Page 38 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

My gray eyes narrow, my practical nature taking over. I've rebuilt my life from scratch after being disowned. I know what it means to fight for what matters.

"So you're just giving up?" The words come out sharper than intended, slicing through the heavy air between us.

His jaw works. "I'm doing what's best for him, Maya."

And I fear I can't change his mind.

I scrapethe last of the dried zabilla leaves into a small cloth pouch, tying it with a tight knot. The succulent's healing properties should help with the teething pain Ellis has been experiencing. His tiny horns are just starting to peek through, causing him discomfort that keeps us all up at night. I tuck the pouch into my pocket, looking forward to getting home to him.

Home. The word catches in my mind like a burr. When did I start thinking of Dex's house as home?

The morning sun streams through my shop windows as I gather my things, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. My little herb farm outside the city and this shop have been my sanctuary since leaving my family's prestigious healing house. The Silverleaf name might open doors throughout Karona, but not for the black sheep who dared treat minotaur patients.

I lock up and begin the walk to Dex's house, enjoying the bustle of the market. Vendors call out their wares, the scent of fresh bread mingles with exotic spices, and children dart between stalls playing chase. It's a perfect day, which makes the sight waiting for me all the more jarring.

A sleek, polished carriage stands outside Dex's home, bearing an elaborate crest I don't recognize. My steps falter, a sense of foreboding washing over me. I pick up my pace, practically jogging the last stretch.

I push open the door just in time to hear a sharp, cultured voice cut through the air.

"It's decided then. I'll take him now."

The scene before me freezes my blood. Dex stands near the entryway, his massive frame somehow diminished, shoulders hunched as he watches a regal minotaur woman with black and white fur step forward. Her dark brown eyes don't even acknowledge my presence as she moves toward Ellis, who's bundled in a blanket in Dex's arms.

Ellis's tiny face peeks out, his eyes wide and confused as he's shifted from the familiar warmth of his uncle to this stranger's embrace. His soft baby horns catch the light, and I notice with a pang how much they've grown in just the past week.

"Dex?" My voice comes out smaller than intended. "What's happening?"

His green eyes meet mine, but there's something missing in them—the usual spark, the fight. He looks away quickly.

"Maya, this is Varina. Ellis's grandmother. She's... taking him."

The woman—Varina—finally turns to assess me, her muzzle pulled into a perpetual sneer. Her gaze slides over me like I'm something unpleasant stuck to her hoof.

"And you are?" she asks, though her tone suggests she couldn't care less about the answer.

"I'm Maya. I've been helping care for Ellis."

"The hired help, I presume." She dismisses me with a flick of her tail, turning back to Dex. "I've brought everything he'll need for the journey. My home is prepared for his arrival."

I step forward, my practical nature demanding answers. "Wait—you're taking him away? Today? Just like that?"

Dex doesn't meet my eyes. "I think it's for the best," he says quietly, his voice distant and hollow. "Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be."

My chest tightens as I watch Varina take Ellis from Dex's unresisting arms. Ellis makes a small, confused sound, his tiny hooves kicking slightly as he's transferred.

"But—" The word dies on my lips as I watch Dex step back, already surrendering.

Varina cradles Ellis with practiced efficiency rather than warmth. She nods curtly to Dex. "I'll send updates on his progress. You may visit when it's convenient."

Like he's a business arrangement, not family. Not the baby we've been pouring our hearts into for months.

Without another word, she walks out the door, taking Ellis with her. The click of the latch echoes through the suddenly empty house.

The silence that follows is deafening. I stand frozen, the pouch of zabilla leaves heavy in my pocket. Useless now.

"You really want this?" I finally ask, my voice trembling despite my efforts to control it. The familiar ache in my scarred right hand flares—my body remembering what it feels like to stand up for something that matters, to face consequences for doing what's right.

"I'm doing what's best," Dex answers, but I can hear the hollow uncertainty in his words. He won't look at me, just stares at the closed door.

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