Page 6 of Demon Daddy’s Nanny (Demon Daddies #3)

6

RIDWAN

T hrough the ornate windows of my study, their laughter drifts up like wind chimes, foreign and startling. I pause mid-signature, the quill hovering over another endless stack of reports. The sound comes again - Annalise's bright peal mixing with Eva's lower, warmer tones.

My wings twitch with unease. When was the last time I heard my daughter laugh like that? Not the sharp, sarcastic bark she uses to deflect conversation, but genuine mirth?

I rise from my desk, drawn to the window overlooking the palace gardens. The afternoon sun gilds everything in warm light, catching on the fountain's spray and the delicate petals of blood roses. Eva and Annalise sit on the grass, their heads bent close together. Eva's chestnut hair has escaped its usual tight knot, falling in wisps around her face as she demonstrates something with her hands - probably another baking technique. My daughter watches with rapt attention, her platinum hair a stark contrast to Eva's darker coloring.

"No, like this-" Eva's voice carries up. "You have to fold it gently or the air bubbles will collapse."

"Oh! I see now." Annalise mimics the motion, then dissolves into giggles when whatever she's holding apparently goes wrong. "I'm hopeless at this."

"You're not hopeless. You just need practice."

The easy affection in Eva's voice makes something in my chest constrict. She speaks to Annalise the way I should have all these years - with patience, with warmth. Instead, I've kept my distance, buried myself in work and responsibility until my own daughter became a stranger.

My fingers press against the cool glass. The scar on my cheek tingles - a phantom reminder of old battles, old losses. Seeing them together like this... it sets my teeth on edge. Not because I disapprove, but because it forces me to face my own failures. Eva has managed in weeks what I couldn't accomplish in years.

I turn away from the window, their continued laughter following me back to my desk like an accusation. I’m not even sure when I consciously decide to, but I leave my study, heading down to the garden’s doors. But as I approach, I overhear their conversation and freeze.

"Maybe your father cares more than you think." Eva's voice drifts through, gentle but firm.

My chest tightens. The muscles in my wings lock, every feather rigid.

"Right." Annalise's tone drips with familiar venom. "That's why he barely looks at me anymore."

"Have you considered he might not know how?" Eva's words hit like a blade between my ribs. "Sometimes people get stuck in patterns they don't know how to break."

Fabric rustles - probably Annalise shifting position. I should walk away. This isn't a conversation I have any right to hear, but my feet remain rooted.

"He used to be different," Annalise says, her voice smaller now. "Before Mom died. He'd smile sometimes. Now it's just... orders and expectations and disappointment."

"Disappointment?" Eva asks.

"Please. Look at me. I'm nothing like what a xaphan noble's daughter should be. Can't even manage basic combat forms without tripping over my own feet."

"That's not-"

"You don't have to defend him." Annalise cuts her off. "He made his choice a long time ago. Work comes first. Always has."

My fingers curl against the door. She's right - I did make that choice. After Sera died, I threw myself into duty because it was easier than facing my grief, easier than looking at our daughter and seeing her mother's eyes staring back at me.

"People can change," Eva says softly. "If you give them the chance."

The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush bone. I wait for Annalise's response, barely breathing, my wings trembling with the effort of staying still.

"Maybe," Annalise finally whispers. "But I'm tired of hoping for something that's never going to happen."

The words slice through me, each syllable drawing blood. My wings curl forward instinctively, a shield against truths I don't want to hear. The garden door's brass handle bites into my palm, grounding me in this moment I never meant to witness.

Memories flash - every time I've barked orders at her, every cold dismissal, every disappointed glance when she failed to meet the impossible standards I set. Standards meant to protect her, to make her strong enough to survive in this cruel world. But all she's seen is rejection.

My chest burns, a familiar ache spreading beneath my ribs. The scar on my cheek throbs in time with my pulse. I've become exactly what I swore I wouldn't - a shadow of my own father, ruling through fear and duty rather than love.

Eva murmurs something too low for me to catch. Fabric rustles against grass. I should leave, should return to my reports and pretend I never heard this conversation. But my feet won't move. The truth has me pinned like a butterfly under glass.

"At least when I mess up, he looks at me," Annalise continues, her voice cracking. "Even if it's just to tell me what a disappointment I am. Better than being invisible, right?"

The words hit harder than any blade I've ever taken in battle. My wings shudder, golden feathers catching the light as they tremble. Is that what she thinks? That I have to be angry to see her?

