Page 41 of Nanny for the Minotaur

The morning air carries the scent of my herb garden. Emkia trails her fingers over a flowering moonbloom, her tail swishing thoughtfully.

"I know what it's like," she says finally. "Loving someone they don't approve of. My brother and I were always different from them."

So she is his sister. I can see it now, how similar they look, and I'm relieved she isn't here to admonish her brother, too.

My hands still on a blooming leaf. "What do you mean?"

"His name was James." Her voice catches. "A human merchant who traded spices from the other continents. He had the most beautiful laugh... but the aunts..." She swallows hard. "After our parents died, they became our guardians. They said it would ruin the family name."

"What happened?"

"They arranged a 'proper' marriage instead. He's in the southern part of the continent now, with a wife and children of his own." Her fingers tremble on the moonbloom petals. "Sometimes I wonder if I should have fought harder. Been braver."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She turns, gripping my hands. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "That's why I can't let them do the same to Theron. Or those children. The way Mira looks at you... it's how I used to look at my mother."

The weight of her words settles between us like a physical thing. In the distance, we can still hear the aunts' harsh whispers, but they seem less threatening now.

"They won't understand," she says softly. "But I do."

Emkia's words linger in the garden air as shouts erupt from inside. The aunts' voices rise in a crescendo of outrage, punctuated by Theron's deeper rumble. I hurry back through the kitchen door, Emkia close behind.

"This discussion is finished." Theron blocks the dining room doorway, his massive frame casting a shadow over his relatives. His tail sweeps back and forth, a warning sign I've learned to read.

"It most certainly is not!" The eldest aunt jabs a bejeweled finger toward the stairs where Kai and Mira peek through the railings. "Those children deserve-"

"Those children deserve peace in their own home." Mrs. Bramble's calm voice cuts through the chaos as she appears with a fresh pot of tea. Her gray hair remains perfectly pinned despite the morning's upheaval. "Perhaps we should all take a breath?"

One aunt's nostrils flare. "You forget your place, servant."

"And you forget whose house this is." Mrs. Bramble sets down the teapot with a decisive clink. "I've served three generations of Blackhorns, and I know when guests have overstayed their welcome."

The aunts gather their skirts in a rustle of silk, horn jewelry jangling as they toss their heads in unified disapproval. They sweep toward the door in a wave of perfume and prejudice.

Emkia hangs back, her simpler copper horn band catching the light as she kneels to hug Mira and Kai. "Be good for your father," she whispers, then louder, "And Miss Lyra too."

The pointed addition makes the aunts' tails lash as they wait impatiently by the door. But Emkia takes her time, squeezing my hand and touching Theron's arm before joining her sisters.

Mrs. Bramble closes the door behind them with quiet finality. Her brown eyes, sharp as ever, sweep over us all before she straightens her pristine apron. "Well then. Who's ready for fresh sweetbread?"

21

THERON

The morning sun filters through the dining room's tall windows as I scan the urgent message for the third time. The trade routes to the south - completely open. No competition. The potential profits make my head spin, but the timeline...

"Papa, don't go." Mira's tiny hands clutch my forearm, her big amber eyes - so like mine - brimming with tears. The sight twists something in my chest.

"It's only for a few weeks, little one." I stroke her dark curls, so different from her mother's straight blonde hair. "You'll barely notice I'm gone."

"A few weeks?" Kai pushes his porridge away. "You're never gone that long."

I catch Lyra's gaze across the table. She's trying to keep her expression neutral, but worry creases the corners of her bright green eyes. Her fingers fidget with the herbs braided into her copper hair - a nervous habit I've noticed.

"We'll be alright," she says softly, though her small frame tense. "Your father will be back soon enough."

Neither of my kids look very convinced, and I'm just grateful she's willing to

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