Page 46 of Nanny for the Minotaur

I look around, searching for Lyra. But she's not here. I see Mrs. Bramble in the kitchen, her face grim.

"Papa?" Kai's voice finally breaks through the tension. "Lyra is...she's leaving."

The words hit harder than any physical blow. My fingers dig into the chair's wooden back, threatening to splinter it.

"Is she now." Not a question. I straighten to my full height, horns nearly brushing the ceiling beams.

She's leaving? Was she just waiting for me to come home to pack up her things? I hate the way I feel so blindsided, rushing all the way home to her only to find that she's trying to get away from me.

Mira's bottom lip trembles. "Don't let her go."

I force my expression neutral, the same mask I wear during difficult trade negotiations. Because I can't force her to stay. "If that's her choice-"

"But she doesn't want to!" Mira's outburst sends her into a coughing fit. Kai immediately moves to rub her back, shooting me an accusatory look with those damn blue eyes.

"Finish your dinner." I turn sharply, my hooves striking the floor with controlled precision as I head toward the study. Each step feels heavier than the last.

The door is open. Lyra kneels by her healing chest, methodically sorting dried herbs into labeled pouches. Hercopper hair falls in a messy braid down her back, threaded with sprigs I now recognize. She doesn't look up when I enter.

"So." My voice comes out clipped. Professional. "You're leaving."

"It's for the best." Her hands don't pause in their work, but I catch the slight tremor in them. "I've written down all of Mira's treatments. You just have to give them to her."

"Are you just-" I cut myself off, forcing down the growl building in my throat. "Very well. I'll have your payment ready in the morning."

"I'll need one more day to finish getting everything in order, if that's okay."

"Fine." My voice is so low that it sounds like it's anythingbutfine. "I'll have your payment then."

She finally looks up, those green-gold eyes flashing. "Is that all this was to you? A business transaction?"

"Wasn't it?" The words taste like ash, but I keep my expression stern. Distant. It's easier this way. Safer. "I hired you to heal my daughter. You've done that. Contract fulfilled."

Her jaw tightens. She turns back to her herbs, shoulders rigid. "Then I suppose there's nothing left to discuss, Mr. Blackhorn."

The formal address stings more than it should. I give her a curt nod she doesn't see and stride out, leaving the door open behind me. Better to end it clean. Better to let her go before...before what? Before she leaves on her own? Before she realizes a human healer could do better than attaching herself to a widowed minotaur merchant with two young children?

I stalk through the darkening halls, not even sure where to go. Each step feels heavier than the last, my rings clicking. I've been restless in the hours since I've been home, avoiding everyone else as I wander, trying to place the feelings that have been tearing at me. The children should be asleep by now -another day ending without their customary bedtime stories. Another tradition slipping away.

A whispered conversation stops me outside their rooms. My ears flick forward, catching Mira's trembling voice through the partially open door.

"Did we do something wrong, Kai? Is that why Mama's leaving?"

That guts me. I stop, leaning in to listen, knowing that Mira has asked me before why Cassandra left her. But this is so much worse.

"No, silly." Kai's voice carries that forced maturity no six-year-old should need. "Lyra's not our real mama anyway."

"But she braids my fur and sings the moon song and-" Mira's words dissolve into wet coughs.

I should move. Should stride in there and comfort them, explain things properly. Instead, I stand frozen, my shadow stretching long and dark across the hallway floor.

"She makes Papa smile." Mira's voice comes smaller now. "He doesn't smile like that at anyone else."

"Stop it, Mira." Kai's tone sharpens, so like his mother's it makes my chest ache. "You'll just make yourself sick again. Lyra's leaving, just like-" He catches himself, but the unspoken comparison hangs in the air.

Just like everyone else leaves us.

The wall creaks under my grip. I force my fingers to relax before I put a hole through the paneling. My children shouldn't have to comfort each other in the dark. Shouldn't have to brace themselves for another loss.

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