Page 20 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

20

DEX

I balance Ellis in the crook of my elbow, gently bouncing him as I finish the bottle of warm milk. The little one stares up at me with those wide gold eyes—Iris' eyes—making my chest ache. He's getting heavier by the day, growing faster than I can keep up with. Three months old now, and he's already developing that sturdy minotaur frame.

"There you go," I murmur as he grabs for the bottle. "Hungry today, aren't you?"

The house feels emptier when Maya isn't here. She left at dawn for her shop, something about a special batch of gankoya root that needed processing before it lost potency. I miss the way she moves through these rooms, adding life to spaces I never knew were vacant. Things are easier between us, but I want her so much that I know it's keeping tension there that I want gone.

I don't know what to do.

Ellis makes a gurgling noise, milk dribbling down his chin. I wipe it away with my thumb, studying the soft tufts of tawny fur covering his cheeks. My sister's son. My responsibility now.

"Your mother would've been much better at this," I tell him. "She knew what she was doing."

A sharp knock at the door breaks the quiet. I frown. It's midmorning on a trading day—not when I'd expect visitors.

"Coming," I call, shifting Ellis into a more secure position against my chest. His tiny fingers clutch at my shirt as I make my way to the entrance.

The moment I pull the door open, a female minotaur sweeps past me into the foyer. She doesn't wait for an invitation, doesn't pause for introductions. Just walks in like she owns the place, her black and white fur impeccably groomed, her horns polished to a gleam and adorned with silver bands that probably cost more than a month of my earnings.

I recognize her from Iris' descriptions. Varina. Ellis's paternal grandmother.

"So this is where my grandson has been hidden away," she says, her voice cool and precise. Her dark brown eyes flick over my modest home, cataloging every detail—the toys scattered across the floor, the half-finished bottle on the side table, the cradle in the corner of the sitting room visible through the doorway.

Ellis squirms against me, as if sensing the sudden tension in my muscles.

"No one's hiding him," I say, struggling to keep my voice even. "And you might want to try a greeting before barging into someone's home."

Varina sniffs, her nostrils flaring with distaste. "I shouldn't need to introduce myself to family, should I? Though it seems the courtesy of informing me about my daughter-in-law's death was beneath you."

The accusation stings more than it should. "Iris and Treon weren't exactly close with you before he died. I assumed you'd been told."

"By whom? The servants? The gossips at market?" She steps closer, her gaze sharpening on Ellis. "I had to hear about it third-hand, months after the fact."

Something like guilt twists in my gut. I'd been so consumed with adjusting to raising Ellis that I hadn't thought about Varina at all. Iris rarely spoke of her, except to mention her disapproval.

Varina's eyes finally settle on me, taking in my worn house clothes, the spit-up stain on my shoulder, the dark circles I know are etched under my eyes. Her lip curls.

"Not that it matters. I'm here for my grandson. You're not fit to raise him," she declares without preamble. "This house is not suitable. You are not suitable."

My pulse spikes, blood rushing in my ears. Ellis must sense my distress because he whimpers, his little hands clenching tighter in my shirt.

"I'm his uncle," I manage, voice rougher than intended. "Iris wanted him with me."

"A merchant with no wife, no experience with children?" Varina's laugh lacks any warmth. "My grandson deserves better than to be raised by a bachelor fumbling his way through parenthood. He belongs with family who can provide structure, connections, a proper future."

"I am his family."

Varina circles the room, running a finger along a shelf. "Look at this place. Toys everywhere, dishes unwashed, and—" she sniffs the air, "—when was the last time you bathed him properly? With proper oils? His fur needs special treatment."

For the first time since Iris died, I feel completely unmoored. Each word strikes true, feeding doubts I've been battling since I first held Ellis. I've been learning, yes, but the reality is I'm still lost most days. What if she's right?

My protective instincts flare, but the gnawing doubt in my chest is harder to shake. "Ellis is well cared for," I say, even as I wonder if that's true enough.

"By whom? You?" Her eyes narrow as they scan the room again, lingering on a woman's shawl draped over a chair—Maya's. "Or have you hired some common help to do what you cannot?"

I draw myself up to my full height, towering over Varina despite her imposing presence. "You've made your point. Now I think it's time for you to leave."

