golden eyes widen, the vertical pupils dilating slightly at the nickname. His long fingers pause around his spoon, and the stern set of his jaw softens.
"Cappy Dez?" The corner of his mouth twitches.
My cheeks flush. "Well, the twins have been calling you Uncle Dez, so she kind of started to pick that up. And she struggles with the word Captain."
"I do not!" Then, Rose beams at him, showing the gap where her front tooth fell out last week. "Can you teach me to be a guard too? I want to do the whoosh thing!"
"The 'whoosh thing' takes years of practice, little one." His deep voice carries a gentleness I've never heard before, and those ritual markings on his forearms catch the lamplight as he reaches for his water.
"I can practice! I'm good at practicing. Mama says so." Rose turns those violet eyes on me, seeking confirmation.
My throat constricts at the sight of this towering demon - this Elite Guard Captain - melting under my daughter's charm. The same way her father used to...
"You do practice very well, sweet pea." I smooth back a stray curl from her forehead.
"See?" Rose bounces in her seat, turning back to Dezoth. "Please, Cappy Dez?"
He sets down his spoon, and for a moment, that intimidating presence returns as he considers her request with careful thought. But then those sharp features soften again, and he inclines his head. "Perhaps we can start with proper stance tomorrow."
The squeal Rose lets out could shatter glass, but Dezoth's pleased expression makes something in my chest tighten painfully. I haven't seen anyone look at her that way since her father - and that was when I was still pregnant.
I've been seeing more and more of that side of Dezoth coming out.
I watch Dezoth's large hands, so lethal in combat, carefully cut Rose's meat into tiny, manageable pieces. His obsidian hair falls forward as he leans over her plate, and she reaches up to tug at the silver cord holding it back.
"Why do you tie it up?" Rose peers at the intricate knot.
"So it doesn't get in my eyes when I'm working." He slides her plate back, the meat now in perfect child-sized bites. "Just like how your mother braids your hair."
"But yours is pretty. It's like the night sky!" She stuffs a piece of meat in her mouth. "Do all guards have long hair?"
"Some do." His golden eyes crinkle at the corners. "But we all wear the silver cord. It marks us as city guards."
"Is that like your arm pictures?" She points to his ritual markings.
"These show I'm a master craftsman." He rolls up his sleeve, revealing more of the intricate designs. "Each pattern tells a different story."
"What story do those tell?"
Instead of brushing off her questions like most would with a child, he traces one marking with his finger. "This spiral means I learned to forge weapons. The flames around it show I passed the trials by fire."
My hands shake as I grip my cup. The way he explains things, patient and clear - it reminds me so much of Arzollon. He was so patient with me, too. So kind and caring and understanding. I can only imagine how good he would be with Rose.
I meant what I said to Dezoth. I do miss and love Arzollon, but I have healed from it. His death does not debilitate me the way it used to. I would love nothing more than to have him back, but I can't. I've made my peace with that. Now, I'm focused on moving forward with Rose.
"Can I be a craftsman too?" Rose leans forward, nearly putting her elbow in her stew.
"Careful." Dezoth catches her bowl before it tips. "And yes, if you study hard and practice. Though you might want to master using a spoon properly first."
Rose giggles, and the sound draws a rare smile from him - one that transforms his intimidating features into something gentle. Something that tugs at my chest.
That's been happening more and more, too, and I have to stop it. I can't develop too much trust in this demon. This is not our life forever. I'm just getting my feet under me.
I look down at my plate, my chest tight. I shouldn't let them grow close, either. We can't stay here forever. But watching him teach her, protect her... it makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, not all demons are like her grandfather.
Rose sets down her spoon, her violet eyes serious. "I like it here with Cappy Dez. It's better than running all the time."
My fork clatters against the plate. The room spins, and I grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
"Ada?" Dezoth's deep voice carries concern.
I can't look at him. Can't bear to see the way his usual stern mask has cracked, revealing something raw and vulnerable beneath if his voice is any indication. I can't face his golden eyes that tend to cut me to my core when he looks at me not like I'm less than, not like I'm worthless.
No, sometimes he looks at me like I'm worth protecting and that hurts.
"We have a nice bed here," Rose continues, oblivious to my distress. "And Cappy Dez makes the best pancakes. Remember the blue ones, Mama? With sparkles!"
"Rose-" My voice catches.
"And he keeps the bad people away." She pushes her plate aside, leaning toward him. "Right, Cappy Dez?"
Dezoth's shoulders straighten, his protective instincts visible in every line of his powerful frame. "Always, little one."