I press my forehead against the cool wood of the door. Every muscle in my body screams to burst through, to gather her in my arms like I did when she was small. To tell her she's never been invisible, that every time I look at her I see Sera's grace, her strength, her fierce spirit.

But I don't. Because she's right - I've trained myself to only react when she rebels. It was easier than facing the guilt, the grief, the fear of failing her like I failed her mother.

I retreat from the garden door, my footsteps silent against the floor. Eva's words echo in my mind, each one a thorn digging deeper. The halls of my wing stretch before me, all gleaming gold and crystal, but they've never felt more like a prison.

Hours later, I sit at the head of our formal dining table, the space between Annalise and me a gulf wider than the Aerasak sea. Candlelight flickers across the elaborate place settings, casting shadows that dance across her face. She pushes food around her plate, her wings pulled tight against her back - a defensive posture I recognize all too well. It doesn’t help that Eva didn’t join us tonight - though I’m not sure why.

My throat feels raw. Words pile up behind my teeth, choking me. "The blood roses are blooming early this year."

Her fork pauses mid-motion. Silver eyes flick up to mine, surprise evident in their pale depths. "They are?"

"I noticed them from my study window." I force myself to hold her gaze. "The ones your mother planted."

Color floods her cheeks. She sets down her fork, her fingers trembling slightly. "You... you remember which ones those were?"

"The white and crimson varieties, near the eastern fountain." My wings shift restlessly. "She used to say they reminded her of sunrise."

A small smile tugs at her lips - not her usual sharp smirk, but something softer, more genuine. "I didn't know you paid attention to the gardens."

"I pay attention to more than you might think." The words come out rougher than intended. I clear my throat. "I saw you there today, with Eva."

Tension ripples across her shoulders. "Come to tell me I'm wasting time that could be spent on combat training?"

"No." I set down my knife, the silver clinking against fine porcelain. "I thought... perhaps you could tell me what you were learning."

Her eyes go wide, catching the candlelight like mirrors. For a moment, she looks so much like Sera it steals my breath. "Really?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"Eva was teaching me how to fold pastry dough." The words tumble out in a rush, like she's afraid I'll change my mind. "I'm terrible at it, but she says practice helps and-" She stops, watching me warily. "You actually want to hear about this?"

"Yes." I force my wings to relax, trying to appear less imposing. "I do."

The smile that breaks across her face is like watching the sun rise.

It’s the first dinner that has been…nice in so long. And by the time we finish, Annalise looks actually happy to be near me. I watch after her long after she leaves the dining room, and I find myself wondering how Eva is managing to bring us closer.

I’m not even surprised when I find myself outside of Eva's door instead of my study. Not that I have any right to her, and I should give her her own privacy. I just…keep finding myself drawn to her.

I shift my weight as I stand outside the door, uncertain of what to do, my wings casting long shadows in the dim hallway light. The carved wood gleams like liquid gold, mocking my indecision. My hand lifts, hovers near the surface. What would I even say? Thank you for showing my daughter the kindness I couldn't? For teaching me how badly I've failed?

The scent of meadowmint tea and fresh-baked bread drifts through the gap beneath her door. So different from the metallic tang of battle or the musty pages of reports that fill my days. My enhanced hearing picks up soft humming - an old lullaby I haven't heard since Sera...

My wings snap tight against my back. The comparison unsettles me. Eva is nothing like Sera. Where my late love was all sharp edges and fierce pride, Eva radiates a quiet strength. Her hands create rather than destroy. Her amber eyes see through pretense with unnerving clarity.

A floorboard creaks beneath my weight. The humming stops. I step back, my heart thundering against my ribs with a force that surprises me. When did this human baker start affecting me like this? When did her presence begin to feel like more than just an oddity in my carefully ordered world?

My scar throbs - a warning. The last time I let someone past my defenses, it ended in ashes. I can't afford such weakness again. My position demands focus, control, dedication to duty above all else. Even if this isn’t a battle and Eva isn’t someone I have to defeat, I can’t let my guard down.

But Eva's earlier words echo in my mind. " Sometimes people get stuck in patterns they don't know how to break. "

I turn away from her door, my wings rustling with agitation. The stone corridors feel colder than usual as I stride toward my chambers. Or perhaps it's just the growing awareness that Eva has somehow slipped past my carefully constructed walls without me noticing. The realization sits like ice in my chest - dangerous, sharp-edged, impossible to ignore.

Sleep will not come easily tonight.