Page 18 of Demon Daddy's Nanny

My cheeks burn, but I focus on arranging the breakfast plates. "Just trying to convince your father that sustenance isn't optional."

"Oh?" She props her chin on her hand, platinum hair spilling over her shoulder. "And how's that working out?"

Ridwan's jaw tightens. He picks up his fork with deliberate precision, as if to prove a point. "Your arithmetic still needs work."

"Does it?" Annalise's tone drips with false innocence. "I thought Eva said I was improving."

"She did." His golden eyes find mine again. "She seems to have opinions about many things lately."

My stomach does a slow roll, but I lift my chin. "Someone has to."

Annalise's quiet laugh fills the space between us. She leans back in her chair, wings rustling as she watches us like we're putting on a show just for her. The morning light streaming through the windows catches her hair, creating a halo effect that does nothing to hide the devilish glint in her eyes.

"Don't let me stop you." She reaches for a sweet roll, her movements deliberately casual. "This is far more entertaining than my usual breakfast entertainment of watching Father glare at trade reports."

None of us comment on how that is a development of itself. At least Ridwan has been at breakfast every morning.

Ridwan's wings twitch - a tell I've come to recognize as annoyance. "Annalise."

"What?" She tears into the bread, still wearing that insufferable smirk. "I'm just appreciating Eva's... concern for your wellbeing."

I duck my head, and Ridwan glares at his daughter. But she just beams and grabs a roll, making me fight off a smile. He really does have his hands full with that one.

The afternoon sunbeats down on the garden's stone benches where Annalise and I sit. She plucks petals from a flower, letting them scatter across her lap while we discuss her morning lessons.

"I still don't understand why I need to learn all these military formations." She drops the stripped stem. "It's not like I'll ever lead troops into battle."

"Your father thinks-"

Movement catches my eye. Ridwan strides across the garden path, his golden wings spread slightly to catch the breeze. My words die in my throat. In all my time here, he's never sought us out during our afternoon talks.

Annalise straightens, her own wings pulling tight against her back. "Father?"

He stops before us, blocking the sun. His shadow falls across my legs, and I fight the urge to shiver despite the heat. "Continue your discussion. Don't let me interrupt."

"You never join us." Annalise's voice carries that familiar edge of challenge.

Instead of responding, he settles onto the bench opposite us. His wings adjust to accommodate the space, and I catch myself staring at the way the light plays across his feathers. He's rolled up his sleeves, revealing corded forearms marked withold scars.Gorgeous.His presence makes the garden feel smaller somehow, more intimate.

"The military formations," he says, his deep voice resonating in my chest, "are about strategy. Leadership. Skills you'll need regardless of whether you ever see battle."

Annalise's mouth opens, then closes. For once, she seems at a loss for words.

I shift on the bench, hyperaware of his proximity. His scent reaches me - something sharp and clean, like ozone before a storm. When I dare to look at his face, I find his golden eyes already fixed on me, intense and unreadable.

"Eva has been helping me understand the theoretical aspects," Annalise says, recovering her voice. "Though she probably thinks I'm hopeless at it."

"You're not hopeless." I tear my gaze away from Ridwan. "You just need to approach it differently."

"Perhaps," Ridwan leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "you could benefit from hearing how these strategies apply in practice."

The casual pose does nothing to diminish his commanding presence. If anything, the relaxed posture only highlights the coiled power beneath his surface. His scar catches the sunlight, a reminder of battles fought and won.

Annalise leans forward, her silver eyes bright with interest as Ridwan begins explaining a flanking maneuver from his military days. I try to focus on his words, but my attention keeps drifting to the way his hands move as he speaks - strong, precise gestures that hint at contained power.

The garden air grows thick with his presence. My skin prickles every time he shifts, hyper-aware of each minute movement. The bench feels too small, too confining. I want to reach across the space between us, to trace the scar on his cheek, to feel if his skin is as warm as it looks in the sunlight.

The thought hits me like a physical blow. Heat crawls up my neck, and I curl my fingers into my skirts to keep them still. This is dangerous territory. He's not just my employer - he's a xaphan noble, a being of immense power and status. And I'm...human. Disposable.

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