Page 50 of Nanny for the Minotaur

And Lyra... sweet, fierce Lyra deserves better than a broken minotaur twice her size with more emotional baggage than his merchant ships can carry. The way she tends to Mira's weak heart, how she stands toe-to-toe with me despite barely reaching my chest, unafraid to call me out on my bullshit. She's everything Cassandra wasn't.

But it doesn't matter. I have to remind myself that I can't move. Can't speak. Can't beg her to stay. Not when she deserves so much more.

The main door creaks open below. My muscles coil, every fiber screaming to charge down those stairs. But Cassandra's voice whispers in my head, "A merchant playing at nobility. Did you really think I could love someone like you?"

I press my forehead against the cold glass, horn rings clinking softly. The rain blurs everything beyond, just like the memories blur the line between past and present. Between what was and what could be.

The front door's final thud echoes through my empty study. I remain frozen at the window, watching Lyra's small figure disappear into the rain-soaked streets. My chest feels hollow, like someone's carved out everything inside.

A gentle knock breaks my trance. "Master Theron?" Mrs. Bramble's voice carries that particular tone she uses when she thinks I'm being particularly thick-headed.

"Not now." My voice comes out rougher than intended.

The door opens anyway. Mrs. Bramble's never been one to take my orders seriously, not since I was a calf stealing cookies from her kitchen. She crosses the room, her practical black dress rustling with each determined step.

"She left this." A cream-colored envelope appears on my desk. Lyra's neat handwriting spells out my name.

My fingers shake as I pick it up. The paper carries the faint scent of the healing herbs she always weaves into her hair.

Theron,

I know you're afraid. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me, every time you pull away. You think I'll be like her - cold, distant, using your children as pawns in some game.

I'm not Cassandra.

I don't care about your rings or your merchant status. I care about how you read to Mira every night, even after exhausting trade meetings. How you teach Kai to be strong without losing his gentleness. How you pretend not to notice when I rearrange your entire healing supplies because your organization is terrible.

I would choose you - all of you - over anyone else. Not because you're the richest merchant in the city, but because you're you. Gruff and stubborn and wonderful.

But I won't force my way in where I'm not wanted. I won't watch you hide behind your walls, keeping me held away from you. I'd brave everything else…if you just wanted me, too.

The choice is yours.

- Lyra

The paper crumples in my grip. Each word strips away another layer of the armor I've built around myself since Cassandra's death.

A roar tears from my throat, primal and raw. The walls shake, papers scattering from my desk like startled birds. My horns catch the edge of a shelf as I slam my fist into the wall again, sending books tumbling.

The letter flutters to the ground, Lyra's words burning in my mind. Each careful stroke of her pen strips away another layer of excuses I've built.

The door flies open. Mrs. Bramble stands there, her gray bun slightly askew, brown eyes sharp as ever. She takes in the chaos - the dent in my wall, the scattered papers, my shoulders heaving as I struggle to contain the storm inside.

"You're not the beast you think you are, sir." Her voice carries the same steady tone she used when I was a calf scraping my knees in her garden.

I bare my teeth, but she doesn't flinch. Never has. "Look at this." I gesture to the destruction around me. "I'm exactly what they say I am. A common merchant who can't control his temper."

"What I see," she steps over a fallen ledger, "is a father who loves his kids. A widow who deserves someone to really care for him."

My legs give out. I sink into my chair, the wood groaning under my weight. "I'll destroy her, just like-"

"Like Cassandra?" Mrs. Bramble's voice turns sharp. "That woman destroyed herself with her own pride. Miss Lyra isn't made of porcelain, and you're not the monster you pretend to be." She shakes her head. "You are both so worried of not being right for the other that you won't even get out of your own way."

Maybe she's right…

But I'm not willing to corrupt Lyra. To drag her down where she doesn't belong.

So if it's for her own good, I'll keep standing in my own way.

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