Page 15 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

Theron hums noncommittally, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He settles his bulk into my reading chair, which groans under his weight. "And that doesn't bother you?"

I don't answer. I just clench my jaw and look away, fixing my gaze on the window where I can see Maya's herb garden spreading out from the back of my house—already flourishing after just days in the ground. Plants that weren't there a week ago, now thriving. Like everything else she touches.

My silence speaks volumes, and I know it. Theron waits me out, familiar with my stubborn streaks. We've played this game for decades—me refusing to admit when I'm in over my head, him waiting patiently until I crack. Usually over trade disputes or inventory issues. Never over a woman. Never over a child.

Instead, I lead Theron outside to the stone bench under the sprawling goligan tree. The shade feels like a blessing against my fur as I sink down onto the cool surface, my muscles aching with the bone-deep exhaustion that's become my constant companion. Even the simple act of walking across my own yard seems to drain what little energy I have left.

"You look like you haven't slept in days," Theron observes, lowering his massive frame beside me.

"That's because I haven't." My voice comes out gruffer than intended. "Not properly, anyway." I never knew that I could struggle so much, every little noise having me up and checking on Ellis.

I'm growing very protective over my little nephew.

The breeze stirs the goligan's needle-like leaves above us, creating a soft rustling sound that's almost musical. Across the yard, Maya's newly planted herb garden catches my eye—neat rows of zabilla and rirzed standing at attention like tiny soldiers, their scent carried on the breeze. She planted them just three days ago, but they're already thriving under her care, unlike my previously neglected yard.

"How's Mira doing?" I ask, deliberately steering the conversation away from myself. "Has her breathing improved with the new treatment?" She's improved so much with Lyra but she still has the occasional problems, more prone to getting sick and out of breath than most kids.

Theron's expression softens at the mention of his daughter. "Much better. Lyra found some bluefrost flower growing in the mountain passes. Mixed it with zabilla oil for a chest rub that works wonders."

"And Kai? Still hiding in the library every chance he gets?"

A chuckle rumbles from Theron's chest. "He's started teaching Mira her letters. It's... something to see."

I smile, picturing the serious little minotaur patiently showing his sister how to form her letters, his dark fur contrasting with her unusual silver-white coloring. The image feels comforting, familiar—a reminder of normalcy when my own life has been turned upside down.

"And Lyra? How is she handling life with three minotaurs?"

"Four," Theron corrects with unexpected gentleness. "She's pregnant."

My eyebrows shoot up, and I clap a heavy hand on his shoulder. "By the Lady of Light! Congratulations!"

"Thank you." Pride colors his voice, and I recognize the look in his eyes—that mixture of terror and joy that comes with expanding your family. A look I've seen in my own reflection lately, though under very different circumstances.

I expect him to elaborate, to share more about their plans or Lyra's health, but instead, his gaze drifts toward my house. Toward the drying herbs hanging in the kitchen window, the newly repaired fence, the garden flourishing where only weeds grew before.

"Maya's been busy," he observes, his tone casual in a way that immediately puts me on guard.

I grunt noncommittally, suddenly finding the pattern of bark on the goligan tree intensely interesting.

"You never let people in, Dex. Not easily." His words hit with unexpected precision.

I frown, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. The stone suddenly feels too hard beneath me, the shade too cool. "She's not?—"

Theron cuts me off, his voice gentle but firm. "She is." He gestures vaguely toward the house. "Look at this place. Look at you. You're different."

I clench my jaw, the rings on my horns catching the dappled sunlight as I tilt my head away from his searching gaze. My fingers curl into fists against the stone bench, then slowly release. The truth in his words stings more than I want to admit.

Different. Am I? The organized home, the flourishing garden, the way Ellis's cries no longer send me into a panic—all of it feels like it belongs to someone else's life, not mine. Yet here I am, sitting in the shade of a tree I've barely noticed before, suddenly aware of how the midday light filters through its leaves, how the scent of herbs mingles with the earthy smell of freshly turned soil.

Maya showed me these things. Made me notice them.

Theron exhales, shaking his head. "You trust her. That's rare for you." He pauses, letting that settle before continuing. "But what happens when she leaves?"

The question lands like a physical blow. My breath catches, and for a moment, I'm back in that first night with Ellis, the helplessness threatening to drown me as the infant screamed and nothing I did seemed to help. Until Maya appeared, her silver-blonde hair catching the moonlight, her confident hands taking Ellis as though she'd known him all his life.

I don't respond to Theron's question. Because for the first time, I don't have an answer.

10

---