Page 32 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

Right behind her, Kai follows with more restraint, though his young face betrays excitement as he carefully navigates around my display shelves, his emerging horns catching the morning light.

And then there's Lyra, copper-red hair gleaming as she steps through the doorway, her practical green dress dotted with travel dust, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

My heart sinks to somewhere around my ankles.

Not today. Any day but today.

My hands tighten around the mortar and pestle I've been using for the past three hours. The shop is in complete disarray—half-filled jars line every surface, bundles of drying herbs hang from the ceiling beams, and I have six separate orders due by sundown. My silver-blonde hair is falling from its practical knot, and I haven't slept properly in days.

This time, not because of Ellis.

"Surprise!" Lyra calls out, her green eyes bright with mischief. "We thought we'd come see Auntie Maya while Theron handles some business in town."

"Did you now?" I manage, setting down my tools and wiping my hands on my work apron. I pat Mira's head as she bounces beside me, careful to avoid her delicate horn buds. "What an unexpected pleasure."

My voice doesn't quite hit the right note of enthusiasm, and I know Lyra notices. She's always been too perceptive for comfort—it's what makes her such a good healer and such an inconvenient friend when you're trying to hide something.

"Maya, Maya, Maya!" Mira tugs at my apron, thrusting the purple flower toward me. "This is for your medicines! Daddy says you make the best medicines in all of Karona!"

I kneel to her level, forcing a smile that I hope looks genuine. "Thank you, little one. This is a beautiful fialon blossom." I take the slightly crushed flower, its fragrant petals already wilting. "It'll make a wonderful addition to my sleep tincture."

Kai steps forward, his serious nature evident in how carefully he surveys my workspace. At nearly eight, he already carries himself with the dignified bearing of someone much older. "Are you making medicines now? Can I watch? Father says I should learn useful trades."

"I am indeed, but it's rather boring work," I say, standing to my full height—which isn't saying much compared to the minotaur children who will soon tower over me. "Perhaps you'd prefer to see the new shipment of sweetgrass candies I got in yesterday?"

Both children's eyes widen at the mention of treats, exactly as I'd intended. Distraction is a healer's best friend when dealing with curious youngsters in a shop full of potentially dangerous substances.

"In that basket on the counter," I point to the far side of the shop. "Take two each, not more."

As they rush off, Lyra approaches, her petite human frame navigating the cluttered space with practiced ease. The way she moves—confident yet gentle—speaks volumes about how she's learned to carry herself in a world built for creatures twice her size.

"Working yourself to the bone, I see," she remarks, casually picking up a half-labeled jar of burgona root powder. "Six orders? Seven?"

"Eight, actually," I correct her, taking the jar from her hands and setting it in its proper place. I move between shelves, trying to look busier than I already am. "The summer solstice festival has everyone wanting healing tonics and beauty elixirs."

Lyra perches herself on the edge of my worktable, completely ignoring my unspoken signals that this isn't a good time for a social visit. Her copper braid falls over one shoulder as she tilts her head, studying me with those unnervingly direct green eyes.

"And how's Dex?" she asks, her voice deceptively casual.

My hands falter slightly as I reach for a bundle of drying fortisia leaves. "Fine, I imagine. Busy with trade matters."

"You imagine?" Her eyebrows rise slightly. "I thought you were practically living at his house these days."

"I help with Ellis when needed." I shrug, focusing intently on measuring fortisia into a jar, though I've done this particular motion so many times I could do it blindfolded. Like I'm not lying through my teeth. "But I've been busy here. Lots of orders."

"Mmm-hmm." The knowing hum in her voice makes me want to throw something at her. Preferably something sticky and difficult to wash out.

Instead, I move to another shelf, grabbing empty jars with more force than necessary. The glass clinks loudly together, almost drowning out the sound of the children giggling over their candies.

"You know," Lyra continues, apparently oblivious to my desire for her to drop the subject, "Theron mentioned seeing Dex yesterday. Said he looked like someone had stolen his favorite trading route."

"The summer season is stressful for merchants," I respond automatically, focusing on pouring a carefully measured amount of golden liquid into a series of small vials. "Everyone wants everything delivered yesterday."

"Maya." Just my name, but spoken in that particular tone Lyra has perfected—equal parts compassion and stubborn insistence.

I ignore her, crossing to another shelf where I begin rearranging jars that don't need rearranging. The scar on my right hand feels particularly prominent today, a reminder of all the times I've chosen difficult paths.

"Maya," she repeats, this time standing and following me. "What happened?"

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