Page 7 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

I duck my head underwater, letting it wash away the stinging in my eyes that has nothing to do with soap.

By the time I emerge, freshly groomed and dressed in clean clothes, the house smells different. Not just the absence of chaos, but the presence of something... homey. My stomach growls embarrassingly loud as I follow my nose to the kitchen.

Maya stands at my hearth, stirring something in a pot. She's found ingredients I didn't even know I had and transformed them into something that smells divine. Ellis continues his miraculous slumber in his cradle, which she's moved closer to the kitchen's warmth.

"Feel better?" she asks without turning around.

"Like a new minotaur," I admit, running a hand over my now-smooth horns. "Whatever you're making, I may propose marriage after I taste it."

She shakes her head with a smile. "It's just burgona stew with somana and a bit of spice," she says, but I catch the pleased note in her voice. "Nothing fancy."

"At this point, anything that isn't stone-cold or half-eaten standing over a sink qualifies as fancy." I clear my throat, suddenly awkward in my own home. "Thank you. For all of this."

Maya ladles stew into a bowl that looks comically small in my hands and gestures toward the large wooden table that dominates the center of the room. I settle onto my chair while she takes the seat across from me. The first spoonful nearly brings tears to my eyes—simple food, yes, but warm and filling in a way that feeds more than just hunger.

"You're really good with him," I say, gesturing with my spoon toward the peacefully sleeping Ellis. "I can pay you. If you're willing to stay a little longer. Until I find someone permanent."

Maya raises a brow. The scar on her right hand catches the light as she taps her fingers against the table, considering. "I have a shop. A farm. My own life."

"I don't expect anything more than what you're willing to give." The words come out more sincere than I intended, revealing the desperate edge beneath my casual request.

For some reason, that answer satisfies her. Her expression softens just slightly—not quite a smile, but the rigid line of her shoulders relaxes.

"Fine," she says. "I'll help. But this doesn't make me a nanny. And it sure as hell doesn't make us a family."

I nod, pretending that sentence doesn't sting. Of course we're not family—we barely know each other. But after a week of a screaming infant and crushing loneliness, even temporary help feels like finding water in a desert. I force a jovial grin, falling back on the persona that's gotten me through most of life's rough patches.

"Understood. Professional arrangement only," I agree, raising my bowl slightly in a mock toast. "Though Ellis might have other ideas. I swear he's been plotting against me from day one."

Her answering chuckle sends warmth spreading through my chest, and I can't help but smile. Gods, I hope this isn't a bad idea.

5

MAYA

The morning light filters through the half-drawn curtains, touching my face with gentle persistence. I stir, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling above me. The events of yesterday flood back—the wailing minotaur calf, his massive, desperate uncle, and my impulsive decision to help them both.

I slide from the bed, my bare feet meeting cool floorboards. The guest room Dex offered is surprisingly comfortable, if sparsely furnished. A quick glance outside tells me it's barely past dawn—my usual waking time. Some habits never break, even away from my own farm.

The house is quiet except for a soft snuffling sound coming from down the hall—Ellis, thankfully sleeping. I tiptoe past Dex's closed door and make my way to the kitchen, only to stop short at the threshold.

"By the gods," I mutter.

The kitchen looks like a battlefield, worse in the daylight than last night. Unwashed bottles crowd every surface. Empty milk cartons and forgotten food lay on the counters. Something sticky covers a portion of the counter, and there's a distinct smell of spoiled milk hanging in the air.

I press my fingers to the scar on my right hand—an old habit when I'm thinking—and take a deep breath. This won't do. Not at all.

Without hesitation, I roll up my sleeves and get to work. I wash the bottles first, scrubbing each thoroughly before setting them to dry. I clean out the food that's gone bad, wipe down every surface, and sweep the floor. The rhythm of cleaning calms me, gives my hands purpose.

When the kitchen gleams to my satisfaction, I move on to the living area. Blankets are strewn everywhere, alongside scrolls, ink bottles, and what appears to be Dex's merchant ledgers. I straighten everything, folding blankets and stacking papers, careful not to disturb his organizational system—if there even is one.

Next, I tackle Ellis's things. Baby supplies are scattered throughout the house with no rhyme or reason. I gather swaddling cloths, tiny tunics, and soft blankets, folding each neatly before arranging them in a chest in Ellis's room. The poor calf is still sleeping soundly in his crib, his tawny fur rising and falling with each breath. His tiny horns catch the light as he shifts in his slumber.

"You deserve better than this chaos," I whisper, carefully tucking his blanket closer around him.

By the time the sun properly rises, I've transformed the interior of the house. Everything has a place now, surfaces shine, and even the air smells fresher. I pull open a window just as I hear hoofsteps behind me.

I turn to find Dex standing in the doorway, one hand absently rubbing at his horns. His massive frame nearly fills the entire doorway. His copper-tinted fur catches the morning light, giving him an almost burnished glow. Sleep still clings to him; his green eyes are heavy-lidded and his posture relaxed. Without the panic of yesterday animating his features, he looks different—softer somehow, and undeniably handsome in a wild, untamed way. His curved horns with their bronze rings catch the sunlight, giving him a crowned appearance that suits him.

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