Page 9 of Nanny for the Minotaur

Kai whimpers in his sleep, a small sound that pierces straight through my practiced healer's detachment. Before I can think better of it, I reach out and smooth his fur, humming the same lullaby my mother sang during long nights treating patients. His breathing steadies, tension melting from his shoulders.

My training taught me to maintain professional distance, to heal bodies without entangling myself in lives. But watching this brave, serious boy finally rest without nightmares, I know it'salready too late for such caution. These children have worked their way under my skin like healing roots breaking through stone.

And I fear their father is next.

5

THERON

Ilean against the kitchen doorframe, my arms crossed over my chest as I watch Lyra guide Mira's tiny hands in sprinkling herbs over the roasting meat. The kitchen's warmth seeps into my fur, carrying the rich aroma of rosemary and thyme.

"Like this?" Kai stretches up on his tiptoes, carefully measuring dried basilisk root into a wooden spoon. His serious expression mirrors the one he wears during his lessons.

"Perfect." Lyra's copper braid swings as she nods. I hate how I keep staring at it, how I want to untangle that braid and see her long strands flowing around her face. "That'll give the sauce just the right kick without overwhelming it." She winks at him, and a small smile breaks through his solemn demeanor.

Fuck, that does something to my heart.

"I help too!" Mira bounces on her stool, silver-white fur glowing in the lamplight. Her enthusiasm nearly tips her over, but Lyra's steady hand catches her before I can move.

"You're my best helper." Lyra adjusts Mira's position with practiced ease. "Now, what comes next in our recipe?"

"Salt!" Mira claps her hands.

"That's right, little one." Lyra's green eyes meet mine over Mira's head, warm with understanding. She doesn't coddle Mira like the servants do, doesn't treat her like she might break. Instead, she's found ways to let Mira participate while keeping her safe.

Kai shifts closer to his sister, measuring spoon forgotten as he steadies her stool. The protective gesture is so familiar it aches – he's been looking out for her since she could crawl. But tonight there's something lighter in his movements, less burden and more brotherhood.

The tightness that's lived between my shoulder blades since Cassandra's death eases slightly. These dinners used to be exercises in proper etiquette and cold conversation. Now, watching Lyra turn simple meal preparation into an adventure for my children, I realize how wrong I've been to keep their worlds so separate.

"Papa!" Mira waves a herb-covered hand. "Come taste!"

Lyra looks up then, our eyes meeting, and I lose myself in her for a moment. In those bright green irises and that soft smile on her lips. I almost expect a sharp remark from her, something I've come to love, but I shake myself out of it as I step forward and let Mira hold a spoon out to me.

"Incredible!" And I notice how my daughter lights up. I pick her up, spinning her around, and she giggles.

"Here." Lyra hands me a bowl. "This can go in the dining room."

I follow Mira into the dining room, my steps measured to match her careful pace. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, catching dust motes that dance in the air – windows Cassandra kept shrouded in heavy drapes to "maintain proper atmosphere." Now the dark wood of the dining table gleams, polished to a shine that reflects the fresh wildflowers scattered across its surface in simple clay vases.

"Look what I made, Papa!" Mira holds up her own bowl, her amber eyes bright with pride. Her silver-white fur practically glows in the natural light, so different from the shadowy formality that used to rule this room.

My throat tightens. Three years ago, servants would whisk the children away before dinner, leaving only the echo of tiny hooves on marble floors. Cassandra insisted proper noble children dined separately until they could maintain perfect table manners. The massive table felt like an ocean between us, drowning conversation in protocol and propriety.

Now Mira's taking another step, her movements steady where they once faltered. The sound of Kai's laugh drifts from the kitchen – a sound that used to earn sharp reprimands about proper decorum. I turn toward the window, pressing my knuckles against the cool glass. These walls held so much silence before. Now they ring with life, with the casual clatter of dishes and spontaneous giggles.

"Everything alright?" Lyra's soft question carries from the doorway.

I can't face her yet, not with my eyes burning like this. My children are thriving under her care, blooming like the fresh-cut flowers she scatters through our home. The changes run deeper than opened curtains and scattered toys. There's joy here now, real and unrestrained.

"Papa?" Mira tugs at my sleeve. "Did I do good?"

I pick her up, giving her a soft small. "You did so good."

I settle her into her chair, taking a seat in the center next to her. I don't want to feel an ocean away from my table, and the warmth in me only spreads as Lyra and Kai join us, too. Laughter and conversation fill this room as we load our plates.

"What were you like when you were my age, Papa?" Kai's question catches me off guard, his blue eyes – so like hismother's yet filled with such different warmth – fixed on me with earnest curiosity.

I set down my fork, the savory aroma of the roasted meat momentarily forgotten. "I was..." The memories surface like bubbles in still water. "I spent a lot of time in the kitchen, actually."

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