The conviction in those two words steals my breath. His ritual markings seem to shimmer in the lamplight as he reaches across the table, his large hand settling near mine - not touching, but close enough that I feel its warmth.
"No one will harm either of you while you're under my protection." His words carry the weight of an oath.
Rose beams at him, and something in my chest cracks at the sight. This demon, this Elite Guard Captain who strikes fear into criminals with a single look, sits at his table wearing a tiny flower crown my daughter made him. His obsidian hair, usually so pristine, has a few strands escaping their silver binding because Rose couldn't resist playing with it.
"See, Mama?" Rose's small hand finds mine. "We don't have to be scared anymore."
I meet Dezoth's gaze then, and the pride in his expression - pride at being trusted by this tiny half-demon child - mingles with something deeper, something that makes my heart thunder against my ribs.
After dinner, I guide Rose up the wooden stairs, her tiny hand clutched in mine. Her steps drag, heavy with exhaustion from her excitement over "sword practice" with Dezoth.
"Arms up." I help her change into her nightgown, the soft fabric settling over her curls. She yawns, revealing that adorable gap where her tooth used to be.
"Mama?" Rose crawls under the blankets, her violet eyes bright even in her sleepiness. "Can we stay here with Cappy Dez forever?"
My hands freeze in the middle of tucking her in. "Rose-"
"He's nice." She pulls her stuffed rabbit closer. "And he makes you smile. Like this morning when he put sparkles in the pancakes just because I asked."
Heat creeps up my neck as I remember Dezoth's satisfied expression when Rose squealed over the magical shimmer in her breakfast. How his usual stern demeanor melted away as she insisted on "helping" him clean up, even though she mostly just spread the mess further.
"And he reads stories better than anyone." Rose continues, fighting another yawn. "He does all the voices, like you said Papa used to."
My chest tightens at the comparison. She can't even remember her own father, even though I have tried to keep his memory alive, but somehow Dezoth has filled that void so naturally, so completely...
"Please, Mama?" Her small fingers find mine. "I like having a home again. And Cappy Dez keeps us safe."
I sink onto the edge of the bed, smoothing back those honey-blonde curls so like mine. The warmth of this room, the soft glow of the magical night light Dezoth crafted specially for her, the lingering scent of his cooking downstairs - it all feels so right. So peaceful.
Dezoth's presence has become as natural as breathing. The way he moves through his home with quiet strength, how he adjusts his stride to match Rose's tiny steps, the gentle way he explains things...
"Mama?" Rose's voice grows drowsy.
I open my mouth to answer, but the words stick in my throat. Because she's right - I do smile more here. With him. I'm not really sure how it's happened, but I'm letting someone in - a demon, no less.
"Sweet dreams, my love." I kiss her forehead, unable to give her the answer she wants. Or maybe just unable to admit it to myself.
I curl up in bed, Rose tucked into my side, staring at the wooden beams above. Moonlight filters through the curtains, casting silver patterns across my room. My fingers drift to the spot where Dezoth's hand brushed mine in the garden earlier today. The warmth of his touch lingers, a ghost of sensation that makes my heart flutter.
" You have excellent instincts for herbs ," he'd said, his deep voice soft as we worked side by side. Those ritual markings on his forearms caught the sunlight as he reached past me for a spade. " These will make fine healing potions. I'm lucky I found you. "
Now, I press my palm to my chest, remembering how he moved with such careful grace despite his intimidating size. How those golden eyes tracked my every movement, not with suspicion or possession, but with something that made my cheeks flush.
The way he is with Rose...
I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter. Just months ago, I would have run at the first sign of a demon's interest. But Dezoth isn't like the others. He doesn't demand or take. He offers, protects, teaches.
I don't know how to handle it. And I'm terrified to trust it.
This morning, I found him in the kitchen covered in flour because Rose wanted to "help" make breakfast. His obsidian hair had white streaks in it, and that silver cord was hanging loose. But instead of anger, his eyes crinkled with amusement as she giggled.
" Your daughter ," he'd said, catching my gaze, " has quite the talent for chaos ."
The pride in his voice, the way he included me in the moment rather than trying to replace me - it struck something deep inside that I thought had died with Arzollon.
I touch my collarbone where the scar marks my escape. Dezoth has never asked about it, never pushed for details of our past. He simply offers his strength, his home, his... heart?
My fingers tremble at the thought. Am I brave enough to reach for happiness again? To trust that this demon with his rare smiles and gentle hands won't shatter everything like Arzollon’s father did?
The memory of dinner floods back - how naturally Dezoth fit into our little family, how right it felt to watch him care for Rose. Not because he has to, but because he wants to.
I’m so scared to be wrong again.