Page 18 of Nanny for the Minotaur

Dex's usual jovial expression softens. "I remember. You started wearing those high collars, speaking like some stuffed-horn nobleman."

"Had to. She'd..." The memory stings. "She'd correct my 'common' speech at dinner. Said I embarrassed her in front of the other merchants' wives."

"And now?"

My chest tightens as I think of breakfast this morning – Lyra perched on two cushions to reach the table properly, teaching Kai to braid herbs while Mira giggled at her brother's clumsy attempts. The way she'd touched my arm, casual and warm, when asking me to pass the bread.

"That's what makes it worse." I drag a hand down my face. "With Lyra, it feels... real. Like I finally understand what everyone else meant about family. And I can't—" My voice breaks. "I can't stop feeling guilty that my children are happier with a stranger than they ever were with their own mother."

"Theron." Dex's massive frame leans forward, his green eyes serious. "I watched you disappear behind those merchant masks. Watched you measure every word, every gesture, until I barely recognized my friend. But now?" He gestures at my rolled sleeves, my loosened collar. "When's the last time you worried about looking 'common' before Lyra?"

The question hits like a physical blow. I can't remember.

I leave the tavern before Dex can pry open any more wounds. The walk home through darkened streets does nothing to settle my thoughts, each step echoing with uncomfortable truths.

The manor's familiar silhouette looms ahead, but something's different tonight. Light spills from the library windows, painting golden rectangles across the front garden. Strange – the children should be in bed by now.

My boots fall silent as I approach the open library doors. The sight inside freezes me mid-step.

Lyra's curled in my mother's ancient reading chair, copper-red hair escaping its practical braid. Her usual earth-toned dress is wrinkled, pockets still bulging with the day's collected herbs. Both children nestle against her like puzzle pieces finding their home. Kai's black fur contrasts sharply with his sister's silver-white, his gangly frame protective even in sleep. Mira's tiny hand clutches Lyra's skirts, her face peaceful in a way I rarely see.

A massive tome about magical beasts lies open across Lyra's lap, her fingers still marking their place. Several more books scatter around the chair's base, evidence of an impromptu story session.

My chest constricts. This is everything I'd wanted for them, everything Cassandra could never give. The warmth, the casual intimacy of family – not the rigid formality of our previous life.

Lyra's head rests at an awkward angle that will hurt come morning. A strand of copper hair falls across her face, and my fingers itch to brush it away. The gold flecks in her eyes are hidden now, but I remember how they spark when she challenges me, how they soften when she tends to Mira's weak heart.

I shouldn't want this. Shouldn't crave the way she's carved out space in our lives, filling corners I didn't even know were empty. But watching her breathe slowly, my children secure in her embrace, I can't remember why.

A floorboard creaks behind me, and I catch Mrs. Bramble's familiar scent – rirzed herb soap and fresh bread – before she speaks.

"They've been like that for hours." Her whisper carries decades of affection. "Miss Lyra insisted on reading just one more story until they all dozed off."

My throat tightens. "I should get them to bed."

"She's nothing like Cassandra." Mrs. Bramble's words slice through my defenses with surgical precision. "That's what's got you standing here instead of going in, isn't it?"

The truth of it hits like a physical blow. Where Cassandra maintained careful distance, Lyra draws them close. Where my wife measured affection in proper doses, this small human woman gives it freely, abundantly.

"That's what terrifies me," I admit, the words barely audible.

Mrs. Bramble's weathered hand pats my arm. "Good. Means you're finally waking up."

I move before the emotion can overwhelm me. Kai stirs as I lift him, his gangly limbs arranging themselves around my neck with practiced ease. His blue eyes – Cassandra's eyes – flutter open briefly.

"Papa?" he mumbles. "We were learning about healing herbs..."

"Sleep, little warrior." My childhood nickname, the one that my mother would call me in moments like this, slips out naturally now. When had that happened?

Lyra's eyes open as I return for Mira. The gold flecks catch the lamplight as she carefully extracts herself from my daughter's grip.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, voice husky with sleep. "They wanted stories about healing plants, and time got away from us."

Mira's slight weight settles against my chest, her silver-white fur gleaming. She burrows closer, small fingers curling into myshirt, and I savor it. I savor every moment that I feel like I'm finally doing right by her.

"Here, let me help." Lyra's already moving toward Mira's room, pulling back covers and arranging pillows. Her hands are sure but gentle as she helps me tuck my daughter in, checking the charm that monitors Mira's heart with practiced care.

Our fingers brush as we smooth the blanket. The contact sends warmth shooting up my arm, and I let it linger longer than necessary.

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