Page 1 of The Minotaur's Nanny Bride

1

DEX

The weight of grief sits heavy on my shoulders as I trudge up the cobblestone path to Iris' home. My sister—my brilliant, fierce, stubborn little sister. Gone. Just like that. The morning sun mocks my sorrow, shining bright and cheerful like it hasn't the decency to recognize that the world has lost one of its brightest flames only days ago.

I pause at the door, my massive frame suddenly feeling fragile. My fingers trace over one of the bronze rings adorning my left horn—Iris' gift on my thirtieth birthday. "For the most successful merchant in Milthar," she'd said, eyes twinkling with pride. Now those eyes are closed forever.

Taking a deep breath that does nothing to steady my nerves, I push the heavy oak door open. The hinges creak in protest. Inside, two healers in their white cloaks stand conversing in low tones with a pair of maids. They all turn at my entrance, their faces a mixture of sympathy and wariness—probably wondering if the giant minotaur filling their doorway might collapse in grief.

Then I hear it—a high-pitched wail cutting through the somber atmosphere. My ears prick forward instantly, swiveling toward the sound like twin weathervanes finding true north.

"The baby," I whisper, my voice unexpectedly hoarse. "The baby survived."

One of the maids, a plump human woman with silver-streaked hair, steps forward. "Master Ironhoof, we've been expecting you. Yes, your nephew lives, though it was a close thing."

My hooves carry me across the room without conscious thought. "Take me to him."

"Of course." The maid nods, leading me down the hallway. "We've done our best, but he's been fussy since—" She stops, choosing her words carefully. "Since your sister passed. He seems to sense that something's missing."

"Smart kid," I mutter, ducking my head to avoid scraping my horns on the ceiling beams. Iris always teased me about my size, said she'd build me a proper door one day. Now she never would.

The nursery is small but well-appointed—Iris had prepared for this child with her typical thoroughness. A mobile of carved wooden animals hangs above a hand-crafted crib. The second maid stands beside it, gently rocking its occupant.

"Here he is," she says as we approach. "Ellis, your uncle has come to meet you."

I peer down into the crib, my breath catching at the sight. He's tiny, even for a newborn, with tawny fur so like Iris'. Soft little nubs where his horns will eventually grow peek through the fluff on his head. His eyes—gods above—they're gold like mine, wide and curious despite his distress.

"Hey there, little one." I reach down with one finger, careful to keep my merchant's rings away from his delicate skin. He grasps it with surprising strength, his crying subsiding into hiccupping breaths. "I'm your uncle Dex."

The older maid clears her throat. "Master Ironhoof, there's something you should know. The child's father..."

"Passed a few months ago. I know." My heart aches for my sister, who loved her mate fiercely and was fearful of racing their baby without him.

She didn't even have our mother to guide her. My parents had died in the Red Fever outbreak five winters past. Iris' death has left me the last of our bloodline—except for this tiny bundle.

"The child has no one else to care for him," the younger maid states bluntly, her eyes meeting mine with unexpected boldness. "He needs family. And your sister had said your name just before she passed."

Ellis chooses that moment to release my finger and make a grabbing motion toward one of my horn rings. Even in my grief, a laugh rumbles up from my chest.

"Well, you're certainly an Ironhoof." I carefully lift the small bundle, cradling him against my massive chest with a gentleness that surprises even me. "Don't worry, little one. Your mother might be gone, but you've got me now. And I've got you."

I've been carryingEllis for the whole walk home, his tiny body nestled against my chest inside my open vest. It seemed like the right thing to do—natural even—but my stomach churns with doubt as I approach my front door.

"Well, here we are, little one." I fumble with my keys, trying not to jostle the bundle of fur and potential against my heart. "Home sweet home."

Ellis makes a gurgling sound that I choose to interpret as approval. Pushing open the door reveals my bachelor quarters in all their chaotic glory—trade ledgers stacked on every surface, half-finished cups of honeyed marka scattered about, clothing draped over furniture. It's the home of a merchant who lives alone, not a nursery.

"Might need to tidy up a bit." I chuckle nervously, but Ellis doesn't share my humor. His face scrunches up, turning an alarming shade of red, and suddenly he's wailing at a volume that seems impossible for such a small creature.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" I bounce him gently like I've seen mothers do in the marketplace. "It's not that bad, is it?"

The crying intensifies. Perhaps he's hungry? The healers packed a bag with bottles and milk, which I set down somewhere—where did I put it?

Ellis' cries ratchet up another notch while I frantically search one-handed. My ears pin back against my skull in distress, and sweat beads along my brow despite the cool spring air.

"Found it!" I triumphantly hold up a glass bottle, only to realize I have no idea how to prepare the contents. The instructions are written in tiny script, and Ellis is now screaming so loudly my neighbors will think I'm torturing him.

"Give me a minute, little guy." I set him down on my couch, propping him between two cushions. He immediately rolls sideways, nearly tumbling off before my quick reflexes catch him. My heart nearly stops. "By Zukiev's horns—okay, bad idea."

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