Page 12 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

I pause, not sure how to take that. "Is that good or bad?"

"Good." His lips quirk upward. "Practical. Unpretentious."

I hide my smile by turning to open the shutters. "High praise from a merchant."

The morning passes in a comfortable routine. I sort through yesterday's dried herbs, checking for quality before placing them in labeled jars. Twice customers come in—regulars who barely blink at the enormous minotaur cradling a baby while examining my collection of zabilla salves. Ellis, surprisingly, seems content, occasionally making small noises that draw Dex's immediate attention.

By midday, I lock up the shop and lead them through the back door to my garden and fields. The sun beats down, but a gentle breeze keeps the heat manageable. I breathe deeply, letting the complicated symphony of scents center me—rich soil, goligan trees lining the eastern border, the sweet-tang of rirzed herb in full bloom.

"This is all yours?" Dex's voice holds genuine wonder as he takes in the neat rows extending toward the tree line.

I nod, a small burst of pride warming my chest. "Seven years of work. Started with just a quarter of the space and gradually expanded."

Ellis makes a small sound, and Dex adjusts him with growing confidence, large fingers surprisingly gentle as they tuck the fabric more securely around the baby's legs.

"You look more natural with him now," I observe, leading the way between rows of gankoya root. "Less terrified."

"Still terrified," Dex admits. "Just hiding it better."

A dark shadow passes overhead, and I automatically extend my arm. Sharp talons grasp my forearm gently as Shade lands, his slate-gray feathers ruffling in the breeze. Dex startles, instinctively covering Ellis with one large hand.

"This is Shade," I introduce them, stroking the karasu's sleek neck. "My messenger and occasional business partner."

"A karasu?" Dex looks impressed. "They're almost impossible to train."

Shade fixes him with an intelligent stare from his three black eyes, cawing like he's arguing with the sentiment.

"I found him with a broken wing three years ago," I explain, offering Shade a seed from my pocket. "He decided to stay after it healed."

Shade preens, chirping. He always has to add in his own opinion.

"He makes deliveries for me to customers who can't travel," I explain, feeling the familiar warmth of the bird's loyalty. "And keeps me company."

Dex steps closer, letting Ellis see the bird. "I've never been this close to a karasu before."

"Few have." I smile as Shade hops to my shoulder. "They're particular about their company."

I move through the garden, checking plants, pinching off dead leaves, with Dex following behind. The steady rhythm of tending soothes me—this has always been my sanctuary. I begin humming softly, an old tune my grandmother taught me before she discovered my friendship with Lyra and cut me off.

Caught in my work, I almost forget I have company until I glance up to see Dex watching me. There's something in his expression I can't quite read—a kind of quiet appreciation that makes my cheeks warm. He's adjusting Ellis's tiny hat, a soft cotton thing I found in the market that's slightly too big. His massive fingers move with surprising delicacy, tilting the brim to shield the baby's face from the sun.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious under his steady gaze.

"You belong here," he says simply. "I've never seen anyone so... in their element."

The compliment catches me off guard. I turn back to the herbs I'm harvesting, hoping he doesn't notice the flush creeping up my neck. Something about the way he said it—with such straightforward admiration—stirs feelings I thought long buried.

Ellis makes a happy gurgle, kicking his hooves against Dex's chest. Even he seems at peace here, content in a way he hasn't been since I met them that first desperate day. The sight of them together, finding their rhythm, warms something deep in my chest—a feeling I'm not ready to name.

8

DEX

I'm bone-tired. My arms ache. My back aches. My hooves ache. Parts of me I didn't know could ache, ache. The past week has become one endless blur of feeding, changing, and walking the floor with a fussing baby who seems determined to never sleep again. Maya helps, but I don't let her lose sleep during her nights because she still has a shop to run. I'm trying to bear as much as I can on my own.

Tonight is no different. Ellis squirms in my arms, his little hands pushing against my chest with surprising strength for something so small. I adjust him for what feels like the thousandth time, trying to find that perfect position that might—just might—convince him to close his eyes. His tawny fur tickles my chin as he nuzzles restlessly against me, those tiny horn buds barely visible beneath the fluff on his head.

"Come on, little one," I rumble, my voice reduced to a gravelly whisper. "Your uncle needs to sleep sometime this century."

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