Page 43 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

The journey to Varina's estate takes longer than expected. Or maybe my impatience makes the hours stretch by as I sit in the carriage. Her home sits a little farther than Karona, toward central Milthar, a sprawling testament to old money and older prejudices. The kind of place where servants probably dust the dust.

I don't knock. Don't announce myself. Don't give her the chance to prepare her defenses.

I push open the ornate front door, the hinges protesting with a dramatic creak that suits the occasion. The entry hall stretches before me, all polished marble and needless grandeur. Everything gleams with wealth and privilege—and loneliness. This house may be teeming with servants, but it lacks the warmth of a true home.

Then I hear it—the sound that's haunted my dreams since I handed him over. Ellis's cry, high and distressed, echoing from somewhere deeper in the house.

My heart constricts, and I follow the sound like it's a lifeline, hooves clacking against marble, then expensive carpets. I find him in what must be the nursery, a room that reeks of too much money and too little love. Everything is new, pristine, untouched—except for Ellis himself, who thrashes in an ornate cradle, face ruddy with effort as he wails.

"Little one," I breathe, crossing the room in three strides.

His cries pause at the sound of my voice, his tiny wet eyes blinking up at me in recognition. His little arms reach up immediately, grasping for me, and something in me breaks and mends simultaneously.

"I'm here now," I murmur, scooping him up. His small body feels right against my chest, like he belongs there. Always has.

The moment I hold him, his crying subsides to hiccupping little breaths. His tiny hands clutch at my shirt, and he buries his face in my neck. The relief in his posture is palpable—he knows who I am. He remembers. Two weeks apart, and he still knows his uncle.

A throat clears behind me, sharp and deliberate.

"What do you think you're doing?" Varina's voice cuts through the room like a blade. She stands in the doorway, her black and white fur immaculately groomed, horn rings polished to a mirror shine. Her face, as always, is fixed in that permanent sneer of disapproval.

I turn to face her, cradling Ellis protectively against me. "Taking my nephew home."

"You can't simply barge in here and take him," she says, her voice tight with indignation. "He's my grandson."

"And he's my nephew." I stroke Ellis's back gently, feeling his little body relax further against me. "Look at him, Varina. He's miserable here."

"He's adjusting," she snaps, but there's uncertainty in her eyes as she watches how quickly Ellis has calmed in my arms. "Children take time to settle into new environments."

"He had settled. With me." I stand taller, drawing on every inch of my considerable height. At seven-foot-five, I tower over her. "He belongs with me. Iris wanted me to raise him, and I'm not letting you tear him from me."

Varina crosses her arms, her sneer deepening. "You're not fit to raise a child. I thought you had accepted that. He needs someone who knows how to be a proper parent?—"

"I am the only one that knows how to parent him," I snap, the words feeling right as they leave my mouth. "I've raised him. And I'm taking him home."

Ellis coos softly against my neck, as if affirming my declaration. His little hand has found one of my horn rings, fingers curling around the familiar bronze circle. Varina watches this interaction, her expression hardening, but I can see the calculation behind her eyes. She's noting how immediately Ellis settled in my arms, how naturally he turns to me for comfort.

"You're making a mistake," she says, but her voice lacks conviction. "What about his education? His standing in society? His future?"

"I'll handle it," I state firmly. "All of it. And you know what? He'll grow up loved. Not just well-dressed and well-connected. Loved."

I move toward the door, and Varina steps aside, perhaps too tired to fight. The dark circles under her eyes tell me Ellis hasn't made these two weeks easy for her.

"You can visit him. But don't come after us again," I warn, pausing at the threshold. "I won't be so polite next time if you try to take mysonfrom me."

Varina's shoulders slump slightly. "He cries all night," she admits grudgingly. "Nothing I do soothes him. Nothing."

I nod, understanding the unspoken truce in her words. She won't fight me on this—not because she agrees, but because the reality of raising an infant has proven more challenging than she anticipated.

"He knows what he needs," I say, gentler now. "And it's not fancy cradles or prestigious addresses. It's his home."

I leave without waiting for her response, Ellis nestled securely against me. With each step away from Varina's cold mansion and toward my carriage, my stride grows more confident.

Ellis shifts against my chest, his little body finally relaxed, his breathing steady. No more screams, no more tears—just a contented warmth pressed against my heart where he belongs.

"We're going home, little one," I murmur, pressing my lips to the top of his head. His fur is soft, the tiny nubs of his baby horns just barely poking through. The scent of him—milk and innocence and something uniquely Ellis—fills my nostrils, and I breathe it in deeply, letting it wash away the sterile smell of Varina's house.

My chest expands with a long, slow exhale. The relief flowing through me is so profound it almost makes my knees buckle. I hadn't realized how tense I'd been until this moment, with Ellis secure in my arms again. It feels like I've been holding my breath for two weeks, and only now can I finally breathe.

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