Page 14 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

"I'm a merchant, not a nursemaid." The defensive words come automatically, an echo of the excuses I've been making to myself since Iris died. "Trading goods is straightforward. Tiny minotaurs are... complicated."

"You sell people things they don't know they need. Make them happy with their purchases. Not so different from keeping a baby content."

I snort, the sound escaping before I can hold it back. "If only I could calm him with a good sales pitch."

A smile tugs at Maya's lips as she looks down at Ellis. "Have you tried? Might work better than that lullaby you attempt to sing."

I clutch my chest in mock offense. "My singing voice is magnificent. Ask anyone."

"I've asked Ellis. He votes no."

I laugh, the sound genuine for the first time in days. "Traitor," I mutter, gently brushing a finger over Ellis's tawny fur.

I watch them together, something stirring in my chest that I'm not ready to name. It's warm and aching and terrifying—like standing at the edge of a cliff and discovering you want to jump. Maya meets my gaze, her expression open in a way it rarely is during daylight hours. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to.

9

DEX

The sound of heavy hooves reaches me before the voice does. Powerful steps that I'd recognize anywhere—deliberate, purposeful, and entirely too loud for my newly-discovered need for silence. I've barely had a moment to myself since Maya left with Ellis this morning, and the blissful quiet has been allowing my mind to settle for the first time in weeks.

Then the front door is pushed open without a knock.

"You're alive. Barely."

I sigh before I even bother turning around. Of course Theron wouldn't knock. The concept of personal boundaries seems entirely lost on my oldest friend.

Theron stands in the doorway, massive arms crossed over his broad chest, looking me over with an expression hovering between amusement and concern. The copper rings on his horns catch the mid-morning light as he tilts his head, assessing me. Even as exhausted as I am, I notice the new silver thread woven into the hem of his tunic—subtle evidence of the wealth his shipping business has accumulated. Typical Theron, understated but precise.

The towering minotaur steps inside, his amber eyes sweeping over my living space. I see my home through his eyes suddenly—too clean, too structured for a man who has spent the past two weeks drowning in exhaustion. The toys that Ellis won't be able to use for months are neatly arranged on a shelf. The blankets are folded in perfect squares. Even the herbs hanging from the kitchen rafters are tied with precisely measured twine.

None of it is my doing.

Theron gestures vaguely toward the organized shelves and the faint scent of herbs lingering in the air. He came by the first day when he heard I had released my contracts, knowing I wouldn't be able to fulfill them, and found me drowning in my new responsibilities so he knows how bad it was. "What happened in here?"

I grunt, rubbing a hand over my face. The motion dislodges one of my horn rings, and I irritably push it back into place. "I... I found someone to help me for a bit."

"Help?" Theron's voice carries that note of skepticism that I've heard countless times over our years of friendship, usually right before I convince him to back one of my more questionable trade ventures. "What kind of help?"

"That human herb seller on the edge of town," I mutter, suddenly feeling like I need to justify myself. "She's good with Ellis."

Theron's eyes widen, his brows lifting until they nearly disappear beneath the dark fur of his forehead. "Maya Silverleaf? The one with the silver-blonde hair?"

Now it's my turn to be surprised. "You know her?"

"She's Lyra's best friend," Theron says, his tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "They grew up together."

The knowledge hits me square in the chest. Lyra—Theron's human mate. The healer who everyone said would never last with him, yet somehow they've built one of the strongest partnerships I've ever witnessed. And Maya is her best friend.

I shrug, suddenly feeling defensive. "She's helping."

Theron doesn't look convinced. He steps farther in, his sharp amber eyes sweeping the space again, more critically this time. His gaze lands on the neatly folded blankets, the cradle tucked beside the fireplace, the drying herbs strung up in the kitchen—rirzed and zabilla, harvested fresh just yesterday when Maya insisted we needed more "natural calm" in the house.

"This doesn't look like help," Theron mutters. "This looks like a woman making herself at home."

I catch the underlying meaning in his words. Theron knows me too well—knows my history with relationships, knows how I swore off the whole mess after my engagement to Arekia fell apart. Knows I've thrown myself into trade and commerce instead of family life.

I exhale slowly, irritation curling at the edges of my exhaustion. "She's not staying forever."

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