Page 43 of Nanny for the Minotaur

"Quite the coincidence, finding you here." Marcus's smirk stretches across his face as he boards via gangplank, his steel-gray fur gleaming with oils and his horns dripping with gold rings. The sight of him sets my teeth on edge.

"No coincidence at all, I'd wager." My voice comes out as a low growl.

He circles me like a predator, those cold blue eyes calculating. "You always were clever, Blackhorn. Though not clever enough to see through that forged trade notice."

My fists clench. "What game are you playing?"

"While you're chasing phantoms in the south seas, your household lies unprotected." He adjusts his silk cravat with manicured fingers. "Such a shame about that new human woman you've taken in. The council might need to... investigate her fitness as a caretaker for noble-born children."

The deck boards crack under my hooves as I advance. "If you dare touch them-"

"You'll what? You're already a week away from home, exactly as planned." His smile widens, showing too many teeth. "Your reputation or your family, Blackhorn. By the time you make it back, either your trade contracts will be in shambles, or that pretty little human will have…met my friends on the council. Your choice."

The ship's railing splinters in my grip. Every instinct screams to throw him overboard, but that would only prove his point about "violent merchant stock" to the council. Marcus knows exactly how to play this game - he's had years of practice wielding propriety as a weapon.

I turn to the Captain. "Plot a course for home. Full sail."

"Running back to your human?" Marcus laughs. "And here I thought you had your father's business sense. Seems you inherited his weakness for their kind instead."

My response is lost in the crack of canvas as the crew scrambles to change course. Let Marcus have his moment of triumph. Some things matter more than pride or profit.

The southern wind whips through my fur as I stand at the helm, my silver rings catching the harsh sunlight. Each nautical mile north feels like an eternity. Marcus's words echo in my head, mixing with memories of copper hair and defiant green eyes.

"We're losing the favorable winds." The Captain's voice carries across the deck. "The southern route-"

"To hell with the southern route. I want to get home.Now."

He doesn't argue. No one has ever seen me like this. I've spent years building up my reputation, proving that I am worthy of the merchant rank. Now I'm throwing it all away for a human healer who barely reaches my chest.

The thought brings an unexpected smile to my face. Father would understand, I think. He chose duty over love and regretted it until his dying day. I watch the horizon, remembering his haunted eyes whenever he spoke of the human woman he left behind.

I've spent years building walls, protecting myself with gruff words and stern looks. Yet somehow Lyra slipped through them all, armed with nothing but herb bundles and that stubborn tilt of her chin. The thought of Marcus's cronies threatening her, having anyone go after her...

A growl rumbles in my chest. Let them try. Let them come after my family with their proper bloodlines and ancient traditions. They'll learn why merchants who cross me never try twice.

My father chose duty. I choose love.

22

LYRA

The morning sun streams through the tall windows of Theron's home, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floors. I kneel beside Mira, my hands steady as I press them against her small chest, counting each beat of her heart. The rhythm is strong and even - so different from the erratic flutter I first encountered months ago.

"Deep breath for me, sweetheart."

Mira inhales dramatically, her amber eyes twinkling with mischief. Her silver-white fur catches the light, healthy and lustrous where it once was dull. She's wearing her favorite yellow dress today, insisting it matches the morning sun.

"Can I go play now?" She bounces on her toes, barely containing her energy.

"One more." I listen to her chest again, though I already know what I'll find. Each strong beat confirms what I've been seeing over the past weeks - she's ready. The medicine regimen is working exactly as intended and she doesn't need me hovering over her.

Not when Theron and Mrs. Bramble can make her tonics. Not when Kai knows her stretches and she's well enough to run around - to keep her heartrate up that way like a normal kid.

The moment I nod, she's off like an arrow, her hooves clicking against the floor as she races down the hallway. The sound of her laughter echoes through the house, pure and unfettered by the breathlessness that used to plague her.

I gather my herbs and supplies with trembling fingers, tucking them into the various pockets of my dress. The leather-bound notebook where I've tracked her progress sits heavy in my hands. Every measurement, every improvement, every setback - documented in careful detail. Maya will need these notes to continue preparing Mira's medicine. Medicine that Mrs. Bramble will get because they won't need me anymore.

A crash sounds from somewhere in the house, followed by Mira's giggling "Oops!"

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