Page 18 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

Maya arches one eyebrow, her gray eyes dancing with something I can't quite name. "I think someone missed you."

Simple words. Nothing fancy. But they hit somewhere deep, somewhere I've kept locked up tight since Arekia walked away years ago. The weight of it settles in my chest, pressing against my ribs.

I move toward them, no longer the hesitant bull who once held Ellis like he might shatter. My arms reach out naturally now, and Maya transfers him with a practiced handoff we've perfected over weeks.

"Hey there, little one," I rumble, my voice automatically softening the way it only does for him. "Giving Maya trouble today?"

Ellis immediately snuggles against me, his tiny form finding that perfect spot against my chest. His baby horns, barely nubs poking through his fur, brush against my shirt as he settles with a contented sigh. The tension in my shoulders melts away, replaced by something else entirely.

"He was perfect," Maya says, stretching her arms now that they're free. "I read him your ledgers from last season while you were gone. Ellis has quite the head for numbers." Her dry humor slips out with that half-smile I've grown to expect.

I stroke Ellis's back with one large hand, feeling his heartbeat against mine. "You hear that? Already following in your uncle's footsteps instead of charging into battle like a proper Ironhoof." I grin, remembering my own father's disappointment when I chose commerce over combat.

Something cracks inside me—a fissure in the walls I built after my parents died, after the marriage that wasn't meant to be. Because I missed him. I missed them both.

The realization hits like a physical blow. I didn't think I'd ever be the kind of man who longed to come home to someone. The merchant who thrived on independence, who laughed off his friends' domestic contentment while pouring them another drink.

But right now, standing in this quiet home with afternoon light painting the walls gold, holding my nephew's small body against my massive frame, with Maya watching me with that knowing look like she belongs here—like they both belong here—I wonder when that changed.

"You look different," Maya says suddenly, studying my face. "When you hold him. Less..."

"Intimidating?" I offer with the grin that's charmed countless business partners.

She shakes her head, unimpressed by my practiced charm. "Real. You look more real." She gives me a soft smile, the kind that sends warmth through me that I don't even bother to ignore anymore. "Looks like you can be taught after all."

Ellis shifts against my chest, his contented stillness transforming into tiny, restless movements. His face scrunches, gold eyes squinting as he lets out a grumbling noise that I've learned means hunger is imminent. Amazing how in six weeks, I've become fluent in a language I never knew existed.

"Someone's getting hangry," I say, bouncing him gently. "Takes after his uncle that way."

Maya rises from her chair, all efficiency and purpose. "I'll get his bottle ready."

"I'll feed him this time." The words leave my mouth before I can think better of them. I've been gone most of the day, and something in me craves this simple connection. "If you show me how you're mixing it now." She told me he needed more nutrients, and I'm not going to argue with someone who knows her herbs.

"Sure," she says with that slight quirk of her lips. "About time you learned the secret recipe."

I follow her into the kitchen, Ellis tucked securely against me. From the doorway, I watch as Maya moves through the space that was once just a room where I occasionally heated leftovers from the tavern. My kitchen now holds dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, jars of mysterious substances lining the shelves, and an order I never could have maintained myself.

She reaches for specific containers with confidence, not hesitating for a second. The way she moves reminds me of how I navigate a negotiation—knowing exactly which pieces need to be in place for success. Her silver-blonde hair catches the lamplight as she bends to retrieve a pot, her movements precise and practiced.

"The gankoya helps with his digestion," she explains, measuring a small amount of powder. "And the zabilla extract soothes him before bed."

I nod like I understand completely, though I'd be hard-pressed to identify either herb if my life depended on it. The merchant in me still wants to memorize the process, to be self-sufficient, but there's something else too—something about watching her work in my space that feels... right.

She hums under her breath, a melody I don't recognize but have heard countless times now in the quiet moments around the house. Ellis responds to it instantly, his grumbles subsiding as he turns his head slightly toward the sound. Smart kid.

Maya tests the temperature of the milk against her wrist, another gesture I've seen so many times it feels like a ritual now. "Perfect," she declares, pouring the mixture into a bottle with practiced ease.

The domesticity of it all hits me like a physical blow. This isn't some temporary arrangement anymore—this is routine. This is life. Maya stands in my kitchen, making my nephew's dinner, humming a song that soothes him to sleep, completely at ease. Like this is something she does every night. Like she belongs here.

And gods help me, she does look like she belongs. The practical healer with her no-nonsense attitude fits in these walls better than I do sometimes.

Ellis's tiny fingers grip my tunic tighter, those little claws catching on the fabric. I swallow hard, my large hand moving to support his back, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. This—this moment—feels too damn good.

Business deals, drinking contests, village festivals—I've known plenty of good feelings in my life. But this quiet moment watching Maya prepare a bottle while Ellis nestles against my chest tops them all.

And that terrifies me.

Because things that feel this good don't last. My parents, taken by the Red Fever. Iris, gone before her time. Even Arekia, though that wound healed cleaner than I expected. Life has a way of snatching happiness away, especially when you start thinking you deserve it.

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