Page 4 of Nanny for the Demon's Twins

"You don't know anything about me."

"Know enough." His eyes meet mine. "Know you're gentle with them. Patient. That's rare to find." He stands, towering over me. "Your choice. Stay or go. But if you stay, you have my word - no one touches you."

A demon's word should mean nothing to me. I've heard too many broken promises. But there's something in his voice, in the way he handles the twins with such care despite those scarred blacksmith's hands...

"I... I'll stay. For now."

I follow the demon - Karn, I'd heard the girls call him - up a narrow staircase behind the forge. The wooden steps creak under our feet while tiny hands grip my skirts, the twins refusing to let go.

"Nova, Luna, let her walk," Karn rumbles, but there's no bite to his words.

The upstairs opens into a modest living space that tells the story of a man doing his best. Wooden blocks scatter across the floor like fallen leaves. A half-folded basket of laundry sits abandoned on a worn sofa, tiny socks missing their matches spilling over the edge. Pots hang above a kitchen hearth, their bottoms blackened from what I suspect were cooking mishaps.

"Your room." Karn pushes open a door, revealing a small but clean space with a bed and chest of drawers. "Was storage, but..." He scratches his neck. "Well, it's yours now."

Luna tugs my skirt. "And this is ours!" She pulls me to the next room down the hall. "Play with us!"

"Luna, give her time to-" Karn starts.

"It's alright." I kneel down to their level. "What would you like to play?"

Nova, the quieter twin, holds up a wooden horse missing one leg. "Fix him?"

"Of course we can fix him." I examine the toy. "Do you have any-"

"Tools in the forge," Karn interjects. "I've been meaning to..." He trails off, gesturing at a pile of broken toys in the corner.

The rest of the main room reveals more signs of chaos barely contained - picture books with torn pages carefully mended with strips of leather, tiny dresses hung to dry with patches sewn in different colored threads, a rocking chair with one runner slightly off-kilter. Everything speaks of someone trying their hardest but spread too thin.

"Uncle Karn bad at sewing," Luna announces, pointing at a particularly crooked patch on her sister's dress.

Karn rubs at the back of his neck. "I'm learning."

"I can help with that too," I offer softly. "I'm good with a needle."

His shoulders relax slightly. "Appreciate it." He runs a hand through his hair again, a nervous gesture I'm beginning to recognize. "I probably should go finish locking up-"

"Story first!" Nova demands, already dragging a book from under a pile of cushions.

"I can read to them," I say. "If that's alright?"

The look of relief on his face answers before his words do.

I settle into the worn rocking chair, a twin on each knee. Their copper curls tickle my chin as they snuggle close, finally winding down. It's late for girls their age to be still up, but I don't mind the company. It's nice after everything I've run from. The leather-bound book lies open across their laps, its pages well-loved and dog-eared as I read, letting it chase away my own nightmares.

"One more page," Luna mumbles, fighting to keep her violet eyes open.

"You said that three pages ago." I smooth her wild curls. Nova's already half-asleep, her tiny hand curled into my dress.

From his spot leaning against the doorframe, Karn watches us with an unreadable expression, having come back upstairs a few moments ago. The dim light catches on the scars on his arms, mapping stories that I wonder if I should fear.

I pull my eyes back to the book. If nothing else, I need the distraction that I agreed to let my guard down enough to be around this demon family. But I fear what Karn will expect in return - even if he doesn't seem like that kind of demon.

"The princess found her way home," I continue softly, letting my voice drop lower with each word. "Following the stars just like her mother taught her..."

Luna's head grows heavier against my shoulder. I glance up to find Karn's eyes still on us, something almost wistful in his gaze.

"They never settle this easily," he whispers.

---