Page 19 of Demon Daddy's Nanny

But my body doesn't seem to care about those distinctions. When he laughs at something Annalise says - a rare, rich sound that makes my chest tight - I find myself swaying toward him like a flower seeking sun. His wing stretches across the back of his bench, and I imagine how it would feel to run my fingers through those golden feathers.

"Eva?" Annalise's voice snaps me back to reality. "You're being awfully quiet."

Ridwan's gaze locks onto mine, molten gold burning with an intensity that steals my breath. His nostrils flare slightly, as if catching my scent on the breeze, and something primal in me responds to that subtle display of predatory attention.

"Just...thinking about the strategies." My voice comes out rougher than intended. I clear my throat, trying to ignore how his eyes track the movement. "It's different, hearing about real applications versus theory."

His lips curve into something almost like a smile, and my heart stumbles in my chest. This close, I can see flecks of darker amber in his eyes, like trapped flames. The urge to close the distance between us grows stronger with each passing moment, terrifying in its intensity.

I need to leave. Now. Before I do something foolish, like reach for him across this garden that suddenly feels too small to contain whatever is building between us.

10

RIDWAN

Ijolt awake, my wings rustling against silk sheets. Moonlight filters through the tall windows of my chambers, casting long shadows across the floor. Sleep eludes me again, replaced by thoughts of her - Eva.

Her image burns in my mind: chestnut hair falling loose from that messy ponytail she always wears, amber eyes that challenge mine without hesitation. No demure glances or rehearsed courtesies. Just raw honesty that cuts through the walls I've built.

I push off the bed, bare feet silent on cold stone as I pace. My wings flex and fold with each turn, a rhythmic movement that does nothing to calm the storm inside. The scar on my cheek tingles - a phantom reminder of battles fought and won. But this... this is a different kind of battle.

Eva doesn't bow or simper. She stands her ground, even when my temper flares. Yesterday in the kitchen, she dared to argue about Annalise's studies. Any other servant would have cowered, but she planted her feet and matched my glare. The memory of flour dusting her cheek, the flush of anger on herskin, the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides - it's all seared into my mind.

I shouldn't want her. She's human. She works for me. She's responsible for my daughter's welfare. Every logical reason piles up like the reports on my desk, and yet...

The distant city lights of New Solas glitter below, a sea of gold that reminds me of my position, my responsibilities. The weight of my lineage settles heavy across my shoulders. But even that can't drive away the memory of Eva's rare smile, the one she saves for Annalise, the one that makes my chest tight with an emotion I refuse to name.

I stalk through dark corridors, wings pulled tight against my back. The familiar path to the kitchen offers no distraction from my thoughts. At this hour, the manor sleeps—or should.

Warmth and light spill from beneath the kitchen door. The scent of vanilla and spices hits me before I push it open. Eva stands at the center island, hair escaping her ponytail in wild strands, hands deep in dough. Her sleeves are rolled to her elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with flour.

She looks up, those amber eyes widening. No fear - just surprise. "What brings you here?"

"Can't sleep." I move closer, drawn by the rhythm of her kneading. Her fingers press and fold with practiced ease. "You should be resting."

"So should you." She doesn't pause her work. "I bake when I can't sleep. The routine helps quiet my mind."

The kitchen feels smaller with both of us in it. Steam rises from cups of tea on the counter - she's been here a while. My wings brush a shelf as I shift, and bottles clink together.

"Careful with those wings." She shoots me a look that few would dare. "Some of us have to clean up after you."

"Watch your tone." But there's no heat in my words. The familiar dance of our exchanges settles something in my chest.

Eva snorts and shapes the dough into a loaf. Flour streaks her cheek, and my fingers itch to brush it away. "You're not exactly radiating authority in those sleeping clothes."

She's right. I'm standing in my kitchen in loose pants and an open shirt, wings half-spread like some restless fledgling. But her casual dismissal of my status - it should infuriate me. Instead, it loosens the knot between my shoulders.

The quiet domesticity of the moment strikes me. Eva moves through my kitchen with the same confidence she shows in everything, claiming the space as her own. She slides the loaf into the oven without looking at me, but a small smile plays at her lips.

I watch her pull another batch of dough from a covered bowl. Her movements are precise, practiced - nothing wasted. No noble grace here, just the earned efficiency of someone who's mastered their craft.

"Want to learn?" Eva glances up through escaped strands of hair. "Or are you just going to loom there all night?"

My first instinct is to turn away. I don't bake. I lead armies, command respect, broker deals that shape the future of New Solas. But something in her easy confidence holds me in place.

"Show me."

Eva's eyebrows lift, but she gestures me closer. "Wash your hands first. Thoroughly."

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