Page 24 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

24

DEX

I wake before dawn breaks, before even the first songbirds—do they have those things called consciences?—start their morning chorus. Sleep had been fitful at best after Theron left, my mind churning with regrets and possibilities. Now, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, my friend's words echoing in my head.

"You had a family forming right under your nose."

The weight of my mistake settles on my chest like a physical thing. I've lost people before—my parents to the Red Fever, Iris to childbirth—but this time, the loss is entirely self-inflicted. That makes it harder to bear.

"Enough," I growl to myself, throwing off the covers. "Enough wallowing."

My hooves hit the floor with purpose. Today, I reclaim my nephew. Tomorrow...well, Maya might be a harder battle, but I'm going to fight for her too. One impossible task at a time.

I don't bother with breakfast. Don't even pause to polish my horn rings, though I do take a moment to splash water on my face and fix my fur. Varina would see any dishevelment as further proof of my unsuitability. The old woman always was a stickler for appearances.

Outside, the morning air carries the scent of dew-dampened earth and rirzed blossoms. I touch a blue petal gently, making a silent promise to bring her back to tend it.

The journey to Varina's estate takes longer than expected. Or maybe my impatience makes the hours stretch by as I sit in the carriage. Her home sits a little farther than Karona, toward central Milthar, a sprawling testament to old money and older prejudices. The kind of place where servants probably dust the dust.

I don't knock. Don't announce myself. Don't give her the chance to prepare her defenses.

I push open the ornate front door, the hinges protesting with a dramatic creak that suits the occasion. The entry hall stretches before me, all polished marble and needless grandeur. Everything gleams with wealth and privilege—and loneliness. This house may be teeming with servants, but it lacks the warmth of a true home.

Then I hear it—the sound that's haunted my dreams since I handed him over. Ellis's cry, high and distressed, echoing from somewhere deeper in the house.

My heart constricts, and I follow the sound like it's a lifeline, hooves clacking against marble, then expensive carpets. I find him in what must be the nursery, a room that reeks of too much money and too little love. Everything is new, pristine, untouched—except for Ellis himself, who thrashes in an ornate cradle, face ruddy with effort as he wails.

"Little one," I breathe, crossing the room in three strides.

His cries pause at the sound of my voice, his tiny wet eyes blinking up at me in recognition. His little arms reach up immediately, grasping for me, and something in me breaks and mends simultaneously.

"I'm here now," I murmur, scooping him up. His small body feels right against my chest, like he belongs there. Always has.

The moment I hold him, his crying subsides to hiccupping little breaths. His tiny hands clutch at my shirt, and he buries his face in my neck. The relief in his posture is palpable—he knows who I am. He remembers. Two weeks apart, and he still knows his uncle.

A throat clears behind me, sharp and deliberate.

"What do you think you're doing?" Varina's voice cuts through the room like a blade. She stands in the doorway, her black and white fur immaculately groomed, horn rings polished to a mirror shine. Her face, as always, is fixed in that permanent sneer of disapproval.

I turn to face her, cradling Ellis protectively against me. "Taking my nephew home."

"You can't simply barge in here and take him," she says, her voice tight with indignation. "He's my grandson."

"And he's my nephew." I stroke Ellis's back gently, feeling his little body relax further against me. "Look at him, Varina. He's miserable here."

"He's adjusting," she snaps, but there's uncertainty in her eyes as she watches how quickly Ellis has calmed in my arms. "Children take time to settle into new environments."

"He had settled. With me." I stand taller, drawing on every inch of my considerable height. At seven-foot-five, I tower over her. "He belongs with me. Iris wanted me to raise him, and I'm not letting you tear him from me."

Varina crosses her arms, her sneer deepening. "You're not fit to raise a child. I thought you had accepted that. He needs someone who knows how to be a proper parent?—"

"I am the only one that knows how to parent him," I snap, the words feeling right as they leave my mouth. "I've raised him. And I'm taking him home."

Ellis coos softly against my neck, as if affirming my declaration. His little hand has found one of my horn rings, fingers curling around the familiar bronze circle. Varina watches this interaction, her expression hardening, but I can see the calculation behind her eyes. She's noting how immediately Ellis settled in my arms, how naturally he turns to me for comfort.

