Page 44 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

"Your grandmother means well," I tell him, though his gold eyes just blink up at me curiously. "But she doesn't understand what you need. Not like I do."

That's the truth of it. I may have doubted myself—gods know I've made enough mistakes—but standing here with Ellis settled contentedly against me, I know with bone-deep certainty that I made the right choice. This little calf is mine to raise, mine to protect. My nephew. My son.

Ellis makes a soft cooing sound, his tiny fingers finding their way to one of my horn rings again. He's always been fascinated by them, the way they catch the light. I smile down at him, feeling my usual jovial nature returning after weeks of absence.

"That's right," I chuckle, adjusting my grip to make sure he's secure. "Those are still there. Some things don't change, even when everything else does."

Once we get to the carriage, we begin the journey home, and I can't help but notice how different everything looks today. The same streets I passed this morning now seem brighter, full of possibility. The weight that's been crushing me these past weeks has lifted, and with each step, I feel more like myself.

I've always been the optimist, the one with the ready joke and easier laugh. It's how I survived my family's disappointment when I chose commerce over combat. How I weathered losing Arekia to Marcus Steelhorn's manipulations. How I endured the deaths of my parents. But these past weeks without Ellis, without Maya—I'd lost that part of myself. Lost the ability to see the bright side of anything.

"We'll get her back too," I promise Ellis, who coos as if he understands. "Maya belongs with us just as much as you do. I just need to figure out how to convince her of that."

A merchant at heart, I know all about negotiations, about finding the right price for the right goods. But Maya isn't a business transaction. She's something infinitely more valuable, and the currency she deals in isn't gold or silver but trust and honesty—things I've been too afraid to offer.

Ellis yawns against me, his tiny mouth opening wide to reveal pink gums. The simple trust in the gesture makes my heart clench. He doesn't doubt me, doesn't question whether I'm worthy of his affection. He just gives it freely, knowing somehow that I'll catch him if he falls.

"I'm learning from you, you know," I tell him softly. "About taking chances. About letting people in."

I kiss Ellis's head again, feeling the rightness of this moment settle into my bones. "No one's going to take you from me again," I promise him. "You're my son now, in every way that matters."

And as Ellis snuggles closer, his gold eyes drifting shut in peaceful sleep, I know with absolute certainty that I've made the right choice. This is what family feels like—not obligation or tradition, but this fierce, protective love that would move mountains to keep him safe.

25

MAYA

Istare at the dried rirzed herb bundles hanging above my workbench, but I'm not really seeing them. My fingers move automatically, stripping leaves from stems, crushing petals into my mortar. The rhythmic grinding of pestle against stone fills the quiet shop, but it's not enough to drown out the thoughts circling my mind like hungry rodans.

"You need two more bundles of gankoya for the morning sickness tonic," I mutter to myself, trying to focus on the task.

My shop smells the same as always—earthy, green, with hints of sweet and spice mingling in the air. Sunlight filters through the front windows, catching dust motes that dance in golden beams across my wooden shelves lined with glass jars, leather pouches, and ceramic pots. Everything is exactly where it should be, meticulous and organized.

But everything feels wrong.

I reach for a jar of dried meqixste bark and accidentally knock over a small wooden toy—a carved equu with a broken leg. Ellis had grabbed it from my workbench last week, his tiny fingers surprisingly strong. I'd promised to fix it.

My throat tightens as I pick it up. "Damn it," I whisper, quickly setting it inside a drawer where I won't have to look at it.

The silence is what gets to me most. I never realized how much noise a baby makes—not just the crying, but the little coos, the breathing, the rustling. The shop used to feel peaceful. Now it's just... empty.

A customer enters, the bell above the door jingling. I straighten my shoulders and force a smile.

"Morning, Maya," Talek, one of the farmers from the outskirts, nods. "My wife's hands are cracking again from the fieldwork. Got anything?"

"Zabilla salve," I reply, reaching for a small tin on the shelf. "Works better than anything else for rough skin."

My gray eyes meet his, and I can see the moment he notices something's off. His bushy eyebrows furrow.

"You alright? Look like you haven't slept in days."

I haven't. My bed at home feels too big, too cold. I've gotten used to a small cot in a room next to Ellis's nursery, where I could hear his breathing, where Dex would poke his massive horned head in to check on both of us.

"Just busy," I lie, busying myself with wrapping the tin in paper. "Spring brings all sorts of ailments."

"Heard you were working for the Ironhoof merchant. Helping with his sister's youngling."

My hands freeze midway through tying the string. "Not anymore."

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