Page 55 of Nanny for the Minotaur

He's pushing me again, this time where everyone else can watch. And I don't care about letting my ruthlessness out if it'll teach him to keep his fucking mouth shut.

The merchants around us fall quiet, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

"Those poor calves." Marcus adjusts his gold horn rings, a calculated gesture. "They need a real mother figure. Someone who understands our ways, our traditions. Not some herb-witch who'll fill their heads with human nonsense-"

The chair crashes behind me as I surge to my feet. Seven feet and two inches of fury tower over the table, my shadow falling across Marcus's suddenly still form. The rings in my horns catch firelight as I lean forward, letting him see every hard-earned mark of my success.

"Say another word about my family." My voice drops to a rumble that vibrates the silverware. "Just one more word."

Marcus's blue eyes dart to the other merchants, seeking allies, but finds none. Even his usual supporters stare into their cups, unwilling to back this particular fight.

"I only meant-"

My fist slams the table. Plates jump. Wine sloshes. "You meant to do what you always do. Poison everything you touch with your bile." The words tear from my throat, years of accumulated rage breaking free. "You lost Cassandra to me. You lost the southern trade routes. And now you dare speak of my children?"

The gathered merchants press back in their chairs as my bulk casts longer shadows. Some of them have seen me in the arena. They know what happens when I lose control.

"Their mother," I snarl, "will be someone who loves them. Someone who sees their worth beyond their bloodline. Someone nothing like you or your poisonous ideas of 'tradition.'"

"Theron-"

I shake my head. We've done this over and over. I'm sick of it. He wants to put on a show for the guild? Fine. I'll give them a damn show.

"Let's go outside now." Marcus' eyes widen. "I challenge you."

Maybe it's the "commoner" in me, but I want to put this to a fucking end. And even though most merchants, anyone who isn't willing to get their hands dirty, don't challenge a rival, it is the minotaur way.

It's the only way for me to put an end to all of this.

The guild's courtyard fills within minutes, torchlight casting long shadows across ancient stone. Merchants crowd the covered walkways, their horn rings glinting as they jostle for position. No one wants to miss this - a formal challenge hasn't been issued in the guild for over a decade.

I strip off my formal jacket, the cool evening air raising gooseflesh on my arms. Across the fighting circle, Marcus removes his own finery with deliberate slowness, each movement calculated to project confidence.

"Terms?" Elder Thornhaven steps between us, his weathered face grave.

"When I win," Marcus's steel-gray fur bristles as he stretches, "Blackhorn Trading merges with my company. Under my leadership, naturally."

My jaw clenches. "And when I win, you never come within sight of my family again. No messages. No proxies. No 'chance' meetings at social gatherings. You leave Karona."

Marcus' jaw clenches but he nods. What a fucking fool.

"Witnessed and bound." Thornhaven raises his massive hands. "Challenge issued under the old laws. Victory by submission or unconsciousness only."

The crowd shifts closer as we take our positions. Marcus circles left, his movements fluid despite his softer physique. He's fought before - we all have. It's in our blood.

"You always were too emotional, Blackhorn." He feints, testing my guard. "That's why you'll never be true nobility.Letting a human into your home, raising your pure-blooded children with foreign ideas-"

I don't rise to the bait. Instead, I plant my hooves and wait, letting him waste breath on words. The same patience that built my trade empire will win this fight.

Marcus lunges, leading with his horns. I sidestep, noting how his expensive lifestyle has slowed him. His attack leaves him off-balance - exactly what I need.

My fist connects with his ribs. He stumbles back, eyes widening as he realizes his mistake. I'm not the same merchant who married Cassandra. Years of working alongside my crews, loading cargo and fighting off raiders, have hardened me beyond his soft noble lifestyle.

"Your problem, Marcus?" I advance, my bulk casting a shadow over his retreating form. "You never learned the difference between being born to power and earning it."

Marcus charges again, this time aiming lower. His polished horn rings flash in the torchlight as he tries to gore my midsection. I pivot, grabbing his shoulders and using his momentum to slam him into the ground. Dust billows around us.

"All those fancy rings." I drive my knee into his back, pinning him. "But when's the last time you earned one?"

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