Page 8 of A Minotaur Tale

"I was! Lost and alone, with no idea what I was doing and then... there you were." He met her eyes then, so serious and vulnerable that it made Cora's heart ache as much as her stomach flutter. "You helped me... I know you were just doing your job, but I'll always be grateful for that day. I don't even care if you were so nicebecause you felt bad for me, because you gave me things I didn't even know I needed. I'd only just started to realize how much I didn't know about where I was and what I was supposed to be doing, but you gave me the tools to keep on with it and eventually, to do as well as I like to think I have."

"Whatever you've accomplished, you've earned yourself," Cora said, placing her hand on his and squeezing. “I showed you resources, sure, but you've put in so much hard work, it's honestly inspiring."

She'd touched his hand impulsively, because she needed to reassure him, and to stop him from dismissing all he'd done, but she couldn't bring herself to remove it. In the cold air, his large hands dwarfed her own. He had thick, blunt fingers that ended in squared off nails. He was lightly furred there, she realized, like a peach. Her breath caught, looking at the juxtaposition. Her own pale skin, devoid of color save the veins of gold running through her was a shock against his. And the heat. He was sohot, pulsing heat through her hand, melting through her like a river of honey.

After several moments of awed silence, Asterion cleared his throat. "Either way, coming to the library that day was probably the best choice I've ever made."

1. Oread is the specific name for a nymph who is bound to a mountain, as opposed to a tree like a dryad.

2. A few days later, Cora looked into what was documented and she was enraged to find that if they had done even rudimentary research on his culture, instead of assuming minotaurs would want open spaces like cattle, they’d have known that minotaurs prefer mazes for living.

Chapter five

They ate and talked,the conversation flowed easily–shockingly so. Asterion didn't seem to mind when Cora spoke at length, and he was an attentive listener, nodding his head and asking insightful questions about her childhood, the city, and of course, shells.

When it was time to pack up the food, Cora could scarcely believe how quickly thetime had passed.

"Is it an hour already?" she asked when Asterion began tidying.

"Past time, honestly, I am probably a bit late on gift number three at this point, so I hope you'll forgive the tardiness. It was just so nice I didn't… didn't want to leave and break the spell." He smiled, sadly, lifting only one side of his mouth. "I asked you for an hour, and I am afraid I took more than that."

"I said I'd try, for an hour, but it was up to me, after that, wasn't it?"

His ears fluttered. "Aye."

Curse him, those ears were adorable, she could see them quickly becoming a weakness.

"Then..." She drew in a fortifying breath. "I think I'd like to keep trying."

"Truly?" Asterion's face lit up. He sped up his cleaning, tidying things up, but not entirely, it was more like he was stowing things rather than cleaning it all up. Was he just going to leave a mess like this? Right on the side of her mountain?

“Shouldn’t we take that with us?” She asked.

“I have a friend who will be by in a little bit to clean itup, don’t worry.”1

He had a plan then, she liked that. Plans were tidy. Of course, one couldn’t always count on their plan and its perfect execution, but somehow having one had always made her feel better. When things were sufficiently stowed, if not cleaned up, Asterion held out his hand for hers once more. His hands were cooler now, though still warm, their wide expanse engulfing hers easily. “So smooth,” he murmured. Drawing his thumb across the back of her hand. “Your skin, I suppose I expected it to feel cold, or maybe bumpy, somehow?”

“I’m warm-blooded, though you can probably see that my skin is much more like polished marble that’s flexible. Other oreads or earth nymphs might have textured skin, I don’t really know. Our nature means that some of us tend to be isolated. I’ve always been a little jealous of dryads, living in the forest together. I don’t even know if my neighboring mountains have nymphs, though I can see the dryads dancing in the forest sometimes.” She smiled sadly and shrugged.

Asterion led her into the cave and helped her back into the phaeton.

“And your parents? Were they nymphs as well?”

“No,” she chuckled. “My parents are dwarfs. It’s not uncommon for nymphs to be born ofwant. So, more often than not, we are born of desire for a child, rather than physical desire. In my case, there was definitely no physical desire involved.” Asterion frowned down at her, confused. She didn’t cry, thinking of her parent's difficult marriage, but she could see the question in his eyes.

“My mother hasn’t said it straight out, but I’m fairly certain that I was some last-ditch attempt to save my parents’ marriage. It didn’t work, but they tried, for a few years at least.”

Saying it out loud brought to mind all the reasons she hadn’t ever allowed herself to hope for love. Because, after all, if her mother and father who were two of the best people she knew, couldn’t make their love last, how could anyone hope to do so? They still spent a great deal of time together, being that they worked together, but it seemed their love had never been enough.

“That sounds… uncomfortable to know.” Asterion squeezed her hand as he mounted the phaeton and took up the reins. “But I imagine it’s also some sort of small consolation. To know how badly your mother wanted you?”

“It is, and in truth, my father wanted a child quite badly as well. It was honestly part of what kept them together for as long as they were. At night, they would sit by the fire, and speakabout what their baby might be like… those conversations lead to my creation.”

“Let me guess, their home was made out of white marble?” he asked with a smirk.

“Youdiddo your research. One day, my father, who is quite the craftsman, swore he could begin to see the outline of a baby in the stone. He took out his stone-cutting tools and over the course of a week, freed me from the rock.”

“I suppose you could say that your father liberated you, rather than your mother.”