Page 1 of Nanny for the Minotaur

1

THERON

Ihelp Kai button his sleep shirt, his small fingers still learning the intricacies of the carved bone closures. The fabric bunches under his chin as he concentrates, tongue poking out between his teeth.

"There you go. Almost got it." My large fingers guide his smaller ones. "Remember what I showed you?"

"Through the loop and twist." Kai's brow furrows with determination. At six, he takes every task as seriously as a merchant's contract signing.

Mira sits cross-legged on the floor beside us, her silver-white fur catching the lamplight as she makes her stuffed animals dance. The sight of her playing eases something in my chest. She's had a good day - no breathing troubles, no dizzy spells. Soon, I'll tuck her in after her brother.

But just as I turn my focus back on Kai, a soft thud breaks my concentration.

My heart stops as I turn to look at her. Mira lies crumpled on her side, her tiny form unnaturally still against the rug. I'm at her side in two strides, gathering her limp body against my chest. Her fur feels cold and clammy under my palms.

"Mira? Baby, wake up." I pat her cheek gently, my hands shaking. Her pulse flutters weak and uneven beneath my fingers. Not again. Please, not again.

"Papa?" Kai's voice wavers. "Is Mira-"

Mrs. Bramble appears in the doorway, taking in the scene with one sharp glance. "Come along, Master Kai. Let's get you settled while your father tends to your sister."

"But-"

"Now, young sir." Her tone brooks no argument, but her eyes meet mine with understanding. "I'll send for a healer, Master Theron."

I cradle Mira closer, counting each shallow breath. I gave her tonics earlier that are supposed to help, and yet, she's had another episode.

It feels like she has one every day.

"Stay with me, little one," I whisper into her fur. "Papa's here. Just stay with me."

I carry Mira through the dark hallways, her tiny form barely a weight in my arms. Empty portrait frames line the walls, their occupants hidden behind thick cloths - Cassandra's doing. She'd claimed the paintings were too "common" for her noble sensibilities. I never bothered uncovering them after she passed. What was the point?

I was too focused on keeping our daughter alive to worry about my late wife's influence on my home.

My hooves echo against the wooden floors as I pass sealed doorways. The music room sits silent, its piano gathering dust. The conservatory remains locked, its flowers long withered. Cassandra had insisted on closing off half the house, claiming it would preserve our status to live modestly. Really, she'd just wanted to spite me for not being the noble match she'd dreamed of.

Mira whimpers in my arms, drawing me back to the present. Her silver-white fur seems dull in the lamplight, lacking its usual luster. Each breath comes in short, painful gasps that tear at my heart.

I shoulder open the door to her room. The massive four-poster bed - another of Cassandra's "requirements" - dwarfs Mira's small frame as I lay her down. The pillows nearly swallow her whole. She looks so fragile against the deep crimson bedding, her chest rising and falling in irregular patterns.

My hands clench at my sides, hard enough that my nails dig into my palms. What good is all my merchant wealth if I can't help my own daughter? Trade routes and contracts mean nothing when I'm watching my baby girl struggle for each breath and I can't pay anyone to help her.

I adjust her blankets, careful not to restrict her breathing. My fingers brush her forehead - still cold and clammy. Where is that damn healer? I should have found better ones, specialists who understand minotaur calves.

But Cassandra had refused "common" healers during her pregnancy, insisting only on noble-born minotaur physicians. By the time we realized something was wrong with Mira's heart, it was too late.

The grandfather clock in the hall strikes, its chimes echoing through the empty house. I've never noticed how hollow this place feels until now, watching my daughter fight for air in a bed too big for her tiny body.

Mrs. Bramble's hand on my arm guides me from Mira's bedside. I hadn't even heard her come in, but she must have gotten Kai down. My hooves drag against the floorboards as I follow her down the hall to my study, the weight of worry pressing down on my shoulders.

The leather chair creaks as I sink into it, my horns scraping against the high back. The rings adorning them catch thelamplight - merchant status symbols that mean nothing when my daughter lies suffering.

"Master Theron." Mrs. Bramble smooths her pristine apron. "There's something we need to discuss."

I rub my face with both hands. "What is it?"

"There's a healer in the lower town. I've heard from the market vendors about her success with heart conditions. She uses special herbs, therapeutic methods. She might be the only one that can help your daughter." She clasps her hands together. "She's seen three cases just this month, all improved."

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