Page 9 of The Minotaur’s Little Peach

DAEGAN

T he air in the small home wraps around me like a living thing—warm with the scent of newborn skin and clean linen, thick with something I can't quite name. Birth, maybe. New beginnings. The kind of moment that changes everything, whether you're ready for it or not.

I stand frozen in the doorway, taking in the scene before me like I'm trying to memorize every detail.

The woman in the bed—Soreya, it has to be—looks exactly like Korrun described in his letters.

Long dark hair with those red undertones catching the lamplight, hazel eyes flecked with gold that are currently wide with shock and exhaustion.

She's holding a tiny bundle against her chest, protective and fierce even in her vulnerability.

This is the woman my brother wrote about with such reverence it made me seasick some nights, reading his letters under starlight and wondering what it felt like to love someone that completely.

The woman who made him talk about settling down, about building something permanent instead of just surviving day to day.

And that bundle she's holding—by the Lady, that's my nephew. Born today, if the evidence around me is any indication. I came here expecting to wait weeks to meet the child Korrun couldn't stop talking about. Instead, I walk into the first hour of his life.

The human woman—Mirath, based on Korrun's descriptions—steps forward with the kind of practiced calm that tells me she's handled situations like this before. Her dark curls are pulled back from her face, and there's blood on her apron that she doesn't seem to notice.

"I'll get Soreya cleaned up and then you two can talk," she says, her voice carrying the authority of someone who's used to being obeyed in moments like this.

Her gaze sweeps over me with clinical assessment, probably trying to figure out what the fuck a seven-and-a-half-foot minotaur is doing in her birthing room.

She moves with efficient purpose, gathering supplies and checking on Soreya with gentle hands.

I watch her work, impressed despite myself by the way she handles the situation.

Korrun mentioned her in his letters—Soreya's closest friend, a healer with enough backbone to stand up to anyone who gave her trouble.

Seeing her now, I understand why he respected her.

"The baby needs to be properly cleaned," Mirath says, reaching for the tiny bundle. Soreya's arms tighten instinctively, but Mirath's voice carries gentle insistence. "And you need to rest for a few minutes. Let me take care of both of you."

I expect Soreya to refuse. Shit, I'd refuse if I were in her position—some stranger showing up at the worst possible moment, asking to handle the most precious thing in my world. But after a long moment, she nods reluctantly and lets Mirath lift the baby from her arms.

"This is Taran," Mirath says, cradling the infant with practiced ease. The name makes me smile. Korrun mentioned it in his last letter—a strong name for a strong son, he'd written. Thunder in the old tongue. "And since you're his uncle, you might as well learn how to hold him properly."

Before I can protest or explain that I've never held a baby in my life, she's transferring the tiny weight into my arms. I freeze, terrified I'm going to drop him or hold him wrong or somehow damage this perfect little creature just by existing in the same space.

But Taran settles against my chest like he belongs there, his small weight surprisingly solid and warm. Dark eyes blink up at me with startling focus for someone so new to the world, and I feel something shift in my chest. Something protective and fierce that I wasn't expecting.

"Bond with him," Mirath says, already turning back to help Soreya. "I'll bring Soreya to the sitting room once she's cleaned up and rested a bit."

She gestures toward a doorway, and I find myself moving carefully toward what must be the main living area.

Every step feels momentous with this tiny life cradled in my arms. The sitting room is simple but comfortable—a worn sofa, a low table, shelves lined with books and small treasures.

Everything about it speaks of a life built with care and attention, the kind of home Korrun always dreamed of having.

I settle into the sofa with Taran still sleeping peacefully against my chest, and that's when the reality of the situation finally hits me. I'm here, holding my nephew, in the home my brother built with the woman he loved. But by the Lady, where is Korrun?

He should be here. Should be pacing the floor like an expectant father, should be arguing with Mirath about whether the baby needs more blankets, should be staring at his son with the same overwhelming awe that's currently making my throat tight.

Instead, there's just silence and the soft sound of Taran's breathing against my chest.

I study his tiny face, mapping the features that are already distinctly his own while searching for traces of family resemblance.

The shape of his eyes hints at Korrun's, and there's something about the set of his jaw that speaks to minotaur heritage.

But he's his own person too, perfect and complete in ways that make me understand why my brother was so excited to meet him.

Footsteps in the hallway signal Soreya's approach.

I look up as she enters the sitting room, moving carefully but under her own power.

Mirath must have helped her wash and change, because she looks more composed now, though exhaustion still lines her features.

