Page 29 of Demon Daddy's Nanny

"Eva?"

I blink, finding Annalise watching me with knowing eyes. "Sorry. The Hunter's Crown. Right." I trace the constellation with shaking fingers. "It appears in the northern sky during?—"

A flash of gold passes the window - Ridwan crossing the courtyard below. My words die as I watch him move with that controlled power, wings half-spread to catch the breeze. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw.

Does he feel this too? This maddening pull that makes every glimpse of him both torture and salvation?

"You know," Annalise says quietly, "for someone who's avoiding him, you certainly spend a lot of time staring."

Heat floods my cheeks. I force my eyes back to the star charts, but the symbols blur together. All I can see is bronze skin dusted with flour, golden eyes dark with unspoken promises.

“I’m not staring,” I mutter.

But neither of us believes me. Thankfully, Annalise lets it go for the rest of the day, and in response, I go to dinner. It’s quiet and awkward, but I make it through.

Now that Annalise is in bed, I curl up on the edge of my own, fingers tracing the intricate embroidery along the cloak's hem. Moonlight spills through my window, turning the fabric to liquid shadow. It still carries his scent, and I’m ashamed at how many times I’ve inhaled it.

I should return it. The thought comes every night as I reach for the cloak, folded carefully in my dresser drawer. A proper servant would have delivered it back with thanks the very next morning. But I'm not just a servant anymore, am I? The way Ridwan looked at me in that kitchen, like I was something precious and dangerous all at once...

The fabric slides between my fingers, softer than anything I've ever owned. Gold thread catches the light, forming delicate patterns that remind me of his wings—the way they'd stretched toward me before he caught himself, pulled back. Always pulling back.

I wrap the cloak around my shoulders, drowning in its warmth. It's too big, made for his broad frame and powerful wings. The hem pools around my feet like spilled ink. If I close my eyes, I can pretend he's here, that those wings are curling around me instead of this borrowed piece of him.

"Foolish girl," I whisper to the empty room. But I don't take the cloak off. Instead, I pull it tighter, remembering how his hands had trembled when he draped it over me that night. How his fingers had lingered at my throat, adjusting the clasp with a gentleness that belied his strength.

The cloak smells like him, like magic and authority and things I can never have. I press my face into the fabric, breathing deep. My heart aches with wanting, with the memory of almost-kisses and careful distance.

I should return it.

But I won't.

16

EVA

Islip out into the night, Ridwan's cloak wrapped tight around my shoulders. The fabric drowns me, falling past my knees, but I can't bring myself to care. His scent still clings to the material, though at this point, it’s fading.

The courtyard stretches before me, bathed in the light of twin moons. Shadows pool beneath twisted metal benches, their golden surfaces dulled to brass in the darkness. My footsteps echo off the ground as I trace familiar paths between dormant flowerbeds.

Here, away from watching eyes, I let my guard drop. No need to duck into alcoves or time my movements. Just the night air against my skin and the weight of stars overhead. The cloak trails behind me like wings of my own, catching on the cool breeze.

I pause by the central fountain, watching dark water spill over edges carved with scenes of ancient battles. Xaphan warriors dance across the stone, their wings spread in eternal victory. My fingers trace the worn edges, remembering how Ridwan's hands felt that night in the kitchen - strong yet gentle,letting me guide his through simple motions that suddenly felt intimate.

The memory of his wings curling forward haunts me. How they'd created a private world just for us, blocking out everything but the heat of his chest against my back and the way his breath stirred my hair. Then him saying it was a mistake, the sudden distance, and this cloak dropped on my shoulders when I was alone out here.

A part of me wonders if he’ll come out here again.

I’m not sure if I want him to or not - or more like I’m not willing to admit which I want.

I pull the fabric tighter, letting myself imagine for just a moment that it's his arms around me instead. Foolish. Dangerous. But here in the darkness, with only stars as witness, I can admit how much I crave his touch. How each careful avoidance feels like a physical wound.

The night air carries the scent of night-blooming flowers, their purple petals glowing faintly in the moonlight. I breathe deeply, trying to clear my head of bronze skin and golden eyes. Of almost-kisses and unspoken words.

A shadow detaches from the darkness near the fountain, and my heart stops. Ridwan stands motionless, moonlight catching on the sharp angles of his face. His wings shift restlessly, feathers rustling like whispered secrets. Even at rest, power radiates from him - in the rigid set of his shoulders, the predatory stillness of his stance.

I freeze mid-step, trapped between fleeing and staying. His golden eyes lock onto me, and heat floods my cheeks as I realize I'm still wearing his cloak. The fabric suddenly feels like a brand against my skin.

"Eva." My name falls from his lips like a prayer, or maybe a curse. He takes a step forward, then stops, hands clenchingat his sides. His wings spread slightly, casting deeper shadows across the courtyard stones.

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