Page 30 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

Ellis giggles again, oblivious to the complex emotions swirling around him, and Dex's expression grows more complicated still.

* * *

I settleinto the worn armchair beside Ellis's crib, my fingers trailing over the intricate knotwork Dex carved into the wood himself. Each swirl and ridge tells a story of care—of late nights spent sanding edges smooth, of hours poring over designs to create something beautiful for his nephew. The little details speak volumes about the kind of uncle—the kind of father—Dex is trying to be.

Ellis sleeps peacefully now, his tiny chest rising and falling beneath the soft blanket. Tawny fur catches the gentle glow of the night lamp, making him look almost golden. His face, screwed up in frustration so often lately, is finally serene.

Dex stands at the crib's edge, his massive frame somehow managing to look both powerful and vulnerable in the dim light. The shadow of his horns stretches across the nursery wall like protective sentinels. He's barely moved in the last ten minutes, just watching Ellis with an intensity that makes my heart ache.

I recognize that look. I've seen it on the faces of healers who've lost patients despite doing everything right—that questioning, that doubt that gnaws at your confidence until there's nothing left but raw uncertainty.

His green eyes reflect the soft light as he reaches down to adjust Ellis's blanket, movements surprisingly gentle for hands so large. The bronze rings on his horns catch the light as he leans forward, creating tiny flashes that dance across the wall like fireflies.

"He finally looks peaceful," I whisper, keeping my voice low enough not to disturb Ellis. The silence between us feels heavy with things unsaid.

Dex nods but doesn't respond. His jaw works silently, the muscles tensing beneath his copper-highlighted fur. I've learned to read his body language over these weeks—the way his shoulders stiffen when he's worried, how his left ear twitches slightly when he's holding back words.

Right now, every line of his body screams of doubt.

I rise from my chair and move beside him. Despite being tall for a human woman, I still barely reach his shoulder. Without thinking, I place my hand on his arm, feeling the warmth radiating through his sleeve. The rough scar across my right hand stands stark against his dark fur—two very different marks of our separate journeys.

"You know he loves you, right?" I offer him a gentle smile when he turns to look at me. "You're enough for him, Dex."

His gaze drops to my hand on his arm, then back to Ellis. Something flickers across his face—vulnerability so raw it nearly takes my breath away.

"Am I?" His voice comes out rougher than usual. "He laughed for you, Maya. After weeks of me trying everything—funny faces, tickling, those ridiculous songs my mother used to sing—nothing. But you..." He trails off, looking down at his hands. They clench into fists, then relax, then clench again, as if he's trying to grasp something just beyond reach.

"You're his blood," I remind him softly. "His family. That bond runs deeper than a few weeks of figuring things out."

"Blood didn't help me get him to eat. Or sleep." Dex's eyes remain fixed on Ellis. "Blood didn't stop him from crying every time I picked him up those first days."

I watch the conflict play across his face. For someone known throughout Karona for his boisterous laugh and easy confidence, this uncertainty seems to carve valleys into his usually jovial expression.

"Babies aren't merchants, Dex. You can't negotiate with them or charm them with your sales pitch." I bump his arm with my shoulder, trying to coax out the smile that's been absent since this morning. "They just need patience and consistency—both things you've given him in abundance."

Dex nods, but the tension remains coiled around him like a physical presence. His shoulders stay rigid, horns tilted forward slightly in that defensive posture I've noticed when he feels challenged.

"One laugh doesn't erase the weeks you've spent learning to be exactly what he needs," I say, my voice firm but gentle.

Ellis stirs in his sleep, tiny hooves kicking once before he settles again. Both of us hold our breath until his breathing evens out.

I gently guide Dex away from the crib, my hand still on his arm. "Come on," I whisper, nodding toward the door. "He's finally asleep. Let's not waste this miracle."

Dex hesitates, his eyes lingering on Ellis's sleeping form. I can practically see the battle happening behind those green eyes—the desire to stay vigilant warring with his own exhaustion. Finally, he nods, allowing me to lead him from the nursery.

We move through the hallway in silence, our footsteps muffled against the thick carpets. Dex's home is a strange contradiction—built to accommodate his massive minotaur frame, yet filled with unexpected delicacy. Merchant's sensibilities, I suppose. He has an eye for beauty that surprises those who only see his imposing exterior.

In the sitting room, I head straight for the cabinet where he keeps his liquor. "You need a drink," I state matter-of-factly, not bothering to phrase it as a question. "And frankly, so do I."

"Maya—" he starts, but I'm already pulling out a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses.

"Don't 'Maya' me." I pour generous amounts into both glasses, measuring by eye rather than with precision. Precision is for my herbal tinctures, not for moments like this. "When's the last time you actually relaxed?"

He accepts the glass I hand him, his massive fingers dwarfing it. "Define relaxed."

"Not thinking about feeding schedules or diaper changes or whether you're ruining your nephew's life." I take a healthy swallow from my own glass, feeling the liquor burn pleasantly down my throat. It's strong—like everything in minotaur culture.

A ghost of a smile flickers across Dex's face. "So... sometime before Ellis arrived."

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