Page 53 of Nanny for the Minotaur

Kai wraps his arms around my leg, and I feel his silent question too. The mansion looms around us, too big, too quiet, too empty without the tiny healer who somehow filled every corner with life.

I carry Mira to her bed, her small form still shaking. Kai helps tuck her in, his serious expression a mirror of my own as she drifts into an exhausted sleep.

In the hallway, Mrs. Bramble's footsteps click against the wooden floors with sharp, deliberate strikes. The sound follows me down the corridor like an accusation. She yanks open the curtains with more force than necessary, her usual grace replaced by rigid movements.

"The children barely touched their breakfast again." She slams a silver tray onto the side table. Her steel-gray bun, typically pristine, has loose strands breaking free. "And young Miss Mira's heart medicine is running low. We need-"

She cuts herself off, but I hear the unspoken word. We need Lyra.

Mrs. Bramble comes closer, adjusting my collar with sharp tugs. "The children need stability, sir." Her fingers pause on my lapel. "They need-"

"I know what they need." My voice comes out rougher than intended.

She steps back, pressing her lips into a thin line. The same expression she wore when I made mistakes as a calf. "Do you, sir? Do you really?"

Mrs. Bramble's words follow me through the day, haunting my thoughts until evening falls. The dining room gleams with polished silver and fresh flowers - her attempt to impress the Ironhoof trading company representatives.

"The northern route shows promising returns." Marcus' nasal voice grates across my nerves as servants bring the first course. I hate that he's here, but he's a member of the guild's council so I'm stuck with him. His horn rings catch the candlelight, too numerous, too showy. "Though some say the area's grown unstable since you... withdrew your presence."

I grip my fork harder. The metal bends.

Kai sits ramrod straight beside me, copying my posture as he always does. But his eyes keep drifting to the empty chair where Lyra used to sit, helping Mira cut her meat into tiny pieces.

"Papa, my chest feels funny." Mira pushes her plate away, her silver-white fur dull in the lamplight.

"Just a few bites, sweetheart." I reach for the patience Lyra always showed. "Like we practiced-"

"No!" Mira's lip trembles. "I want Mama! I want Miss Lyra!"

The words echo through sudden silence. Marcus's wife gasps softly, her perfectly manicured hands flying to her throat. Their daughter whispers something behind her napkin.

"Poor dear," Marcus's wife simpers. "It must be so difficult, without a proper mother figure."

Mira's sobs grow louder. Tears mat her fur as she hiccups, "She - she always knew how to make the medicine taste good. And - and she braided my fur special so it wouldn't tangle-"

"Perhaps," Marcus drawls, "it's time to consider a more... suitable arrangement. My sister knows several excellent governesses-"

The crystal goblet shatters in my grip. Red wine spreads across white linen like blood.

"Papa's hand!" Mira wails harder.

Kai jumps up, napkin already out to stem the bleeding, but I barely feel the cuts. All I see is the pity in their eyes. The knowing looks. The silent judgment.

And for once, I can't blame Marcus's schemes or Cassandra's ghost or the cruel whispers of society. This wound - this emptiness in my home, in my children's hearts - I carved it myself.

After Marcus and his family finally leave, I retreat to my study. The cut on my palm throbs, poorly wrapped by my own clumsy attempts. Lyra would have cleaned and bandaged it properly, scolding me the whole time about my temper.

The house creaks with midnight silence. My rounds take me past empty rooms, each step heavier than the last. The children's beds lie cold and untouched.

A faint herbal scent draws me toward Lyra's old room. The door stands ajar, moonlight spilling across the simple furnishings she left behind. My breath catches.

Kai and Mira lie tangled together on her bed. Mira's silver-white fur glows in the darkness, her tiny form curled protectively around her brother's middle. Kai's black fur blends with the shadows, but his blue eyes - so like his mother's - flutter beneath closed lids. Dried tear tracks matt both their faces.

Bundles of dried herbs still hang from the ceiling - rirzed herb, bluefrost, moonbloom - their lingering fragrance a ghost of Lyra's presence. A half-empty jar of heart medicine sits on the bedside table, the last batch she made before... before I drove her away.

My children shouldn't be seeking comfort in an empty room, clinging to fading memories of warmth. The sight crackssomething deep in my chest, shattering the walls of pride and fear I've hidden behind.

Mira whimpers in her sleep, one small hand clutching the herb-stained apron Lyra forgot in her haste to leave. Kai's arm tightens around his sister, even in sleep trying to protect her from hurt - from the hurt I caused.

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