Page 28 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
I settle Taran back in his cradle, my hands trembling as I arrange his blankets. Even in sleep, he looks like his father—the shape of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the way his tiny fist curls beside his face. How can I look at this living reminder of Korrun and still taste another man's kiss on my lips?
The night stretches ahead of me, long and sleepless and haunted by the echo of Daegan's touch. I lie in the darkness, staring at the ceiling while my body remembers what it felt like to want and be wanted, while my heart breaks a little more with each breath.
I've been grateful for Daegan's presence, for his help with Taran, for the way he's filled some of the crushing loneliness that threatened to swallow me whole. But somewhere along the way, gratitude became something deeper, more dangerous.
And now I don't know how to face him in the morning, how to pretend that kiss didn't change everything between us.
15
DAEGAN
The morning after feels like walking on broken glass—every step careful, every breath measured. I keep my distance from Soreya, though it tears at something vital inside my chest with each passing hour. She moves through the house like a ghost, tending to Taran with mechanical precision, avoiding eye contact whenever our paths cross in the small space we share.
The kiss replays in my mind with relentless clarity. The soft warmth of her lips, the way she melted into my touch, the small sound of need she made against my mouth. For those stolen moments, she wasn't Korrun's widow—she was just Soreya, alive and wanting and responding to me like I was something worth having.
But the way she fled afterward, the panic in her eyes, tells me everything I need to know about where we stand. She sees me as Korrun's brother, nothing more. Maybe she always will.
I throw myself into repairs around the property, anything to keep my hands busy and my thoughts occupied. The chicken coop needs reinforcing, several fence posts have started to lean, and there's a loose shutter that's been rattling in the wind forweeks. Physical labor helps, but not enough. Not when I catch glimpses of her through the windows, not when I hear her humming softly to Taran in the afternoon light.
By the second day, the silence between us has grown thick enough to choke on. She takes her meals after I've finished mine, disappears into her room early, speaks to me only when absolutely necessary. The easy companionship we'd built over months has crumbled in the space of a heartbeat, leaving behind awkwardness so sharp it cuts.
When the ache in my chest grows too loud to ignore, I retreat to my small room and dig through my belongings until I find the letter tucked between spare shirts. Korrun's handwriting stares back at me, familiar and painful. This one arrived just after the news of his son, probably written on the same day. I’d gotten it after I already decided to come back but he hadn’t known that yet.
Dae—
You aren’t going to like this letter but it has to be said. I know the risks of what I do, know that every day I walk into that arena might be my last. I've made my peace with that, but I can't bear the thought of leaving Soreya and our child alone. If something happens to me, they’ll need you, brother.
She's strong, stronger than she knows, but she'll need family. Real family, not just the polite distance of my trainer colleagues or the careful kindness of neighbors. She'll need someone who understands what she's lost, someone who can help her remember how to laugh again.
I'm asking you to come home, brother. I want you in their lives. And if I ever need it, I’ll need you to do more than that. Not to replace me—no one could do that—but to be part of their lives in whatever way they'll let you. Help raise my child. Make sure they know they're not alone in this world.
I trust you with what matters most to me. I always have.
Your brother,
Korrun
My hands shake as I fold the letter carefully, tucking it back between the layers of fabric. Korrun asked me to take care of them, but he couldn't have known this would happen. Couldn't have predicted that I'd fall for the woman he loved, that every day spent in her presence would make it harder to remember the boundaries that should exist between us.
He trusted me with what mattered most, and I've complicated everything by wanting more than he ever intended to give.
The walls of my room feel like they're closing in, the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires pressing against my lungs until breathing becomes an effort. I need air, space, somewhere that doesn't smell like her or echo with Taran's soft sounds or remind me of what I can't have.
The market seems like neutral ground, a place where I can gather supplies and think about something other than the careful way Soreya avoids my gaze. I pull on my coat and step into the crisp morning air, grateful for the bite of wind against my face.
The marketplace buzzes with its usual energy—vendors calling out prices, equus stamping and snorting while their owners negotiate trades, the rich scents of baking bread and fresh fruit mixing with salt air from the harbor. I move through the familiar chaos, letting the normal rhythms of commerce wash over me.
But something feels different today. Sharper. Heavier.
The sensation of being watched prickles between my shoulder blades, raising the hair on my arms despite the morning warmth. I've spent enough years on ships and in foreign ports to trust that instinct, to know when observation crosses the line from casual to intentional.
I'm examining a display of preserved meats when footsteps approach from behind—heavy, deliberate, meant to announce presence rather than conceal it. The vendor's eyes flick over my shoulder, his expression shifting from merchant's enthusiasm to something more cautious.
"Morning," I say to the man, keeping my voice level while my peripheral vision tracks the newcomer.
"Fine selection today," the vendor replies, but his attention keeps drifting to whoever stands behind me.
The footsteps stop close enough that I can hear breathing, sense the bulk of another minotaur in my space. Still, I take my time examining the goods, refusing to be rushed or intimidated by whatever game this stranger wants to play.
