Page 5 of Demon Daddy's Nanny

We pass beneath the market's archway, ascending toward the glittering spires of home. With each step, Annalise retreats further into herself. Her chin lifts, jaw tight, but her eyes keep drifting back down the hill. Back to the tiny bakery where she found something I failed to give her.

Understanding hits like a physical blow. My daughter isn't just rebelling - she's searching. Searching for the warmth she's missed since Sera died. Since I buried myself in duty and distance, too afraid of failing her to realize I already had.

The thought follows us home, echoing with each glance Annalise casts over her shoulder. Each silent tear she thinks I don't see falling.

3

EVA

The morning rush at the bakery keeps my hands busy, but my mind wanders. Steam rises from fresh loaves as I pull them from the oven, the familiar scent of yeast and warmth filling the air. Yet instead of finding comfort in the routine, I keep seeing flashes of golden wings and silver eyes.

My fingers knead the next batch of dough with more force than necessary. The girl - Annalise - had looked so lost yesterday, standing in her fine silks while clutching that package of pastries like a lifeline. Even with her sharp tongue and proud stance, something in those otherworldly eyes had screamed of loneliness.

"You're going to murder that dough." Madam Thea’s voice snaps me from my thoughts. I ease my grip, realizing I've nearly torn the elastic strands.

"Sorry." I shape the abused dough into rolls, trying to focus on the simple motions. But those wings keep haunting me - not the pure white or brilliant gold of the high-born xaphan, but a warm honey color that seemed almost too vibrant for someone so...hollow.

I dust flour from my hands and move to the front counter, grateful for the distraction of customers. Some are human like me, keeping their eyes down as they purchase their daily bread, usually for whatever xaphan they serve. Xaphan nobles drift through, their wings held high as they examine our goods with barely concealed disdain.

My chest tightens at their presence. I shouldn't care about one xaphan girl's troubles. Their kind sees us as little more than servants at best, slaves at worst. I'm lucky to even have this job, to not be bound in complete servitude like so many others.

But I can't shake the image of Annalise's face when she'd mentioned her father. The way her voice had cracked just slightly before that wall of ice slammed back into place. I've worn that same mask myself - that desperate need to appear strong when you're crumbling inside.

I catch myself staring out the window, searching the crowds for a flash of golden wings. This isn't my problem to solve. I have enough troubles of my own without getting involved in xaphan family drama.

But as I turn back to my work, I know I'm only lying to myself. That lost girl has already worked her way under my skin, and no amount of practical reasoning seems able to dig her out.

The bell chimes as I'm wiping down the counter, the rush finally having died down, and the air grows thick, heavy with an energy that makes my skin prickle. The conversations die. Footsteps halt mid-stride. I look up and my heart stutters.

Ridwan fills the doorway, his massive wings casting long shadows across the bakery floor. I recognized him instantly last night, but seeing him today, in the light and surrounded by so many xaphan who instantly bow to him, is different.

The scar on his cheek catches the light as he scans the room, those piercing golden eyes moving with predatory focus. His presence drowns out everything else - like a storm cloudblocking the sun. It’s no wonder he was once a great warrior, now in charge of the city’s guard and protection.

Madam Thea drops the tray she's holding, pastries scattering across the floor as she bows so low his nose nearly touches the ground. "Lord Ridwan, what an honor— We weren't expecting— I mean, how may we serve you?"

The warrior's jaw tightens at the display. His wings shift, the golden feathers rustling with barely contained irritation. The motion draws my gaze to his broad shoulders, the way his dark clothing stretches across muscle earned from actual combat rather than ceremonial training.

"Leave us." His voice cuts through the silence, deep and commanding.

The remaining customers scramble for the door, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to escape. Madam Thea backs away, still bowing, until she disappears into the kitchen. The sound of pots clattering suggests she's trying to make herself as scarce as possible.

I grip the counter's edge, my knuckles white. We're alone now, and the weight of his attention falls on me like a physical thing. He moves closer, each step deliberate, controlled. Power radiates from him in waves - not the manufactured authority of most noble xaphan, but something raw and dangerous.

His wings brush against a display case, sending a jar of cookies crashing to the floor. He doesn't even glance at the mess. Those golden eyes stay fixed on me, unblinking, intense enough to steal my breath.

"You gave pastries to my daughter. You taught her to bake instead of sending her back home."

Not a question. A statement that carries the weight of an accusation.

I force my spine straight, refusing to bow like the others. "I gave her something to eat. That's what bakeries do."

His presence overwhelms the small space, making it hard to breathe. The shattered jar lies forgotten between us, cookie crumbs scattered like broken promises across the floor.

"You will come work for me." The words drop like stones into still water.

My laugh catches in my throat before it can escape. The absolute audacity - as if I'm some possession to be claimed and moved at his whim. Heat rises in my cheeks.

"I already have a job." I gesture at the bakery around us, proud of how steady my voice remains despite the thunder of my pulse.

---