Page 13 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

Ellis responds with an unhappy gurgle and squirms harder.

I rock back and forth in the chair that suddenly feels too small for my seven-foot-five frame. The wood creaks beneath me in protest. One of the bronze rings on my left horn has come loose—I can feel it sliding dangerously toward the tip with every motion. I should fix it, but that would require letting go of Ellis, and the last time I tried that particular maneuver, his protests woke half the neighborhood.

My shirt hangs half-unbuttoned, evidence of an earlier failed attempt at getting comfortable. Ellis rests against my shoulder, his breathing uneven, still fighting sleep with every ounce of his tiny being. I'm losing this battle. My eyelids feel like they're weighted with lead, and I catch myself nodding off mid-rock.

"You look like you haven't slept in days."

Maya's voice cuts through my exhaustion-induced haze. She stands in the doorway, silver-blonde hair tousled from the wind outside, a small smile playing on her lips. Even in my current state, I notice how the lamplight catches the scar on her right hand as she leans against the doorframe.

I grunt. "Feels like it." I don't have the energy for my usual banter. The witty merchant in me has been replaced by this hollow-eyed creature that only speaks in monosyllables and baby talk.

She crosses the room, her steps light and purposeful. Maya still runs her shop during the mornings, and while sometimes Ellis and I go with her, mostly we stay home. She's been pushing me to be a parent, not just rely on her. Sink or swim, as she puts it. Most days, I feel like I'm barely treading water.

"Has he eaten?" she asks, reaching for Ellis.

I hesitate, oddly reluctant to give him up despite my exhaustion. There's something about his weight in my arms that feels right, even when everything else feels wrong. "About an hour ago. Wasn't interested in the bottle after that."

Maya raises a brow, her gray eyes assessing me with that direct, no-nonsense stare that somehow makes me feel both scolded and cared for at the same time. "Go bathe. I've got him."

I should argue. Should tell her I'm fine, that I don't need help, that I can handle this. The words don't come. Instead, I carefully transfer Ellis to her waiting arms, watching as she settles him against her shoulder with an ease I still haven't mastered.

"Twenty minutes," she says, not looking at me as she begins to sway gently with Ellis. "Go. You smell like sour milk and defeat."

A week ago, I might have laughed at that. Now, I just nod, my horns feeling unusually heavy as I haul myself up from the chair. Every joint in my body protests the movement. I shuffle toward the bathroom, not even having the energy to be embarrassed about the state of my home or myself.

"Dex?" Maya calls after me.

I turn, one hand already on the bathroom door.

"He's going to be okay," she says softly. "And so are you."

I don't respond. I just slip into the bathroom and close the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment before I can summon the energy to move again.

Somehow I don't fall asleep in the bath. Clean but still bone-tired, I get dressed. The hot water has eased some of the ache in my muscles, but it's done little for the weight of exhaustion dragging at my eyelids. My bedroom door stands open, the bed calling my name with its rumpled sheets and promise of oblivion. I should collapse into it face-first and not move until Ellis's next feeding.

Instead, I find myself following the soft amber glow seeping under the back door. My hooves make dull thuds against the wooden floor as I move through the darkened house, guided by instinct more than sight.

The night air hits my damp fur as I push open the door. Maya is on the porch, sitting on the bench I dragged out here years ago when the house felt too empty. Ellis is nestled against her, his tiny form bundled in the blanket I knitted for my sister when she told me she was pregnant. Maya rocks gently, her movements in rhythm with the night breeze that rustles through the trees lining my property.

She looks up as I step out, her gray eyes catching the light from the oil lamp hanging from the eave. There's a softness to her face I rarely see in daylight hours. Her practical, no-nonsense demeanor has given way to something more vulnerable in the darkness.

"Can't sleep?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I lean against the porch railing, crossing my arms over my chest. The wood creaks under my weight, a familiar sound that reminds me of all the nights I've stood in this exact spot, watching the stars and dreaming of sea voyages and trade routes before Ellis came into my life.

"Didn't want to," I admit. It's only half a lie. Sleep beckons, but something stronger pulls me here.

Maya shifts slightly, making room on the bench beside her. An invitation, not a command. That's new for her—usually, she tells me exactly what I need to do with Ellis, no room for debate. I've come to appreciate her directness, even when I bristle against it.

I lower myself onto the bench, careful not to jostle her or Ellis. The seat is barely wide enough for my bulk alongside her smaller human frame. Our shoulders almost touch, and I can feel the warmth radiating from her, a counter to the night's chill.

The silence between us isn't uncomfortable. During the day, we fill the spaces with instructions about feeding schedules and diaper changes, with Maya's exasperated sighs when I fumble something simple, with my jokes that fall flat when I'm too tired to land them properly. But here, now, the quiet feels... steady. Real.

Ellis shifts in Maya's arms, his tiny snout wrinkling as he sighs against her chest. One tiny hand escapes the blanket, reaching up to tangle in her silver-blonde hair. She doesn't flinch or move to extract it, just adjusts her hold to make him more comfortable.

"He likes you," I say, immediately wishing I'd kept the obvious observation to myself.

"He just knows I'm not as nervous as you are." Maya's voice lacks its usual edge. "Babies can sense that."

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