Page 6 of Demon Daddy's Nanny

His wings flex, the golden feathers catching light. The motion draws my gaze to the breadth of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches with barely contained frustration. He's used to instant obedience, not resistance.

"My daughter needs a companion. Someone to ensure she maintains her studies and stays where she belongs." His eyes narrow. "You've caught her attention. That makes you useful."

"I'm not a servant to be ordered around." The words slip out before I can stop them.

He moves closer, each step measured and precise. The counter between us feels like paper-thin protection. "No. You're not. Which is precisely why I'm offering you a position in my household. Full pay. Private quarters. Better than..." His gaze sweeps over the modest bakery with its flour-dusted surfaces and simple furnishings.

The implied insult stings. I've worked hard for everything I have, fought against the prejudices that come with being human in New Solas. I’m lucky to have a job at all, and I do love to bake. I’m in no mood to be ordered around by some xaphan.

Crossing my arms, I level Ridwan with a glare that most would never dare. "Your daughter needs a father, not a glorified babysitter."

The temperature seems to drop. His wings go rigid, feathers bristling like drawn blades. For a moment, I wonder if I've pushed too far.

His jaw tightens at my words, a muscle twitching beneath the scar on his cheek. The temperature drops further, and I swear I can feel static crackling in the air around his wings. Part of me wants to step back, to bow and scrape like everyone else does.

But I plant my feet. "I won't be another wall between you and your daughter."

His golden eyes flash, and for a moment raw pain crosses his features before it's buried beneath that mask of control. The feathers of his wings settle, no longer bristling with anger but drooping slightly, like a weight has settled across his shoulders.

"Think about it." His voice comes out rougher than before, almost quiet. “It would be beneficial to you, I assure you, and if nothing else…It would mean everything to Annalise.”

He turns, those massive wings folding close to his body as he strides toward the door.

The bell chimes his exit, and I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My hands shake as I grip the counter, the adrenaline leaving me in a rush that makes my knees weak. The shattered jar still lies at my feet, forgotten cookies crushed to crumbs in his wake.

I should feel relieved. I stood up to one of the most powerful xaphan in New Solas and lived to tell about it. But all I can see is that flash of pain in his eyes, the way his wings had dropped when I mentioned being a father. There was a story there, buried beneath all that controlled power and cold command.

But it's not my story to uncover. Not my broken family to fix.

I grab the broom and start sweeping up the mess, trying to ignore how the air still feels charged with his lingering presence. But his words, his eyes, everything about him, sticks with me through the rest of the night.

The morningafter Ridwan's visit drags by in a haze of kneading and baking. My muscles ache from the tension I'm carrying, memories of golden wings and piercing eyes haunting every quiet moment.

The bell chimes just before noon. I look up from arranging pastries to find Annalise slipping through the door, her shoulders hunched despite her fine silk dress. Her silver eyes dart around the nearly empty bakery before landing on me.

“Annalise.” Worry eats at me instantly. “What are you doing here?”

"Please." Her voice cracks on the word, those otherworldly eyes going wide with desperation. "I just... I don't want to be alone anymore."

I swallow hard, trying to find the words. “Annalise?—”

“He doesn’t have to know. I’ll only stay a few hours.” She crosses the barkery to where I am. “I just wanted to…see you again.”

The mask of cold pride she usually wears has crumbled, leaving something raw and vulnerable in its place. Her golden wings droop, the feathers dull and unkempt compared to yesterday. Dark circles shadow her eyes, making her pale skin look almost translucent.

My chest tightens. This isn't the sharp-tongued girl who rebels against her father. This is a child reaching out the only way she knows how.

I wipe my flour-covered hands on my apron. "Come on." I lift the counter divider. "You can help me with the afternoon batch."

Her eyes widen. "I don't know how to?—"

"I'll teach you." I grab a spare apron, holding it out like a peace offering. “You were doing well last night.”

A spark of that familiar defiance flashes in her silver eyes. She snatches the apron, fumbling with the ties until I stepbehind her to help. Her wings twitch at my proximity, but she doesn't pull away.

"Your father came by yesterday," I say softly, testing the waters.

Her whole body goes rigid. "Did he try to order you around? He does that to everyone."

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