Page 46 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

"But it wasn't, was it?" Lyra asks gently.

I look down at the scar on my hand again, tracing its familiar pattern. Another moment when following my heart cost me dearly. The parallel isn't lost on me.

I swallow, the lump in my throat growing. "No. It wasn't."

26

DEX

The house is quieter than it should be. I pace back and forth across the living room floor, Ellis nestled against my chest, but the weight of the silence presses on me like a physical thing. The floorboards creak beneath my hooves—a sound that used to be drowned out by Maya's humming or the soft murmurs she'd direct at Ellis. Now it's just me, the creaking wood, and the hollow echo of emptiness.

"Well, little one," I say to Ellis, my voice sounding too loud in the quiet, "just you and me again, huh?"

Ellis coos softly in response, his tiny fingers wrapping around my thumb. His grip is surprisingly strong for such a small thing. I run my thumb over his hand, feeling the softness of his new fur, still downy and tawny-colored like mine was at his age. His gold eyes—so like my own—stare up at me with what I can only describe as confusion.

He misses her too.

"I know," I tell him, as if he's asked a question. "I miss her too."

Three days. Three days since we've been home without her, and it feels like three years. I've faced down angry merchants, haggled with the stubbornest traders in Karona, shit, I've even stood my ground against Varina's withering stare, but coming home to a house without Maya? That broke something in me I didn't know could break.

I move to the window, adjusting Ellis so he can look outside too. The view is the same as always—the garden she started, the footpath she would take each morning to her shop. I half expect to see her silver-blonde hair catching the sunlight as she comes around the corner, that practical, no-nonsense stride of hers carrying her back to us.

But she doesn't come.

"I really messed this up, didn't I?" I ask Ellis, who responds by trying to stuff my knuckle into his mouth. "Yeah, that's what I thought too."

The problem with being known as the jovial one—the friend who's always ready with a joke or a booming laugh—is that admitting when you're heartbroken doesn't come easy. People expect you to bounce back, to find the humor, to keep smiling. But there's no humor in this. There's just the ache in my chest that grows heavier each day.

I walk past her room—Maya's room—and pause at the door. I haven't been able to bring myself to look inside since she left. The sheets are probably still rumpled the way she'd leave them each morning, too practical to waste time on what she called "pointless tidying." There might still be a hint of her scent—herbs and earth and something distinctly Maya—lingering in the air.

"I told her she was just the nanny," I confess to Ellis, my voice dropping to a whisper. "After everything... after she was the first one to make you laugh... after she stood up to Varina for us... I told her she was just the nanny."

The memory of the hurt in her gray eyes haunts me. Not anger—that I could have handled. But hurt, deep and wounded, like I'd confirmed her worst fears. That she wasn't truly part of what we were building here. That she was replaceable.

When the truth is, she's anything but.

"I love her," I tell Ellis, the words feeling strange and right all at once. "I love her, and I don't know how to fix this."

Ellis makes a gurgling sound and pats my chest with his free hand.

"You're right. Simple but not easy." I sigh, tracing one of his tiny horns just starting to peek through. "She never meant to stay with us, though. That was the deal. Temporary help until I found a permanent solution."

But somewhere along the way, Maya became the solution. She became essential—the missing piece that made us feel like a family. The way she'd roll her eyes at my jokes but laugh anyway. The way she knew exactly what Ellis needed before he even cried for it. The way she'd argue with me about the right way to fold baby clothes or the best herbs to help him sleep, never backing down, never intimidated by my size or my horns or my occasional stubbornness.

Ellis yawns widely, his tiny mouth forming a perfect circle. His eyelids droop.

"Time for your nap," I murmur, heading toward the nursery. "Though I warn you, my swaddling technique isn't nearly as good as Maya's."

As I lay him down in his crib, I can't help but think of the first night Maya stayed over. How terrified I was, how out of my depth. How she showed me how to wrap Ellis just right, her hands sure and confident as they tucked in corners and smoothed wrinkles.

"I miss her, little one," I admit, watching Ellis's eyes close. "And I don't know if she'll ever come back to us."

Once he's settled, I move to the living room and stare out the window, staring out at the garden Maya planted. Tiny green shoots struggle upward between rows of stone markers, each labeled in her precise handwriting. Sunlight winks off the collection of glass jars she'd arranged on the windowsill—once filled with dried herbs, now empty like the rest of the house.

The hollow feeling in my chest expands. When did these walls start closing in? When did silence become so deafening?

I press one hand against the cool glass, my reflection staring back at me—a massive frame with slumped shoulders, bronze rings in my curved horns catching the light. The minotaur in the window looks lost, nothing like the confident merchant who can charm customers with booming laughter and quick wit.

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