Page 1 of The Minotaur's Milkmaid
Chapter One
Something Wilder
Maeve
The breeze drifting through my window carries the scent of fresh bread. The air is cool against my bare arms, but the sun is already rising over the hills, stretching golden light over our little world. I stretch, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and listen as the village wakes up around me.
Roosters crow, pigs snort, and someone, probably Mrs. Tully, is already yelling at a goat for stealing her laundry again.
It's just another peaceful morning. I get up, pulling on a soft white cotton dress. I slip on my brown leather flats and hurry outside, the cottage door screeching behind me like a scolding mother.Late again,it groans at me, its hinges judging my slow start.
I should have already been up helping with morning chores, but instead, I'm leaning against the fence, watching the bakery’s chimney puff out warm, buttery-smelling smoke. If I time it just right, I can sneak in before the morning rush and grab a honey roll before Old Man Wilkes chases me out with his broom.
Havenmoor is small but safe, tucked between the rolling green hills where the world is quiet. Hucows like me live here under human protection. Our milk is rare, sought after by nobles and merchants, which means the village thrives on trade. We give them what they want, and in return, we’re protected and given shelter. Our milk is traded for things like spices from the south, wool for blankets, and sweets that I definitely eat too much of.
It’s a good life. A simple one.
And yet…sometimes it feels like an invisible fence surrounds me, just as much as the wooden ones that keep the pigs in their pens.
I know how my future will go; eventually, I’ll be matched with someone practical. A reliable husband, probably a human farmer with strong hands and a quiet nature. He’ll kiss my cheek in the morning, pat my hand at dinner, and snore through the night. We’ll raise a handful of sturdy children, run a farm together, and settle into a comfortable, predictable marriage.
It isn’t a bad dream. I shouldwantit, but sometimes I catch myself staring at the hills beyond Havenmoor, wondering what’s out there. Wondering if this is all there is for me.
Something wilder.
“Maeve!”
I jolt upright as Beatrice calls my name. She’s striding toward me, effortlessly carrying two heavy pails of feed as if they’re nothing. Her blonde curls bounce, her white dress is somehow perfectly clean, and she’s grinning like she actually enjoys hauling all that weight around.
“Stop daydreaming and come help before you get another lecture from Elder Thompson,” she says, shifting the buckets with ease. “You know how he gets.”
“I do,” I say, grimacing at the thought. Elder Thompson loves nothing more than giving long speeches about duty and responsibility. He’d probably love it even more if he could lecture mewhilsthanding me off to my future husband.
I push off the fence, but before I turn away, my eyes drift back toward the horizon. The grassy hills stretch wide and endless, the road beyond them vanishing into the trees. Toward The Wildlands. Where the Minotaurs live.
The elders say they’re monsters. Towering, horned beasts. They say the Minotaurs sweep through the lands without mercy, taking whatever they desire: fertile ground, golden treasures, and women. They paint them as savages who live only to pillage, claim, and rut.
The thought makes me shiver, but not from fear, from something far more shameful.
I hurry after Beatrice, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck.
It’s just a foolish fantasy.
Nothing like that would ever happen to me.
Chapter Two
A Good Man, But Not the Right One
Maeve
The village is already in full swing by the time I make my way through the main square. Merchants set up their stalls, displaying fresh produce and dried herbs. Children chase each other between the carts, squealing with laughter, while their mothers shake their heads with fond exasperation. The scent of warm bread and roasting meat fills the air, and, for a second, Iconsider delaying my chores further in favor of justonehoney roll.
Then I hear my name being called.
“Hey, Maeve!”
I turn and spot Jacob Carter, standing outside his family’s farm stand. He’s tall, with sun-warmed skin, soft brown eyes, and hands roughened from working the land. His sleeves are rolled up, showing strong arms, and he’s got a friendly smile that always seems to be waiting just for me.
