Page 13 of Nanny for the Minotaur

He nods, then his blue eyes dart to the staircase. "Oh..."

I follow his gaze and forget how to breathe. Lyra descends the stairs in the green silk gown I'd commissioned on impulse last week when I decided to take the whole family with me. It's not uncommon for others to. I've just never done so.

The deep forest color catches the lamplight, making the fabric shimmer like sunlight through leaves. Her copper hair, usually practical in its herbal-woven braids, falls in loose wavespast her shoulders. She's left most of it free, with just two small braids crowned around her head.

My chest constricts at how the gown highlights her petite frame while somehow making her seem taller, more regal. The effect is... devastating.

How am I going to be able to do anything but stare at her all night?

Mira squeals from her perch on the bottom step, her silver-white fur gleaming against her purple dress. "You look like a princess!" She claps her small hands together.

Kai, ever serious, shakes his head. "No, she looks like one of the forest spirits from her healing stories. The ones who help lost travelers."

A blush colors Lyra's cheeks, but her chin lifts with characteristic determination. "Well, I feel more like a child playing dress-up." Her green eyes meet mine, gold flecks dancing. "Though I suppose that was the point - to look the part of a proper merchant's..." She trails off, uncertainty flickering across her face.

The word 'wife' hangs unspoken between us. My hands itch to touch her, to trace the curve where the silk hugs her waist. Instead, I clear my throat. "You look..." Beautiful. Enchanting. Perfect. "...suitable for the occasion."

Her eyebrow arches, a familiar spark of challenge in her expression. Before she can respond, Mira tugs at the gown's skirt. "Can I have one just like it when I'm big?"

I lift her into my arms. "You can have whatever you want." I know I spoil her, but I can't help it. Not when I know I won’t have to worry about her collapsing from excitement tonight - all because of Lyra.

I look over Kai and back up to Lyra, swallowing hard. She looks even more beautiful now. This is going to be a long night. But I'll try to hold it together.

"Let's go."

The dining hall buzzes with the usual mix of business talk and barely concealed rivalries. Marcus settles into the seat across from me, his steel-gray fur immaculate as always. Those gold rings in his horns catch the light with each calculated tilt of his head.

"Theron, I heard the southern route's been giving you trouble." His cold blue eyes flick to Lyra beside me. "Though I suppose with your... domestic situation, business concerns might take second place these days."

I grip my fork tighter, but Lyra's hand brushes my arm under the table. The touch steadies me.

"Actually," Lyra leans forward, her voice carrying just enough to draw attention without seeming to try, "I've been fascinated by the trade implications of the southern healing houses. Their method of processing goldroot bark preserves the medicinal properties far longer than traditional techniques."

Marcus blinks, clearly thrown off script. Other merchants pause their conversations, turning to listen.

"The preservation method doubles the herb's shelf life," she continues, "which means ships could transport larger quantities without risk of spoilage. Particularly useful for those longer southern routes, wouldn't you say?"

I hide my smile behind my wine glass. She's been paying attention to more than just my children's scrapes and fevers.

Old Hornsworth, three seats down, strokes his graying beard. "You know your herbs, young lady. We lost a whole shipment last season to moisture damage."

"Perhaps," Lyra's eyes sparkle with that fierce intelligence I've come to admire, "a partnership between healing houses and merchant vessels could benefit both? The houses get wider distribution, the merchants get expert advice on proper storage..."

The conversation flows from there, with even the most traditional merchants leaning in to hear her insights. Marcus sits back, his carefully planned barbs forgotten as trade possibilities are discussed.

I should be watching my rivals, reading their reactions, planning counter-moves. Instead, I can't take my eyes off Lyra. She moves between conversations with grace, equally comfortable discussing treatment methods with the human merchant's wife to her left and debating profit margins with the minotaur trade minister across the table. The green silk of her gown shifts like living leaves as she gestures, her copper hair catching the lamplight.

She belongs here, I realize. Not because she's trying to fit in, but because she's carved out her own space between our worlds.

The musicians strike up a familiar tune, and Mira's amber eyes light up. She tugs at my sleeve, her silver-white fur practically glowing in the warm lamplight.

"Papa, can we stay? Please? Just one dance?"

I should say no. She's had a long day, and her heart condition means we need to be careful. But there's such hope in her small face, such yearning to be part of this world that often excludes her.

"Very well. One dance." I scoop her up, setting her tiny hooves on my feet. "I'll teach you the Warrior's Welcome. It's slower than the others."

Lyra watches from her seat, lips curved in a soft smile as I position Mira's arms. "Keep your right arm up, like you're holding a shield," I explain. "The left arm sweeps out - that's your sword arm."

---