But as Ellis begins to fuss in earnest, I can't help wondering if I'm fighting for him or for myself—and which of us truly has his best interests at heart.

Varina ignores my request as she continues to look around. I hold Ellis tighter against my chest as Varina continues her tirade, her words slicing through the home I've tried so hard to make safe for my nephew.

"Look at this place," she sneers, gesturing to the blanket draped over the side of the cradle. "A merchant's house is no place for a child of Treon's bloodline. He should be in a proper home, with servants and tutors preparing him for his future."

Ellis whimpers, tiny fingers clutching at my shirt. I stroke his back gently, trying to soothe him while my own heart hammers against my ribs. I want to roar back at her, to defend what I've built here, but doubt creeps in with each pointed comment.

"When was the last time you discussed his future with the temple elders?" Varina picks up one of Ellis's toys—a carved wooden taura Maya made for him—examining it with disdain before setting it down. "Has he been presented to the Lady of Light? Does he have the proper blessings?"

"I've been focused on keeping him alive and happy," I counter, but my voice lacks conviction even to my own ears.

Varina's eyes narrow, her nostrils flaring. "Food and shelter are the bare minimum, Dex. Any barn can provide that. Ellis is the last of Treon's line, my only grandchild. He deserves excellence, not... adequacy."

The word stings more than it should. Adequacy. The story of my life—never quite measuring up to what others expect, never quite good enough for those who matter. First my warrior father, disappointed in his merchant son. Then Arekia, walking away when a better match presented itself.

"You can't do this alone," she continues, her tone dismissive as she circles the room like a predator. "That much is clear. You're just a merchant. You have no idea what you are doing."

Just a merchant. The same words Arekia had thrown at me when she broke our engagement. Not good enough for her family's lineage. Not good enough for anything that truly mattered.

I clench my fists, anger and doubt mixing into a toxic brew in my chest. Only Ellis's warm weight against me keeps me from shouting.

"I think you should leave," I say, my voice low with restrained fury. This time, I'll forcibly remove her if I have to—not that it matters. Her words have already done their damage, seeping into my skin and burrowing in my chest.

Varina sniffs, adjusting her silver-banded horns with practiced dignity. "I'll be back," she warns. "When you've had time to consider what's truly best for Ellis. For now..." She reaches into her robes and pulls out a small velvet pouch, placing it deliberately on the table. "Some proper horn oil. The kind his father used. At least attend to that much."

She sweeps out as imperiously as she arrived, leaving the door open behind her in a final display of contempt.

I stand there, Ellis fussing against my shoulder, staring at the small pouch. Such a simple thing, yet it hammers home everything I don't know, everything I haven't provided.

After closing the door, I walk through the house in a daze, Ellis still cradled in my arms. Everything I've built here suddenly looks shabby, inadequate through Varina's eyes. The crib I spent weeks crafting—is it truly good enough for Ellis? The clothes Maya helped select—too common for a child of Treon's lineage? The carefully arranged feeding area, the toys scattered about, the bathing basin—all suddenly suspect.

I pause at the window, looking out at the modest garden where Maya has planted healing herbs alongside decorative flowers. In three months, this house has transformed from my bachelor quarters to something else entirely. Not perfect, certainly, but comfortable. Warm.

Or so I thought.

"Is she right, little one?" I whisper to Ellis, who's calmed and now watches me with those intelligent golden eyes. "Am I cheating you out of the life you deserve?"

I think of all the nights I've paced this floor, trying to soothe Ellis's cries. The first weeks of complete helplessness before Maya came. How even now, I rely on her guidance for so much. The simple truth is, I don't know what I'm doing most days.

I try to imagine Ellis in Varina's grand house—with tutors and servants and all the advantages of wealth. The proper oils for his developing horns. The right connections for his future. Everything a mother and father would have wanted for their son.

Everything I can't provide alone.

"Maybe she's right," I murmur, sinking into the chair by the window. "Maybe I should let her raise you."

The thought tears at something deep inside me, but I can't deny the fear that's been lurking since the day I took Ellis home—that I'm not enough. That I'll never be enough.

And I want what is best for him. Even if it's not me.