Page 26 of Nanny for the Minotaur

"She never let me forget it. Every dinner, every social gathering, every moment we shared... there was always this wall between us." My grip tightens on the cup. "She'd been promised to Marcus Steelhorn since childhood. When our families arranged our match instead, she..." The bitterness of those memories rises like bile. "She made sure I knew I was her second choice. He's never gotten over it, either."

Lyra reaches across the table, her small hand resting near mine. Not touching, but close enough that I feel her warmth.

"The worst part?" My voice roughens. "When she was dying, after Mira came into this world... her last words weren't about love or regret. She asked me to love our children enough to make up for her. And I don't think she meant because she was going to be gone. I think she was finally admitting she never had."

"Oh, Theron." The way she says my name – soft, aching – breaks something loose in my chest. Lyra has always had an effect on me no one else has, and it's only getting worse.

"I've never told anyone that." I stare into my cup, watching ripples form in the amber liquid. "How do you tell people the mother of your children couldn't love them?"

"By trusting someone enough to share the weight." Lyra's fingers brush mine, feather-light. "You don't have to carry it alone anymore."

The kitchen windows begin to lighten, hinting at dawn's approach. Our tea has long gone cold, but neither of us moves to leave. Something in the quiet hours has cracked open between us, letting truth spill out.

Lyra tells me about traveling with a band of humans and learning about herbs, about saving anyone who needs it regardless of race or status. I tell her about my mother and what it was like growing up for me.

"I always wanted to make my family everything. A home where children's laughter echoed through every room. Where meals weren't formal affairs with perfect manners, but chances to share stories and plans." My throat tightens. "Where love wasn't measured by bloodlines or tradition."

"You've given that to Kai and Mira." Lyra's eyes hold mine, fierce and certain. "I see it every day – in how you listen to Kai's endless questions about trade routes, how you carry Mira on your shoulders even after exhausting days."

"Not enough. They deserve–" I swallow hard. "They deserve someone who can give them more than what I can." Because I'm too broken to do so properly, to even save my own daughter.

Lyra leans forward, close enough that I catch the gold flecks dancing in her green eyes. "Do you know what Mira told me yesterday? She said helping me gather herbs made her feel like she had a mother again." Her voice softens. "I've spent years moving between settlements, healing whoever needed me. But I never felt like I belonged until–" She catches her breath. "Until your children started running to greet me every morning. Until Kai began saving interesting rocks to show me. Until Mira started falling asleep in my lap during storytime."

Morning light spills through the windows now, painting everything in soft gold. It catches in Lyra's hair, turns her skin luminous. She's so close I can see the slight tremble in her lips as she speaks.

"I've always wanted a family to pour my heart into," she whispers. "Not just patients to heal and move on from. A home. Children to love. A place to plant roots and watch them grow."

I'm about to tell her she has that here, that maybe she could have so much more here with them - withme- but I don't get the chance.

The kitchen door creaks, and Mrs. Bramble's familiar footsteps break our moment. Her steel-gray bun appears first as she bustles in, already wearing her pristine black dress and white apron despite the early hour.

"Oh!" She stops short, but the surprise in her voice doesn't match the knowing gleam in her brown eyes. "I didn't expect anyone to be up yet."

Lyra rises from her chair, smoothing her nightgown. "I should get ready. The children will be awake soon."

My skin burns where her hand brushes my shoulder as she passes. The touch lingers, ghost-like, even after she's gone. I grip my teacup harder, trying to ground myself in its solid weight.

Mrs. Bramble hums as she starts her morning routine, pulling out pans with practiced efficiency. The sound is too cheerful, too knowing. She's worn that same expression since Lyra first arrived – like she's watching seeds she planted finally break soil.

"Don't start," I growl, but there's no heat in it.

"I haven't said a word, Master Theron." She cracks eggs into a bowl, her movements quick and sure. "Though if I did, I might mention how nice it is to see you sharing tea with someone again. The kitchen's been too quiet these past years."

I push back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. Standing doesn't help – I can still feel the phantom warmth of Lyra's presence, still smell herbs and sunshine in the air. The walls of pretense I've built crumble like sand. Every smile she's given my children, every gentle touch as she tendsMira's heart condition, every quiet moment of understanding between us... they've all been hammer blows to my defenses.

Damn it all. I can't keep pretending this is just gratitude anymore.

Especially not hours later when I go in search of Lyra and my kids. I'm tired of staring at trade routes and staying away from them. I don't care about what's proper or if I feel like Lyra is far more worthy of their attention than I am. I want to spend time with them.

Once I find them, I pause in the doorway, sun warming my back as I take in the scene before me. The solarium, once my mother's pride, has transformed under Lyra's care. Green tendrils climb the latticed windows, and potted herbs line shelves that stood empty for years. The musty air that lingered here has been replaced by the scent of growing things and fresh earth.

I didn't even know she had been doing this.

Lyra sits cross-legged on a worn cushion, copper hair escaping her practical braid as she gestures with the book in her lap. Mira leans against her side, silver-white fur gleaming in the sunlight, while Kai sprawls on his stomach at her feet. Their faces are rapt as she gives each character a different voice, bringing the story to life.

"But the merchant's daughter was clever," Lyra reads, her eyes sparkling. "She knew the dragon's weakness wasn't gold or jewels, but–"

"Riddles!" Mira bounces, then catches herself as Lyra steadies her with a gentle hand.

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