Page 22 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

I should look away. I should leave. But I don't.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asks, her voice quiet but direct.

"Long enough to learn I'm loud and obnoxious."

A small smile tugs at her lips. "And that you think you're funnier than you are."

"That part's slander," I say, finally pushing off the doorframe. "I'm exactly as funny as I think I am."

She makes a noise that's half-snort, half-laugh, careful not to disturb Ellis. "Keep telling yourself that, merchant."

Something tightens in my chest—an unfamiliar feeling I can't quite place. Or maybe one I don't want to name. It's been a long time since anyone looked at me and saw more than horns and height, more than merchant or bachelor or scandal. Maya sees right through my carefully constructed jovial façade to the man underneath, and I'm not sure if that terrifies or fascinates me.

Maya stands slowly, placing Ellis down carefully before turning to face me. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each breath. She approaches with that purposeful stride of hers—direct, like everything else about her. Her footsteps whisper against the floorboards, somehow both cautious and certain.

I don't step back as she stops just inches from me. Close enough that I can smell the faint herbal scent that clings to her—zabilla and rirzed, earthy and sweet. Close enough that I have to look down to meet her eyes, those storm-gray eyes that never flinch, never waver.

Her gaze flickers down to my mouth for half a second—just long enough for me to notice, just long enough to make my breath hitch. The fire pops behind her, sending shadows dancing across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her jaw.

I could kiss her. By the Lady, I want to. Want to bend down and close that small distance between us, taste whatever witty retort she's holding behind those lips. My heart hammers against my ribs like I'm some green youth, not a merchant who's haggled with the finest traders in Karona. But Maya doesn't haggle. She states her price and expects you to meet it or walk away.

My fists clench at my sides, the rings on my fingers suddenly too tight, too constricting. What am I doing? She's here to help with Ellis, not to entertain whatever madness has taken hold of me. I've seen what happens when business mixes with pleasure—seen good partnerships crumble when feelings get involved. I built my trading house on reliable partnerships, on trust and good faith dealings. Not on impulse.

And besides, she deserves better than a minotaur merchant with too many responsibilities and a newborn nephew he can barely keep alive without her help. We're from different worlds—literally different species. My world is ledgers and trade routes and hard-won respect despite my middle-class status. Hers is herbs and healing and fighting against prejudice.

I force myself to step back, the floorboard creaking under my weight like an accusation.

"You should get some rest," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. "Ellis will probably be up before sunrise. He seems to sense whenever I'm about to fall into a deep sleep."

The joke falls flat, hanging awkwardly between us. Maya watches me, something unreadable in her expression. Not anger, not disappointment—something more complex, something that reminds me of how she looks when she's examining a new herb, trying to determine its properties.

"Goodnight, Dex." Her voice is steady, but there's something beneath it. Something that makes my chest ache as I turn and walk away. Something that sounds almost like understanding.

I move through the hallway with less grace than usual, my shoulder bumping against the wall. The house suddenly feels too confined for my seven and a half foot frame, the ceiling too low, the walls too close. Or maybe it's just me that doesn't fit in this moment.

I pause outside my bedroom door, horn rings catching the dim light of the oil lamps. Beyond the walls, the night air carries the distant sounds of the city—not quite asleep, never quite silent. That's what I love about Karona. It's always moving, always trading, always making deals and breaking them and making new ones.

Maybe that's all this is. A business arrangement getting complicated because we're both tired and she's beautiful and I'm... I'm a fool who should know better. A fool who nearly kissed the only person keeping his nephew alive and happy.

Smart merchants know when to walk away from a bad deal. Even smarter ones know when to walk away from a deal that's too good to be true.

I slip outside through the kitchen door, careful not to let it bang shut behind me. The night air hits my face like a wet cloth—humid and heavy with the promise of rain. Typical Karona summer. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the scent of salt from the harbor and the ever-present aroma of spices from the market quarter. Even at night, the city carries its distinctive perfume.

My hooves click against the cobblestones as I make my way to the small courtyard garden. It's nothing elaborate—just a patch of green with a stone bench beneath a tiphe tree—but it's mine. A quiet place where trade negotiations and ledgers don't follow me. Tonight, though, ledgers would be a welcome distraction from the chaos in my head.

I drop onto the bench, the stone cool against my thighs. The bronze rings adorning my horns catch the moonlight, casting tiny reflections onto the garden wall. My mother insisted on the rings when I was younger—"Amark of distinguished heritage," she'd said, even as she lamented my choice to become a merchant. "At least you'll look like a proper vakkak, even if you refuse to act like one."

The memory brings a wry smile to my face. She never understood why I chose commerce over combat. Why I preferred to battle with my mind rather than my body, despite being built like a warrior—massive even for a minotaur, with shoulders broad enough to carry crates that would take two humans to lift.

My fingers trace the curved edge of one horn, the metal rings smooth and familiar. What would Mother think of me now? Sitting in a garden, mooning over a human woman like some lovesick calf. She'd be horrified. Father would've been amused, at least. He always did appreciate irony.

"You're a fool, Ironhoof," I mutter to the night air. "A complete and utter fool."

The worst part isn't the physical attraction—though Lady knows that's strong enough. I could handle simple lust. Could chalk it up to proximity and gratitude and the fact that Maya is undeniably beautiful in her practical, no-nonsense way.

No, what terrifies me is how I catch myself imagining her staying. Not just tonight or tomorrow, but next week. Next month. Her silver-blonde hair catching the morning light as she works in this very garden, planting herbs that would make her shop inventory even more impressive. Her dry laughter filling the rooms that have been too quiet since my parents died. Her clever mind challenging mine over dinner conversations that stretch long into the night.

I want her in my bed, yes—the thought alone makes my blood run hotter—but I also want her at my breakfast table. Want to see her roll her eyes at my jokes while fighting a smile. Want to watch her hands, scarred and capable, teaching Ellis about herbs and healing when he's old enough.

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