Page 12 of Nanny for the Minotaur

We work in silence for several minutes, his large hands carefully steadying the basket as I clip stems and strip leaves. A father's love radiates from every careful movement, every gentle touch to avoid crushing my herbs.

"I know you want what's best for her," I finally say.

"I failed her," he whispers, and the anguish in his voice hurts me, too. I didn't mean to bring that on him. "By not questioning Cassandra's choices. By not fighting harder for proper care."

My fingers brush his as I place another flower in the basket. "You're fighting now. That's what matters."

A moonflower stem catches my eye - perfect, unblemished petals glowing in the dim light. I reach for it just as Theron's hand extends toward the same bloom. Our fingers collide, his dark fur brushing against my skin. The contact sends a jolt through my arm, like touching a heated stone after a winter chill.

His hand dwarfs mine, strong fingers marked with calluses from years of working despite his merchant status. The silver rings in his horns catch the moonlight as he freezes, neither of us pulling away. My pulse quickens at the gentle press of his palm against my knuckles, the careful way his claws avoid scratching my skin.

The moonflowers sway in a gentle breeze, their silvery petals dancing around our joined hands. My herbs release their night-sweet scent, mixing with the earthy musk that always surrounds him. Time stretches like honey dripping from a comb, each heartbeat marked by the warmth of his touch.

His amber eyes meet mine, something unspoken passing between us. The gruff merchant who bellowed at me hours ago seems transformed in the garden's ethereal light, his features softened by shadows and starlight.

It's the first time that I've really been alone with him, and he's even more handsome up close. His fur is so soft, and I want to run my hands through it, to explore his muscular body beneath.

But I know I shouldn't.

Withdrawing, I swallow hard. "Do you want me to show you how to brew some of the medicine? So you know?"

He nods. "I'd like that."

We make our way to the kitchen, my basket of fresh moonflowers swaying between us. The familiar space feels different at this late hour - intimate, with only a few oil lamps casting a warm glow over the worn wooden counters.

"First, we'll need to crush these." I spread my collection across the work surface. "Similar to how you'd prepare trade spices, but with a lighter touch."

Theron picks up the pestle, his massive hands adjusting their grip. "Show me."

I guide him through the motions, demonstrating the careful pressure needed to release the moonflowers' essence without bruising them. His amber eyes focus intently on each movement, the same concentration I've seen him use when examining trade contracts.

"Like this?" He grinds the pestle with surprising delicacy, his black fur stark against the silvery petals.

"Perfect." I measure out dried herbs from my stores. "Now we'll add warroya. The proportions must be exact."

He nods, reaching for the measuring spoons. His merchant's precision serves him well as he portions each ingredient, checking twice before adding them to our mixture. The familiar scents of my workroom blend with his earthy musk, creating something new and unexpectedly pleasant.

"You're a natural," I say, watching him stir the brewing tea. "Most people rush this part."

"Trading taught me patience." His deep voice softens. "Though apparently not enough to listen when a healer tells me uncomfortable truths."

I touch his arm briefly. "You listened when it mattered."

As we work, I notice how he remembers each step after being shown only once, how his massive hands handle my delicate tools with the same care he shows his daughter. This proud merchant, who hours ago roared at me for questioning his traditions, now stands in his kitchen learning what he can for his daughter.

Later, in my small study, I open my treatment journal. By candlelight, I add a new entry. But I find it hard to focus when all I can think about is Theron's gentle touch and the kind nature that seems to be hiding beneath his gruff exterior.

It makes me want to know more.

7

THERON

Iadjust my formal jacket for the hundredth time, the fine fabric suddenly feeling too tight across my shoulders. The quarterly Merchant's Guild dinner always brings out the worst of the politics, and Marcus will be circling like a vulture. He's been insufferable since securing that spice contract with the southern territories. He thinks it makes him a better merchant than me, but he's really just an ass.

"Papa, is your neck itchy too?" Kai tugs at his own stiff collar, his young face scrunched in discomfort. Despite his tender age, he stands straight-backed in his formal attire, trying to mirror my posture.

"Here." I kneel down, loosening his top button. "Better?"

---