Page 7 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

7

MAYA

T he morning light creeps through the curtains, illuminating my guest room. It's been a week since I first stepped into this controlled chaos, and somehow I've slipped into a routine I never expected. My hands move in practiced motions as I braid my short silver-blonde hair away from my face—a small act of control before facing the day.

I pause at Ellis's nursery on my way downstairs. The little one—Dex has me in the habit of calling him that, too—is already awake, watching the mobile above his crib with those wide gold eyes. So observant for one so young.

"Good morning, little one," I whisper, and he turns to me, his tiny hooves kicking in excitement. My chest tightens. I shouldn't be getting attached.

When I carry Ellis down the hall, I find Dex in the kitchen, his massive frame hunched over a mug of kaffo. His eyes look a little unfocused, and his copper-highlighted brown fur looks dull in the morning light. He's wearing the same tunic as yesterday after spending the night taking Ellis' feedings. He's supposed to be asleep right now, but I guess it works in my favor he's not.

"Your turn." I hand Ellis over, observing how naturally the baby settles against Dex's broad chest. "I need to head to the shop soon."

Dex's green eyes flicker with momentary panic before he adjusts his nephew in his arms. "We'll be fine. Same as yesterday."

I lean against the doorframe, folding my arms across my chest. "When was the last time you left this house?"

His ears flick back slightly—a tell I've learned means he's uncomfortable. "I've been busy."

"Busy hiding." The words slip out before I can stop them. Too direct, as usual. My mother always said my tongue would be my downfall.

Dex's nostrils flare. "I'm not hiding. I'm adjusting. There's a difference."

"You're both coming with me today." It's not a question.

"To your shop?" His voice pitches higher. "Ellis isn't ready for that."

"Ellis isn't," I raise a skeptical eyebrow, "or you aren't?"

He grumbles something under his breath, one finger gently tracing Ellis's soft baby horns. The little one coos in response.

"You need fresh air. You look like you're one sleepless night away from passing out in a corner."

Dex opens his mouth to argue, but I've already turned to rummage through the bag of supplies I bought at the market two days ago. I pull out a long cloth wrap—soft, sturdy material in an earthy green tone that complements his fur.

"Here." I push it into his hands. "This will keep Ellis secure while leaving your hands free."

Dex stares at the cloth like I've handed him a live yillese. "I can't?—"

"You can." I take Ellis while Dex reluctantly stands, his full seven-and-a-half-foot height making me tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Watch first."

I demonstrate with quick, efficient movements—wrapping the cloth around my waist, creating a pocket, adjusting for support. My hands move with the practiced ease of someone who's helped many new mothers in my shop.

"Now you try." I unwrap and hand him both Ellis and the cloth.

Dex fumbles immediately, his large fingers struggling with the folds that seemed so simple in my demonstration. The cloth tangles, Ellis fusses, and frustration clouds Dex's face.

"Here." I step closer, placing my hands over his. "Like this."

My smaller hands guide his movements, steady and patient. The warmth of his fur brushes against my skin, surprisingly soft despite his rugged appearance. I keep my voice calm, instructive.

"Cross it here, then under and through." I feel the tension in his fingers as they follow my lead. "Now tighter—Ellis likes the security."

For a moment, we're standing too close, my hands still resting on his as the final fold falls into place. Ellis is now snug against Dex's chest, tiny hooves occasionally kicking against the merchant's massive torso.

I step back, trying to ignore the lingering warmth on my fingers. "See? Not so terrifying."

Dex doesn't respond verbally, but I can read the relief in his posture as he adjusts to the weight against his chest. Ellis has already settled, content in his cocoon.

"Grab your coat," I say, retrieving my satchel of dried herbs. "The morning air is still cool."

As we step outside together, I watch Dex take his first deep breath in what must be days. His shoulders lower slightly, the mountain of tension he's been carrying visibly lightening. One thick finger gently strokes Ellis's head through the wrap, an unconscious gesture of affection.

I hide my smile by pretending to adjust my satchel. Progress, even reluctant, is still progress.

The walk to my shop isn't long, but I find myself slowing to match Dex's hesitant pace. He moves like someone unused to stepping beyond familiar boundaries, glancing down at Ellis every few steps as if the baby might somehow vanish from his secure wrap. His massive frame draws stares from passersby—a minotaur with a baby strapped to his chest isn't something you see every day in Karona, even with our mixed population.

