The warmth in her voice when she talks about my daughter does something dangerous to my chest. Over the past week, I've watched Heidi with Irida—seen the gentleness she tries to hide, the way she automatically adjusts her posture to Irida's height when they talk. She treats my daughter like she matters, not because she has to but because she wants to.
It's been a long time since anyone besides the household staff showed Irida genuine affection. Too long since I've seen my daughter light up the way she does when Heidi walks into a room.
We reach the heart of the maze, where a small circular clearing opens around the most elaborate ice sculpture yet—a frozen fountain depicting dancing figures caught mid-spin. Thesculptor has carved such intricate detail that individual fingers and facial expressions are visible in the crystalline ice.
But more importantly for our current purpose, there's a small shelter built into the hedge wall—originally designed as a meditation space but perfect for hiding two adults.
"In here," I say, drawing back the curtain of winter-bare vines that conceals the entrance.
The space inside is intimate—a curved bench built into the living hedge, barely large enough for two people. When we settle onto it, our thighs press together despite my attempt to maintain distance. Through the vine curtain, we can see the clearing but remain hidden from casual observation.
Heidi's breathing sounds loud in the enclosed space. Or maybe that's my own heartbeat thundering in my ears as her warmth seeps through our winter clothes. The bond sings with contentment, but underneath that magical compulsion is something entirely human—want, sharp and hungry and growing stronger every day.
"Your daughter's going to find us easily if she comes this way," Heidi whispers.
"She won't. This is my sanctuary—she knows not to look here unless I invite her." Being this close to Heidi is affecting my control in ways that have nothing to do with magic.
"Your sanctuary?" She turns to look at me, and the movement brings her face closer to mine. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her eyes, the way her breath mists slightly in the cold air.
"Where I come when I need to think." I shouldn't be telling her this. Shouldn't be revealing the places I go when the weight of responsibility becomes too much. But something about her presence unravels my usual caution.
"About what?"
"Irida. The future. Whether I'm raising her right." The admission tastes vulnerable on my tongue. "Whether she'll be safe in this world I've created for us."
Heidi's expression softens with understanding. "She's perfect, Mihalis. Happy and confident and so full of love it hurts to watch sometimes. You're doing everything right."
The words hit deeper than they should. I've spent six years second-guessing every decision, wondering if my love is enough to compensate for the mother she'll never know, for the isolated life I've chosen to keep her safe.
"You see her clearly," I say instead of voicing those fears. "Most people either dismiss her as just a child or treat her like a curiosity because of what she is."
"She's brilliant." Heidi's voice carries fierce conviction. "And brave and funny and so determined to take care of everyone around her. She gets that from you."
Something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest at her words. Not just because she sees my daughter's worth, but because she sees mine reflected in Irida. Because when she looks at me, she doesn't see a threat or a weapon or someone to be managed—she sees a father who loves his child.
"She's becoming attached to you," I warn, though the words lack any real heat.
"I know." Heidi's voice is barely a whisper. "I'm trying not to let it happen, but she's..."
"Impossible to resist once she decides she likes you," I finish. "Trust me, I understand the feeling."
The double meaning hangs between us, charged with implications neither of us is ready to address directly. But her intake of breath tells me she heard it, felt the same jolt of recognition that's been building between us for days.
We sit in silence for several heartbeats, the only sounds our breathing and the distant echo of Irida's voice calling our names.But she's searching in the wrong section of the maze, her calls growing fainter as she moves away from the center.
"The bond is getting stronger," I say finally, because one of us needs to acknowledge what's happening. The magic drain is becoming noticeable—a constant low-level exhaustion that sharpens whenever we're apart.
"I'm fine," she says quickly. Too quickly.
"You're lying." I turn to study her profile, noting the shadows under her eyes that weren't there a week ago, the way her hands sometimes tremble when she thinks no one is watching. "It's affecting you too."
"Nothing I can't handle."
Her stubborn independence would be admirable if it weren't so clearly a defense mechanism. I've watched her these past days, seen how she deflects concern and insists on managing everything alone. It's a survival instinct carved deep by years of having no one to depend on.
"You don't have to handle it alone," I say quietly. "That's not how this works anymore."
She looks at me then, really looks, and I see something vulnerable flicker across her expression before she can hide it. "I don't know how to do this, Mihalis. I don't know how to be part of something without losing myself in it."
