Page 12 of Demon Daddy’s Nanny (Demon Daddies #3)

12

RIDWAN

T he sharp snap of wings cuts through the morning air. I lift my gaze from the reports scattered across my desk, sensing the familiar presence of one of our messengers approaching. Standing, I roll my shoulders back, my own golden wings flexing with the movement.

Outside, the cool breeze carries the scent of morning dew. A young xaphan descends, his gray-speckled wings spreading wide to slow his landing. His boots touch the ground with practiced grace, though his posture stiffens when he spots me.

"Lord Ridwan." He bows, fumbling with the leather satchel at his hip. "Reports from the city guard and training grounds, sir."

I extend my hand, and he places several rolled parchments in my palm. The seal of New Solas glints gold in the early light – routine reports, nothing urgent. Still, duty demands attention to every detail.

"Any disturbances?" My voice carries the weight of authority I've spent decades cultivating.

The messenger's wings twitch. "Nothing significant, my lord. Though Captain Merial requests your input on the new guard rotation schedules."

I break the first seal, scanning the neat rows of text. Training numbers remain steady. Three minor incidents in the merchant district – petty theft, a drunken brawl. Nothing requiring immediate intervention.

"And the eastern district?"

"Quiet, sir. The increased patrols have deterred the recent string of break-ins."

I nod, already absorbed in the reports. The familiar rhythm of administration fills my thoughts – numbers, schedules, resource allocation. It's a far cry from the battlefield, but no less crucial to maintaining order.

I scan another report, mind already drifting to the next task, when the messenger shifts his weight.

"Strange sight this morning." His wings ruffle. "You let your human pet get close to your daughter?"

The parchment crumples in my grip. My wings snap outward, golden feathers catching the light as I rise to my full height. The temperature in the room plummets.

The messenger's face drains of color. His own wings fold tight against his back, gray feathers trembling. Smart – showing submission might save his hide.

Blood pounds in my ears. The warrior part of me, the part I've buried beneath years of bureaucracy and leadership, surges forth. Eva is not some pet. She's–

I crush that thought before it can form. But the rage remains, a slow-burning coal in my chest. The messenger's words strike too close to the prejudices I've fought against, the whispers that follow Eva through the halls of New Solas.

My jaw clenches. One step forward and the messenger stumbles back, his wings bumping against the wall. Fear rolls off him in waves.

I could remind him of his place. Could show him why even retired warriors command respect. My fingers itch to grab his collar, to–

No. I'm not that man anymore.

But my voice carries the edge of steel when I speak. "Leave."

He bolts, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape. The door slams behind him, echoing through my office.

I remain standing, wings spread wide, fighting to contain the protective fury coursing through my veins. The crumpled report falls from my hand. Eva's face flashes through my mind – her quiet strength, her gentle way with Annalise. She's earned her place here, proven herself a hundred times over.

And yet fools like that messenger still see only what they want to see.

Heading back inside, I pace the confines of my office, wings twitching with restless energy. The messenger's words echo, each repetition stoking the ember of rage in my chest. Pet. As if Eva were some docile creature to be kept on a leash.

My fist connects with the stone wall. Pain shoots through my knuckles, but I welcome it – better than dwelling on thoughts of her. Of the way she moves through the halls with quiet grace. How she meets my gaze without flinching, speaks her mind without the simpering deference others show.

No. I can't think of her amber eyes or the curve of her smile. Can't acknowledge how my wings spread wider when she enters a room, how my body gravitates toward her presence.

I snatch up another report, but the words blur together. Instead, I see Eva in the garden with Annalise, their heads bent close as they study. Eva's fingers trailing over ancient texts, her voice steady as she explains complex theories. The way she challenges my daughter's quick mind, nurtures her curiosity instead of stifling it.

A growl builds in my throat. Eva has earned every scrap of respect she commands. She's not some temporary amusement or status symbol. She's...

The thought dies unfinished. Because finishing it means acknowledging the heat that floods my veins when she's near. Means admitting that somewhere between hiring her as Annalise's companion and now, she's become essential. Like air. Like blood.

My wings snap out, knocking papers from the desk. The golden feathers catch the light, a reminder of everything I am. Everything she isn't.

I shouldn't notice how her hair catches the sunlight. Shouldn't track her movements through my home. Shouldn't feel this possessive fury at anyone dismissing her worth.

But I do. And that truth burns hotter than any rage.

I miss dinner. I spend so much time in my study, trying to work and not working, that it’s late by the time I decide to leave. Not to eat or sleep - neither are appealing - but I need to move .

Moonlight streams through tall windows, casting silver patterns across floors. My footsteps echo, wings brushing stone walls that feel closer than usual tonight.

I reach Eva's door and freeze mid-stride. Light seeps beneath the wooden frame, a warm glow that means she's still awake. My wings twitch, spreading slightly before I force them still. The urge to knock pulses through my body like a second heartbeat.

What would she do if I did? Would she open the door with that soft smile that makes my chest ache? Or would I see fear in those amber eyes, finally realizing what kind of monster lurks beneath my careful control?

My hand lifts, hovers near the smooth wood. One knock. That's all it would take to shatter this fragile peace we've built. To unleash the hunger that claws at my insides whenever she's near.

No. I can't. Won't.

I force my feet to move, each step away from her door a battle against instinct. My wings snap out, nearly spanning the corridor's width. The need to turn back, to claim what every fiber of my being screams is mine, burns through my veins like molten gold.

The walls press too close. The air grows thick, heavy with unspoken desires. I need space. Need to breathe without her scent clouding my thoughts.

My pace quickens toward the courtyard. Maybe the night air will cool this fever in my blood. Maybe distance will dull the memory of her door, of knowing she sleeps just beyond it, unaware of the war she's sparked inside me.

But even as I stride through shadowed halls, my wings remain half-spread, ready to turn back at the slightest provocation. Ready to damn us both.