"They're not staring because you're doing something wrong," I murmur, noticing his discomfort. "They're staring because what you're doing is rare and good."

Dex snorts softly. "More likely wondering when I'll drop him."

"Stop that." I knock my elbow against his arm—or try to, reaching his elbow is a stretch. "You're doing fine."

My herb shop sits on the edge of town, where the cobblestones give way to the soft dirt path leading to my fields. The wooden sign—"Silverleaf Remedies"—swings gently in the morning breeze. Not the most creative name, but my family name still carries weight, even if I'm the black sheep who refuses to acknowledge it.

"This is it?" Dex's voice carries a note of surprise as he takes in the modest building with its herb-filled window boxes and dried plants hanging from the eaves.

"Were you expecting something more impressive?" I unlock the door, the familiar scent of dried herbs and tinctures washing over me.

"No, it's just..." He ducks his head slightly to enter. "It feels like you."

I pause, not sure how to take that. "Is that good or bad?"

"Good." His lips quirk upward. "Practical. Unpretentious."

I hide my smile by turning to open the shutters. "High praise from a merchant."

The morning passes in a comfortable routine. I sort through yesterday's dried herbs, checking for quality before placing them in labeled jars. Twice customers come in—regulars who barely blink at the enormous minotaur cradling a baby while examining my collection of zabilla salves. Ellis, surprisingly, seems content, occasionally making small noises that draw Dex's immediate attention.

By midday, I lock up the shop and lead them through the back door to my garden and fields. The sun beats down, but a gentle breeze keeps the heat manageable. I breathe deeply, letting the complicated symphony of scents center me—rich soil, goligan trees lining the eastern border, the sweet-tang of rirzed herb in full bloom.

"This is all yours?" Dex's voice holds genuine wonder as he takes in the neat rows extending toward the tree line.

I nod, a small burst of pride warming my chest. "Seven years of work. Started with just a quarter of the space and gradually expanded."

Ellis makes a small sound, and Dex adjusts him with growing confidence, large fingers surprisingly gentle as they tuck the fabric more securely around the baby's legs.

"You look more natural with him now," I observe, leading the way between rows of gankoya root. "Less terrified."

"Still terrified," Dex admits. "Just hiding it better."

A dark shadow passes overhead, and I automatically extend my arm. Sharp talons grasp my forearm gently as Shade lands, his slate-gray feathers ruffling in the breeze. Dex startles, instinctively covering Ellis with one large hand.

"This is Shade," I introduce them, stroking the karasu's sleek neck. "My messenger and occasional business partner."

"A karasu?" Dex looks impressed. "They're almost impossible to train."

Shade fixes him with an intelligent stare from his three black eyes, cawing like he's arguing with the sentiment.

"I found him with a broken wing three years ago," I explain, offering Shade a seed from my pocket. "He decided to stay after it healed."

Shade preens, chirping. He always has to add in his own opinion.

"He makes deliveries for me to customers who can't travel," I explain, feeling the familiar warmth of the bird's loyalty. "And keeps me company."

Dex steps closer, letting Ellis see the bird. "I've never been this close to a karasu before."

"Few have." I smile as Shade hops to my shoulder. "They're particular about their company."

I move through the garden, checking plants, pinching off dead leaves, with Dex following behind. The steady rhythm of tending soothes me—this has always been my sanctuary. I begin humming softly, an old tune my grandmother taught me before she discovered my friendship with Lyra and cut me off.

Caught in my work, I almost forget I have company until I glance up to see Dex watching me. There's something in his expression I can't quite read—a kind of quiet appreciation that makes my cheeks warm. He's adjusting Ellis's tiny hat, a soft cotton thing I found in the market that's slightly too big. His massive fingers move with surprising delicacy, tilting the brim to shield the baby's face from the sun.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious under his steady gaze.

"You belong here," he says simply. "I've never seen anyone so... in their element."

The compliment catches me off guard. I turn back to the herbs I'm harvesting, hoping he doesn't notice the flush creeping up my neck. Something about the way he said it—with such straightforward admiration—stirs feelings I thought long buried.

Ellis makes a happy gurgle, kicking his hooves against Dex's chest. Even he seems at peace here, content in a way he hasn't been since I met them that first desperate day. The sight of them together, finding their rhythm, warms something deep in my chest—a feeling I'm not ready to name.