Page 36 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

Varina sniffs, her nostrils flaring with distaste. "I shouldn't need to introduce myself to family, should I? Though it seems the courtesy of informing me about my daughter-in-law's death was beneath you."

The accusation stings more than it should. "Iris and Treon weren't exactly close with you before he died. I assumed you'd been told."

"By whom? The servants? The gossips at market?" She steps closer, her gaze sharpening on Ellis. "I had to hear about it third-hand, months after the fact."

Something like guilt twists in my gut. I'd been so consumed with adjusting to raising Ellis that I hadn't thought about Varina at all. Iris rarely spoke of her, except to mention her disapproval.

Varina's eyes finally settle on me, taking in my worn house clothes, the spit-up stain on my shoulder, the dark circles I know are etched under my eyes. Her lip curls.

"Not that it matters. I'm here for my grandson. You're not fit to raise him," she declares without preamble. "This house is not suitable. You are not suitable."

My pulse spikes, blood rushing in my ears. Ellis must sense my distress because he whimpers, his little hands clenching tighter in my shirt.

"I'm his uncle," I manage, voice rougher than intended. "Iris wanted him with me."

"A merchant with no wife, no experience with children?" Varina's laugh lacks any warmth. "My grandson deserves better than to be raised by a bachelor fumbling his way through parenthood. He belongs with family who can provide structure, connections, a proper future."

"I am his family."

Varina circles the room, running a finger along a shelf. "Look at this place. Toys everywhere, dishes unwashed, and—" she sniffs the air, "—when was the last time you bathed him properly? With proper oils? His fur needs special treatment."

For the first time since Iris died, I feel completely unmoored. Each word strikes true, feeding doubts I've been battling since I first held Ellis. I've been learning, yes, but the reality is I'm still lost most days. What if she's right?

My protective instincts flare, but the gnawing doubt in my chest is harder to shake. "Ellis is well cared for," I say, even as I wonder if that's true enough.

"By whom? You?" Her eyes narrow as they scan the room again, lingering on a woman's shawl draped over a chair—Maya's. "Or have you hired some common help to do what you cannot?"

I draw myself up to my full height, towering over Varina despite her imposing presence. "You've made your point. Now I think it's time for you to leave."

But as Ellis begins to fuss in earnest, I can't help wondering if I'm fighting for him or for myself—and which of us truly has his best interests at heart.

Varina ignores my request as she continues to look around. I hold Ellis tighter against my chest as Varina continues her tirade, her words slicing through the home I've tried so hard to make safe for my nephew.

"Look at this place," she sneers, gesturing to the blanket draped over the side of the cradle. "A merchant's house is no place for a child of Treon's bloodline. He should be in a proper home, with servants and tutors preparing him for his future."

Ellis whimpers, tiny fingers clutching at my shirt. I stroke his back gently, trying to soothe him while my own heart hammers against my ribs. I want to roar back at her, to defend what I've built here, but doubt creeps in with each pointed comment.

"When was the last time you discussed his future with the temple elders?" Varina picks up one of Ellis's toys—a carved wooden taura Maya made for him—examining it with disdain before setting it down. "Has he been presented to the Lady of Light? Does he have the proper blessings?"

"I've been focused on keeping him alive and happy," I counter, but my voice lacks conviction even to my own ears.

Varina's eyes narrow, her nostrils flaring. "Food and shelter are the bare minimum, Dex. Any barn can provide that. Ellis is the last of Treon's line, my only grandchild. He deserves excellence, not... adequacy."

The word stings more than it should. Adequacy. The story of my life—never quite measuring up to what others expect, never quite good enough for those who matter. First my warrior father, disappointed in his merchant son. Then Arekia, walking away when a better match presented itself.

"You can't do this alone," she continues, her tone dismissive as she circles the room like a predator. "That much is clear. You're just a merchant. You have no idea what you are doing."

Just a merchant. The same words Arekia had thrown at me when she broke our engagement. Not good enough for her family's lineage. Not good enough for anything that truly mattered.

I clench my fists, anger and doubt mixing into a toxic brew in my chest. Only Ellis's warm weight against me keeps me from shouting.

"I think you should leave," I say, my voice low with restrained fury. This time, I'll forcibly remove her if I have to—not that it matters. Her words have already done their damage, seeping into my skin and burrowing in my chest.

Varina sniffs, adjusting her silver-banded horns with practiced dignity. "I'll be back," she warns. "When you've had time to consider what's truly best for Ellis. For now..." She reaches into her robes and pulls out a small velvet pouch, placing it deliberately on the table. "Some proper horn oil. The kind his father used. At least attend to that much."

She sweeps out as imperiously as she arrived, leaving the door open behind her in a final display of contempt.

I stand there, Ellis fussing against my shoulder, staring at the small pouch. Such a simple thing, yet it hammers home everything I don't know, everything I haven't provided.

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