Page 37 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

After closing the door, I walk through the house in a daze, Ellis still cradled in my arms. Everything I've built here suddenly looks shabby, inadequate through Varina's eyes. The crib I spent weeks crafting—is it truly good enough for Ellis? The clothes Maya helped select—too common for a child of Treon's lineage? The carefully arranged feeding area, the toys scattered about, the bathing basin—all suddenly suspect.

I pause at the window, looking out at the modest garden where Maya has planted healing herbs alongside decorative flowers. In three months, this house has transformed from my bachelor quarters to something else entirely. Not perfect, certainly, but comfortable. Warm.

Or so I thought.

"Is she right, little one?" I whisper to Ellis, who's calmed and now watches me with those intelligent golden eyes. "Am I cheating you out of the life you deserve?"

I think of all the nights I've paced this floor, trying to soothe Ellis's cries. The first weeks of complete helplessness before Maya came. How even now, I rely on her guidance for so much. The simple truth is, I don't know what I'm doing most days.

I try to imagine Ellis in Varina's grand house—with tutors and servants and all the advantages of wealth. The proper oils for his developing horns. The right connections for his future. Everything a mother and father would have wanted for their son.

Everything I can't provide alone.

"Maybe she's right," I murmur, sinking into the chair by the window. "Maybe I should let her raise you."

The thought tears at something deep inside me, but I can't deny the fear that's been lurking since the day I took Ellis home—that I'm not enough. That I'll never be enough.

And I want what is best for him. Even if it's not me.

21

MAYA

Istep through the threshold of Dex's home, my shoulders aching from a day of grinding herbs and mixing tinctures. The scent of dried rirzed herb still clings to my clothes, its sweet lavender-like fragrance usually soothing, but tonight it feels out of place in the tense atmosphere that greets me.

Dex paces the living area like a caged ursain, his massive frame making the spacious room feel suddenly small. Each heavy footfall seems to vibrate through the floorboards. His copper-highlighted fur catches the fading light slanting through the windows, but there's no warmth in how he holds himself—all coiled tension and radiating distress.

I close the door with a soft click, watching him for a long moment. His green eyes are unfocused, lost in some internal struggle. The bronze rings adorning his curved horns catch the light as he turns, creating brief flickers that match his erratic movements.

"What's going on?" I ask carefully, setting down my satchel of leftover herbs by the door.

Dex continues pacing, as if he hasn't heard me. His tail swishes in agitation, knocking against an end table. A small ceramic figurine wobbles dangerously but doesn't fall. Seven feet of frustrated minotaur in a confined space is like watching a storm gather strength.

When he finally speaks, his voice is tight, strained in a way I've never heard before. "Ellis' grandmother came by."

I frown, confusion creasing my brow. "His grandmother? But I thought?—"

"Not my mother," Dex clarifies, finally stopping his relentless pacing to face me. "She's gone. Ellis' other grandmother. His father's mother."

My stomach drops as understanding dawns. "And?"

"She wants custody of Ellis." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and ominous. "She wants to take him away."

I take an involuntary step forward, my hand reaching out before dropping uselessly to my side. "What did you say to her?"

Dex's broad shoulders slump, his usual jovial demeanor nowhere to be found. "She's right. I'm not... I'm not fit to raise him."

My breath catches in my throat. "Dex, that's not true." I step toward him, the practical, no-nonsense part of me ready to shake some sense into this enormous, self-doubting fool.

He holds up a hand, shaking his head. His palm could easily cover half my face—a reminder of how different we are, yet in this moment, he seems so small. "I can't do this. She's right. I don't have what it takes. There's so many things I should have done that I haven't, and I should let him go to a home where he can get proper care."

My heart aches watching him surrender without a fight. This is the same minotaur who defended his friend against bullies, who chose his own path despite his warrior family's disapproval. The merchant who deals with difficult customers and hagglers daily with that signature smile. Where is that Dex now?

"You're his blood too and you've been taking care of him!" My voice rises despite my attempt to stay calm. I gesture toward the nursery where Ellis sleeps peacefully—something that wasn't happening before I arrived. "You have to fight for him, Dex. You can't let her just take him away."

His jaw clenches, the muscle twitching beneath his fur. Those expressive green eyes—usually dancing with humor—are dull with defeat. "I'm not sure I can give him what he needs. She's right about that."

I stare at him, speechless. The scar on my right hand—my permanent reminder of standing up for what's right despite the consequences—suddenly aches. This isn't the man I thought I knew. Not the Dex who charmed me with his determination to care for his orphaned nephew, who looked at me with such gratitude when Ellis first settled in my arms.

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