Page 15 of Demon Daddy’s Nanny (Demon Daddies #3)

15

EVA

I stand at my window, watching shadows dance across the courtyard as the moons cast their pale light over New Solas. Once again, I’m thinking of our night in the kitchen. The almost-kiss lingers like a phantom, taunting me with what could have been if he hadn’t ran away.

My fingers trace the sill, remembering how his cloak felt draped over my shoulders three nights ago. How he appeared from nowhere, silent as death itself, golden eyes reflecting starlight. The weight of the fabric carried his warmth, his scent - something wild and ancient that made my heart race.

"You're being ridiculous," I whisper to my reflection. "He's a xaphan lord. You're just... convenient."

But then there are the glances. The way his gaze drops to my mouth when we pass in the halls, how his wings twitch and stretch when I'm near - a tell I've learned means he's affected. Yesterday, bringing Annalise her afternoon tea, I caught him watching me. Not the cold, assessing look he gives others, but something heated that made my skin flush.

Two weeks of this dance. Two weeks of him pulling away whenever we get too close, of stilted conversations about Annalise's studies or household matters. The distance he keeps feels deliberate, calculated, like every step back pains him as much as it does me.

I press my forehead against the cool glass. I'm reading too much into things, letting myself get caught up in fantasies. A xaphan doesn't look at a human that way. Doesn't think about kissing them in dark kitchens or worry about their comfort on cold nights.

But I swear I wasn’t the only one affected when I showed him how to knead dough that night, his chest pressed against my back. And sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking, his mask slips. The stoic lord gives way to something raw and wanting that matches the ache in my own chest.

A week passes in careful avoidance. I time my movements through the manor like a thief, learning his schedule so I can slip past unseen. Breakfast becomes a quick bite in my room before dawn. Lunch is grabbed from the kitchen when I know he's in meetings. Dinner - I skip entirely, claiming headaches or fatigue.

My stomach growls as I hurry down the hall, pressed against the wall. The sound echoes off , making me wince. Three more steps to the corner, then I'm safe. When was the last time I ate a proper meal?

Footsteps approach from the adjoining corridor. My heart pounds. Those steady, commanding steps can only belong to one person. I duck into an alcove, holding my breath as Ridwan passes. His wings brush the wall, filling the space with that intoxicating scent of storm winds and burning leaves.

He pauses, head tilting. For a terrifying moment, I think he's sensed me. But he continues on, shoulders tight with tension beneath his formal coat.

The hunger isn't the worst part. It's the hollow ache in my chest each time I glimpse him from afar. The way my skin prickles when I hear his voice floating down hallways. How I lie awake remembering the heat of his body against mine in that kitchen, imagining what might have happened if?—

No. This is better. Safer. I can't let myself get lost in impossible dreams. He's a xaphan lord, practically nobility. I'm human. Whatever I thought I saw in those golden eyes was just wishful thinking.

I press a hand to my empty stomach, willing it to be quiet. Just a few more hours until nightfall. Then I can sneak down to the kitchen, grab something small. Enough to keep going. Enough to maintain this careful dance of avoidance.

Because if I see him up close again - if I have to meet that intense gaze or feel the brush of his wings - I might shatter completely.

I'm organizing Annalise's study materials when she corners me, her silver eyes narrowed with suspicion. She perches on the edge of her desk, wings folded tight against her back - a posture that reminds me so much of her father it makes my chest ache.

"You're avoiding my father."

My hands fumble with the stack of papers. "I'm not?—"

"You haven't eaten a meal in the dining room for days." She leans forward, platinum hair falling like a curtain. "And don't think I haven't noticed you skulking around corners or diving into rooms when he walks by."

"I've been busy." The lie tastes bitter. "There's your astronomy lessons to prepare for, and?—"

"Stop." Annalise's wings flare out, golden feathers catching the morning light. "You're lying. Badly." She hops off the desk and stalks toward me, all graceful limbs and sharp angles. "Did something happen? Did he say something to you?"

My stomach twists, remembering flour-covered hands and almost-kisses. "Nothing happened."

"Then why are you acting like he's got some deadly disease?" She crosses her arms. "You used to at least look at him during dinner. Now you're taking meals in your room like some prisoner."

The half-eaten breakfast from this morning sits heavy in my gut. I'd grabbed it from the kitchen before dawn, wolfing it down alone while staring at my wall. What kind of example am I setting?

"I..." My voice cracks. This isn't fair to Annalise. She's finally starting to open up, to let down those walls she's built so carefully. And here I am, letting my foolish heart get in the way of being there for her.

"Eva." She steps closer, and for once there's no sarcasm in her voice. "Whatever's going on, you can tell me. I'm not..." She swallows. "I'm not good at this friend thing, but I'm trying."

The simple honesty in her words breaks something in me. I'm supposed to be helping her, not hiding away because I can't handle my feelings for her father.

"You're right." I sink into the chair beside her desk. "I've been... distracted lately. But that's not fair to you. How about we focus on your studies? You still need to master those star charts before?—"

"Nice deflection." Annalise drops into the seat across from me, but her usual sharp edges have softened. "But I'll allow it. For now."

We spend the morning mapping constellations, her quick mind absorbing the ancient xaphan names faster than I can teach them. It feels good to lose myself in work, in the familiar rhythm of lessons and gentle corrections.

But then heavy footsteps echo down the hall. My heart leaps before I can stop it. The sound grows closer - that distinctive cadence I've memorized against my will. I grip my quill tighter, focusing on the star chart before me as if it holds all life's answers.

The footsteps pause outside the study door. My breath catches. Please don't come in. Please do come in. The war in my chest makes me dizzy.

"Keep going." Annalise's voice cuts through my panic. "You were explaining about the Hunter's Crown."

The footsteps continue past. My shoulders slump with equal parts relief and disappointment. The phantom sensation of his hands guiding mine through bread dough haunts me. The way his wings had created a private world just for us, golden feathers catching lamplight. How his breath had ghosted across my neck...

"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.