Page 10 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

Ellis is still suckling at the bottle, his tiny fingers pressed against the glass. I stare down at him, memorizing the contours of his face—my sister's son. The weight of that responsibility sits on my chest, heavier than any merchandise I've ever hauled.

"Just you and me for a bit, little one," I murmur, my voice sounding too large in the nursery's stillness.

When the bottle empties, Ellis makes a small noise of protest. I carefully set it aside and shift him to my shoulder the way Maya showed me—supporting his head, patting his back with gentle taps from my massive palm. His body feels impossibly small against mine.

"Your mother would laugh herself sick seeing me like this," I tell him quietly, thinking of Iris. My throat tightens. "She always said I didn't know my own size. Too big for my own heart."

Ellis hiccups against my shoulder, a tiny sound that somehow fills the entire room.

The nursery feels too confining suddenly, the walls pressing in. I carry Ellis to my bedroom, careful not to jostle him. The late afternoon sun slants through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. I ease myself onto the edge of my bed, the frame creaking under my weight.

With deliberate movements, I loosen the front of my shirt and settle Ellis against my bare chest. Maya mentioned something about skin contact being important—one of the dozens of bits of knowledge she's dropped casually, like they're things everyone should know.

Ellis's fur is softer than anything I've ever touched, finer than the most expensive silks I've traded. His tiny body radiates heat as he settles against me, his heartbeat a rapid flutter against my own slower, heavier rhythm. The contrast hits me hard—how fragile he is, how much damage these merchant's hands could do if I'm not careful.

I run a careful finger over Ellis's forehead, tracing the barely-there bumps where his horns will someday grow. They're nothing more than slight protrusions now, velvety nubs at the edges of his hairline. Mine took years to fully emerge, curving out and up like my father's before me.

"Will yours look like mine?" I whisper, touching one of the bronze rings that adorn my own horns. "Or did you get your mother's? Hers were straighter, sleeker."

Ellis makes a small noise, a contented sigh as he nestles deeper against my chest. His eyes are closed, long lashes resting against his cheeks, his tiny fists curled against my skin.

It's such a simple thing—a baby falling asleep. It happens countless times across the world every day. But this—this undoes something in me.

I don't know when I started holding my breath, but I let it out now, a slow, shuddering exhale. My chest expands and contracts beneath Ellis's small form, and he moves with it, completely trusting.

"You're really stuck with me, aren't you?" My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Pretty shitty trade, little one. You could've done better."

I press my palm over Ellis's small back, feeling the rise and fall of his tiny ribcage. His ears twitch slightly in his sleep, and I find myself smiling despite the exhaustion weighing down my shoulders. The smile feels rusty, like a door hinge that hasn't been used in too long.

Ten days. It's been ten days since I walked into my sister's house and walked out with her son. Seven days of fumbling, failing, and fearing I'm ruining him with every mistake. Seven days of feeling like I'm drowning.

But right now, with Ellis's heartbeat steady against mine, something shifts. Something takes root. Not confidence—I'm nowhere near that yet—but a fierce, protective instinct that runs deeper than blood or obligation.

"We'll figure this out," I promise him quietly. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but we'll figure it out together."

I rub small circles on his back, careful to keep my touch light. The first real threads of attachment weave through me, forming something I know instinctively will be unbreakable.

7

MAYA

The morning light creeps through the curtains, illuminating my guest room. It's been a week since I first stepped into this controlled chaos, and somehow I've slipped into a routine I never expected. My hands move in practiced motions as I braid my short silver-blonde hair away from my face—a small act of control before facing the day.

I pause at Ellis's nursery on my way downstairs. The little one—Dex has me in the habit of calling him that, too—is already awake, watching the mobile above his crib with those wide gold eyes. So observant for one so young.

"Good morning, little one," I whisper, and he turns to me, his tiny hooves kicking in excitement. My chest tightens. I shouldn't be getting attached.

When I carry Ellis down the hall, I find Dex in the kitchen, his massive frame hunched over a mug of kaffo. His eyes look a little unfocused, and his copper-highlighted brown fur looks dull in the morning light. He's wearing the same tunic as yesterday after spending the night taking Ellis' feedings. He's supposed to be asleep right now, but I guess it works in my favor he's not.

"Your turn." I hand Ellis over, observing how naturally the baby settles against Dex's broad chest. "I need to head to the shop soon."

Dex's green eyes flicker with momentary panic before he adjusts his nephew in his arms. "We'll be fine. Same as yesterday."

I lean against the doorframe, folding my arms across my chest. "When was the last time you left this house?"

His ears flick back slightly—a tell I've learned means he's uncomfortable. "I've been busy."

"Busy hiding." The words slip out before I can stop them. Too direct, as usual. My mother always said my tongue would be my downfall.

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