Her hazel eyes find mine immediately, wary but not afraid.

"You’re Korrun’s brother, right?" Her voice carries quiet strength despite everything she's been through today. She settles into the chair across from me, close enough to reach for Taran if needed but far enough to maintain some distance.

I take a breath, choosing my words carefully. The truth is going to be hard enough without me fumbling through it like an idiot.

"That’s right. I'm Daegan." The name feels strange on my tongue in this context, formal and inadequate. "Daegan Thal. Korrun's younger brother."

She nods, her eyes moving between my face and Taran's sleeping form. I can see her processing the resemblance. I have no doubt my brother told her about me, but we have never met.

"He wrote to me about you," I continue, my voice deliberately steady. "Letters that came with every ship that docked near my routes. He filled them with talk of you, of the child you were waiting for, of a future he was building with both hands."

Her expression softens slightly at that, though pain flickers behind her eyes. Korrun always did have a way with words when it came to the people he loved.

"He told me about your laugh," I say, watching her face carefully. "How you tease him about taking up too much space wherever you go. About the way you sell fruit to the minotaur at the colosseum and somehow make them all feel like they matter."

She blinks hard, and I see her hands curl into fists in her lap.

"He wrote about the trees you planted together, about how you want to expand the orchard. About tiny baby clothes and names that mean something important. About how he'd never been happier in his entire life."

My throat tightens, making the words harder to push out. "I sailed home when the news about my nephew reached me, because there was nowhere else I could be but here. With my family."

The last word hangs in the air between us, and I see the exact moment she realizes something. It makes my stomach twist as I see tears swim in her eyes.

"Where is Korrun?" The question comes out barely above a whisper, but it seems to make her collapse.

The color drains from her face, and her hands fly to cover her mouth as a broken sound escapes her throat. She can't even get the words out as sobs wrack her body.

"He's—" The word is muffled by her palms, but the devastation behind it is crystal clear. "He's gone. He's gone, and he was supposed to be here. He was supposed to meet his son."

The tears come hard and fast, shaking her entire frame with the force of grief that's obviously still too fresh, too raw.

Something that I feel hit me squarely in the chest, and yet, I can't give into it.

I'm on my feet before I realize I'm moving, crossing to her with Taran still secure in my arms.

"I'm sorry." The words feel pathetically inadequate, but they're all I have. "I'm so damn sorry, Soreya."

She looks up at me through her tears, and the pain in her eyes nearly brings me to my knees. "You didn't know, did you?"

I shake my head, not trusting my voice. She lets out a sob that seems to come from somewhere deep in her chest, a sound of pure loss that makes my own eyes burn.

"I told him I was coming back and then never heard from him. I just assumed it was because of the baby." I force the words out. "When did he…"

"Six months ago. A criminal he was training had a concealed blade." The words hurt as she says them. "Korrun stopped him from hurting anyone else, but..."

She doesn't finish. She doesn't need to. I understand what happened, can fill in the blanks that she can't bear to speak out loud.

She doubles over then, grief hitting her because I've made her say it out loud. I want to comfort her, want to do something to ease the pain that's tearing her apart, but I don't know how. Don't know if I have the right, or if my presence is just making everything worse.

But I'm here. I'm her family now, whether she wants me or not. Even If I am grieving, I can't imagine what this must have been like for her.

I hate it took me so long to get here.

"I know this must be hard," I say, keeping my voice gentle. "I can see you're grieving, and I can't imagine what you're going through. But I'm here for my family now. For you and for him."

I look down at Taran, still sleeping peacefully despite his mother's tears. "I want to stay and help, if you'll let me. I know I'm not Korrun, but I'm all the family this little one has left on his father's side."

Soreya straightens slowly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her gaze sweeps over me, taking in the resemblance that must be both comfort and torture. I wonder if looking at me hurts her, if seeing echoes of Korrun in my features is more pain than she can handle.

But when she speaks, her voice is steady despite the tears still tracking down her cheeks.

"It would be nice to have family close again." The words come out soft but certain. "To have someone else who knew him, who can tell Taran about his father when he's old enough to ask."

She doesn't say she trusts me. Doesn't promise that this arrangement will work or that she won't change her mind tomorrow. But she's giving me a chance, and that's more than I had any right to expect.

I settle back onto the sofa, adjusting Taran in my arms as his tiny fist curls against my chest. Being under the same roof gives me the opportunity to prove myself, to show her that I meant what I said about being here for my family.

I just hope I'm worthy of the trust she's placing in me, and the legacy my brother left behind.