Page 1 of Demon Daddy's Nanny

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EVA

The sweet scent of fresh-baked Goddess Hearts fills my nostrils as I pull another tray from the stone oven. My arms strain under the weight, muscles burning from hours of lifting trays and kneading dough. The kitchen's heat presses against my skin, and wisps of chestnut hair stick to my forehead despite being tied back.

"Three more orders!" Madam Thea's shrill voice cuts through the bakery's warmth. "And don't burn them this time."

I bite back a retort. The last batch wasn't burned - they were perfectly caramelized. But arguing with a xaphan about baking techniques would only lead to another reduction in my already meager wages. At least I get wages - even if they are next to nothing.

My fingers work quickly, shaping the dough into delicate heart patterns. Each fold and twist must be precise. One mistake and the entire batch becomes animal feed. The nimond bean syrup bubbles in its pot, its rich aroma mixing with the yeast and sugar that permeates the air.

A group of xaphan nobles passes by the kitchen window, their golden wings catching the morning light. They don't sparea glance at the human working inside. To them, I'm just another piece of kitchen equipment.

But when I drop the hearts into the hot oil, watching them turn a perfect golden brown, none of that matters. This is my art, my small rebellion. Each pastry that leaves this kitchen carries a piece of my soul, even if the customers will never know it was crafted by human hands.

I dust the finished hearts with sugar, my movements swift and practiced. The scar on my left hand throbs - a reminder of the day I tried to prove I could work as fast as the xaphan bakers. Now I know better. Speed isn't everything. Precision and care make the difference between food and art.

"Eva!" Madam Thea's voice again. "Stop dawdling and get those orders out!"

I arrange the hearts on silver platters, careful not to smudge their pristine coating. My wages barely cover my tiny room above the bakery, but at least I have a roof and relative freedom. Some humans aren't so lucky.

"What is this?" Madam Thea's wings flare out, steel-gray feathers bristling as she thrusts a half-eaten pastry in my face. "A customer claims this tastes like ash."

I study the Goddess Heart, its delicate curves still perfectly shaped, the sugar crystallized just right. The tear reveals fluffy, even layers inside - exactly how they should look. "The caramelization is correct, Madam. Perhaps their palate-"

"Their palate?" Her laugh carries the sharp edge of winter wind. "A noble xaphan's palate is refined beyond your primitive understanding. You forget your place."

Heat rises in my cheeks, but I keep my spine straight. My fingers still work the dough in front of me, muscle memory taking over while I face her scrutiny. "I've been baking these hearts for three years. I know when they're done correctly."

"You dare question-"

"I'm stating facts." The words slip out before I can catch them. Dangerous words. But I'm tired of swallowing truth like bitter medicine.

Lightning crackles along her wings, making the air thick with ozone. Other kitchen workers - both human and xaphan - shrink back. But I hold her gaze. My hands don't shake as I continue folding pastries, though sweat trickles down my neck.

"One more complaint," she hisses, leaning close enough that I smell mint and storm clouds on her breath, "and you'll join the street rats begging for scraps. There are plenty of humans who'd kill for your position."

I nod once, sharp and precise as my knife sliding through dough. "Understood, Madam."

She sweeps away in a rustle of feathers and silk, leaving the accused pastry on my workstation. I pick it up, examine the bite mark. The texture is perfect, the flavor balance exact. I know my craft. But in New Solas, truth bows to status, and human skill means nothing against xaphan pride.

I toss the heart into the waste bin and return to my work. My movements are controlled, deliberate. Each fold of dough carries the weight of unspoken defiance. They can threaten my livelihood, but they can't take my dignity. Not while I still have strength to stand tall.

The lunch rush fades, leaving scattered crumbs and sticky tabletops in its wake. I gather my cleaning supplies, grateful for the break from the kitchen's suffocating heat. The dining room's high windows cast long shadows across the floors, and the crystal chandeliers catch afternoon light in prisms.

A flash of gold catches my eye. In the furthest corner, a young xaphan sits alone, her wings the color of pure sunlight. Unlike the other nobles who parade through here, she hunches over the table, platinum hair falling like a curtain around her face. Her fingers trace patterns in spilled sugar.

I approach slowly, cloth in hand. "Can I get you anything?"

Silver eyes snap up, sharp as frost. "I'm fine." Her tone could cut glass.

"The Goddess Hearts are fresh." I start wiping the neighboring table, keeping my movements casual. "I just pulled them from the oven."

"Did you make them?" A hint of curiosity breaks through her icy facade.

"Every last one." I risk a small smile. "Though we're supposed to pretend the xaphan bakers did all the work."

Her lips twitch. "Wouldn't want to upset the natural order." Sarcasm drips from each word.

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