Page 31 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

"Precisely." I settle into one of his overstuffed chairs, tucking my legs underneath me. The chair, like everything else in his home, is too large for me, making me look even smaller than my average height would suggest. "Now drink. Healer's orders."

"Is that what this is? Medical treatment?" Despite his skepticism, he takes a drink, his throat working as he swallows.

"Absolutely. I'm treating a severe case of new-parent anxiety combined with stubborn minotaur pride syndrome." I keep my tone light, but my eyes hold his steadily. "It's a particularly nasty combination."

He barks a surprised laugh, nearly choking on his drink. "Has anyone ever told you that your bedside manner leaves something to be desired?"

"Only those who don't appreciate honesty." I take another sip, savoring the warmth spreading through my chest. "And you, Dex Ironhoof, have always struck me as someone who values truth over comfort."

His expression turns thoughtful as he contemplates the liquid in his glass. "Truth, huh? The truth is I have no idea what I'm doing."

"None of us do." I shrug, my practical nature asserting itself. "First-time parents fumble through it all. The difference is they usually have nine months to prepare, not a sudden tragedy and a newborn dropped in their lap."

Dex's shoulders slump slightly. "You make it look so easy."

"It's not easy. I just have experience with children from my healing work." I run my finger over the scar on my right hand, a habit when I'm thinking. "And I'm not trying to measure up to someone's memory."

His head snaps up, eyes widening slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You're not just trying to care for Ellis—you're trying to be what Iris would have been for him." I level my gaze at him, unflinching. "That's an impossible standard, Dex. You can't be his mother. You can only be his uncle—his family—who loves him enough to try."

For a moment, he looks like I've physically struck him. Then something releases in his expression—like a knot finally coming untied.

"How do you do that?" he murmurs, taking another long drink.

"Do what?"

"See through people like they're made of glass."

I laugh, the sound unexpectedly light in the heavy atmosphere. "Years of practice. You can't heal people properly if you don't understand what's really hurting them."

Dex shifts in his seat, the furniture creaking slightly under his weight. "And what's hurting me, Healer Maya?" There's a teasing note in his voice that's been absent for days, a glimpse of the jovial minotaur I first met.

"Fear." I answer without hesitation. "You're terrified of failing him. Of failing Iris. Of not being enough." I soften my words with a small smile. "Which is ridiculous, by the way."

"Oh? Enlighten me why that's ridiculous." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression caught between amusement and genuine curiosity.

"Because you're already more than enough. You dropped everything to take in an orphaned infant. You're learning skills that terrify most grown men. You carved him a crib with your own hands when you could have bought one." I count off on my fingers. "You're enough and then some, Dex. Ellis is lucky to have you."

Something shifts in his expression—a lightening, a clearing, like storm clouds parting. He drains the rest of his glass and sets it down with a decisive thunk.

"You know what's truly ridiculous?" His voice has regained some of its natural resonance. "That I needed someone half my size to remind me of my own worth."

I raise my glass in mock salute. "The best medicine often comes in small packages."

That draws a genuine laugh from him, deep and rumbling. The sound fills the room, warming it more effectively than any fire could. I find myself smiling in response, pleased to have coaxed that sound from him after days of tension.

The rigid set of his shoulders has finally eased, his posture relaxing into something more natural. It's like watching a mountain settle after an earthquake—still imposing, but no longer in danger of collapse.

Something eases in my own chest too, a knot I hadn't fully acknowledged until it began to untangle.

18

MAYA

The tiny bell above my shop door jangles with unexpected enthusiasm, jolting me from my concentration over a particularly stubborn herbal compound. Looking up, I'm immediately assaulted by a cacophony of childish giggles and the rapid patter of small hooves against my wooden floors.

"Maya! Maya! Look what I found!" A silver-white blur races toward me, Mira's tiny form barely visible behind an enormous purple flower clutched in her small hands.

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