"You're making a mistake," she says, but her voice lacks conviction. "What about his education? His standing in society? His future?"

"I'll handle it," I state firmly. "All of it. And you know what? He'll grow up loved. Not just well-dressed and well-connected. Loved."

I move toward the door, and Varina steps aside, perhaps too tired to fight. The dark circles under her eyes tell me Ellis hasn't made these two weeks easy for her.

"You can visit him. But don't come after us again," I warn, pausing at the threshold. "I won't be so polite next time if you try to take my son from me."

Varina's shoulders slump slightly. "He cries all night," she admits grudgingly. "Nothing I do soothes him. Nothing."

I nod, understanding the unspoken truce in her words. She won't fight me on this—not because she agrees, but because the reality of raising an infant has proven more challenging than she anticipated.

"He knows what he needs," I say, gentler now. "And it's not fancy cradles or prestigious addresses. It's his home."

I leave without waiting for her response, Ellis nestled securely against me. With each step away from Varina's cold mansion and toward my carriage, my stride grows more confident.

Ellis shifts against my chest, his little body finally relaxed, his breathing steady. No more screams, no more tears—just a contented warmth pressed against my heart where he belongs.

"We're going home, little one," I murmur, pressing my lips to the top of his head. His fur is soft, the tiny nubs of his baby horns just barely poking through. The scent of him—milk and innocence and something uniquely Ellis—fills my nostrils, and I breathe it in deeply, letting it wash away the sterile smell of Varina's house.

My chest expands with a long, slow exhale. The relief flowing through me is so profound it almost makes my knees buckle. I hadn't realized how tense I'd been until this moment, with Ellis secure in my arms again. It feels like I've been holding my breath for two weeks, and only now can I finally breathe.

"Your grandmother means well," I tell him, though his gold eyes just blink up at me curiously. "But she doesn't understand what you need. Not like I do."

That's the truth of it. I may have doubted myself—gods know I've made enough mistakes—but standing here with Ellis settled contentedly against me, I know with bone-deep certainty that I made the right choice. This little calf is mine to raise, mine to protect. My nephew. My son.

Ellis makes a soft cooing sound, his tiny fingers finding their way to one of my horn rings again. He's always been fascinated by them, the way they catch the light. I smile down at him, feeling my usual jovial nature returning after weeks of absence.

"That's right," I chuckle, adjusting my grip to make sure he's secure. "Those are still there. Some things don't change, even when everything else does."

Once we get to the carriage, we begin the journey home, and I can't help but notice how different everything looks today. The same streets I passed this morning now seem brighter, full of possibility. The weight that's been crushing me these past weeks has lifted, and with each step, I feel more like myself.

I've always been the optimist, the one with the ready joke and easier laugh. It's how I survived my family's disappointment when I chose commerce over combat. How I weathered losing Arekia to Marcus Steelhorn's manipulations. How I endured the deaths of my parents. But these past weeks without Ellis, without Maya—I'd lost that part of myself. Lost the ability to see the bright side of anything.

"We'll get her back too," I promise Ellis, who coos as if he understands. "Maya belongs with us just as much as you do. I just need to figure out how to convince her of that."

A merchant at heart, I know all about negotiations, about finding the right price for the right goods. But Maya isn't a business transaction. She's something infinitely more valuable, and the currency she deals in isn't gold or silver but trust and honesty—things I've been too afraid to offer.

Ellis yawns against me, his tiny mouth opening wide to reveal pink gums. The simple trust in the gesture makes my heart clench. He doesn't doubt me, doesn't question whether I'm worthy of his affection. He just gives it freely, knowing somehow that I'll catch him if he falls.

"I'm learning from you, you know," I tell him softly. "About taking chances. About letting people in."

I kiss Ellis's head again, feeling the rightness of this moment settle into my bones. "No one's going to take you from me again," I promise him. "You're my son now, in every way that matters."

And as Ellis snuggles closer, his gold eyes drifting shut in peaceful sleep, I know with absolute certainty that I've made the right choice. This is what family feels like—not obligation or tradition, but this fierce, protective love that would move mountains to keep him safe.