Page 54 of Nanny for the Minotaur

I sink to my knees beside the bed, careful not to wake them. The truth I've been fighting crashes over me like a wave: I've made a terrible mistake. My stubborn pride, my fear of appearing weak - I've let it hurt the very ones I swore to protect.

The emptiness in my home, the pain in my children's eyes - it's not just about losing a healer or even a friend. We've lost the heart of our family, and I'm the fool who pushed her away.

The floorboards creak under my weight as I rise from beside the children's sleeping forms. My knees protest - I've been kneeling there longer than I realized. A knock at the front door echoes through the quiet house.

Dex's massive frame fills the doorway, his horn rings catching the lamplight. "You look like shit."

I grunt, stepping aside to let him in. His green eyes scan the entrance hall, taking in the wilting flowers Mrs. Bramble hasn't replaced and the thin layer of dust on the banister.

"Heard about the dinner disaster." He follows me to my study, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. "Marcus is spreading it around that Mira had some kind of fit."

My hand finds the bottle of brandy without looking. The cut on my palm stings as I pour.

"This place..." Dex trails off, running a finger along the herb-drying rack Lyra installed. It stands empty now, the twine hanging limp. "It's like all the light got sucked out. Even your staff moves different - like they're walking through fog."

I down my drink rather than answer.

"Remember when you used to be this miserable all the time?" He settles his bulk into the chair across from me, the wood groaning. "Before she came? Then suddenly there was laughter in these halls. Life. Your children started blooming instead of just surviving."

"If you came to lecture me-"

"Some beasts are meant to be tamed, old friend." His voice carries none of its usual playful edge. "Not broken or changed - just... gentled. Given a reason to lower their horns and let someone close."

The brandy burns in my throat, but it can't touch the cold emptiness inside of me. Dex's words hit deeper than Marcus's sneers or Mrs. Bramble's disappointment. Because he's right - I had let Lyra gentle me, let her warmth thaw the ice around my heart. And in return, I'd...

"The children were sleeping in her room again," I manage.

Dex nods, his expression heavy with understanding. "They miss their mother."

The word strikes like a physical blow. Because that's what she'd become to them, hadn't she? Not just a healer or a friend, but the mother they'd never truly had. And I'd taken that from them too.

28

THERON

Istand at the head of the Merchant Guild's grand table, surrounded by the finest silver cups and imported delicacies money can buy. The contract sits before me, its fresh ink glistening - my name bold against the parchment, claiming exclusive rights to the southern trade routes.

Marcus' face twists as he raises his cup in a forced toast. "To Blackhorn Trading Company's... innovation." The word drips with venom. Several of his supporters shift uncomfortably in their seats, their horns catching the lamplight as they exchange glances.

"Your father would be proud," Elder Thornhaven rumbles, clapping my shoulder. His massive frame towers even over mine, adorned with gold rings that mark decades of successful trades.

But all I can think of is how Lyra would have squeezed my hand under the table, her tiny fingers warm against my palm. How Kai would have peppered me with questions about the island's strange beasts, while Mira begged for stories of the sea.

"Tell us your strategy, Blackhorn." A younger merchant leans forward, his fresh horn-rings marking him as newly elevated. "How did you secure the southern chiefs' support?"

I take a slow drink, buying time. The imported wine tastes flat. "Persistence. Respect for their customs." My voice sounds distant to my own ears, mechanical. "Understanding their needs."

The irony isn't lost on me. I can navigate delicate negotiations with foreign powers, but I couldn't keep one small human healer from walking out my door.

Servants weave between the gathered merchants, replacing empty plates with exotic fruits and spiced meats. The scents that should make my mouth water only remind me of Lyra experimenting in the kitchen, trying to recreate healing recipes from distant lands.

"A toast!" Someone calls out. "To the most profitable trade deal of the season!"

Cups raise. Horns gleam. Wealthy merchants who once sneered at my common background now smile and scrape. Everything I've worked for, everything I thought I wanted.

But without three sets of eyes lighting up at my return home, without gentle hands checking me for injuries after long journeys, without that copper hair catching the sunset as she waits on the front steps... what's the point of any of it?

Marcus swirls his wine, his steel-gray fur bristling with barely concealed malice. "Such a shame about your... domestic situation. As I tried to tell you, my wife knows several excellent governesses that could help. Pure-blooded minotaur, of course. Not some human playing at being a proper lady."

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