The next evening, I stand before my wardrobe in a state of near panic. The gowns that appeared in my room are more beautiful than anything I've ever owned—silk that feels like water, embroidery that shifts in the light, colors that make my skin glow.
I choose deep forest green with sleeves that flutter like leaves. It fits perfectly, and when I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. The girl staring back looks sophisticated, elegant, worthy of the attention I'm about to receive.
The reception is held in the Grand Conservatory—a soaring glass cathedral that houses the academy's most exotic specimens. Massive trees grow to impossible heights, creating intimate groves filled with flowering bushes that perfume the air with scents beyond earthly description.
And everywhere, the most brilliant minds in fertility research discuss discoveries that could reshape the world.
I drift through conversations about magical enhancement techniques that increase crop yields by 400%. Listen to debates about cross-species pollination that creates entirely new forms of life. For the first time in my life, studying plant reproduction feels like belonging to something magnificent rather than settling for leftovers.
"Your work on stress-induced fertility enhancement is remarkable," says a Fae woman whose skin has bark-like texture. "The applications for magical amplification could revolutionize agriculture."
"I'd love to discuss your methodology," adds a human professor with a European accent. "Your environmental trigger approach shows extraordinary insight."
They want to discuss my methodology. My insight. My work.
I'm so caught up in finally being taken seriously that I almost don't notice him at first.
He's examining a specimen of night-blooming jasmine with obvious expertise, and something about his intense focus draws my attention. The careful precision with which he touches delicate petals. The way he studies the plant's structure with deep understanding rather than casual appreciation.
But when he straightens to his full height, the air leaves my lungs in a rush.
He's tall—so tall I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze—with broad shoulders that strain against his elegant jacket. Golden hair catches the floating lights like captured sunshine, falling in waves to his shoulders in a style that should look feminine but instead makes him devastatingly masculine.
But it's his eyes that undo me completely. Green as summer forests, ancient and knowing, regarding me with interest that makes every nerve ending in my body sing to life.
"Remarkable specimen," I manage, approaching him on unsteady legs. My voice sounds breathless, but I can't seem to control it. "The magical enhancement must allow for photosynthesis patterns impossible in natural conditions."
He turns toward me fully, and I swear the temperature in the conservatory rises ten degrees. Heat radiates from his massive frame, along with a scent that bypasses my rational brain entirely—something earthy and wild, like summer storms and rich soil and growing things reaching toward sunlight.
My knees go weak.
"Very astute," he says, and his voice is deep velvet that vibrates through my chest. "Most visitors focus on the beauty and miss the science."
God, his smell. It wraps around me like invisible hands, making my skin hypersensitive and my heart race. I've neverreacted to anyone like this—never felt my body respond to mere proximity with such desperate intensity.
"I'm here for the science," I breathe, stepping closer without conscious thought. I need to be nearer to that incredible warmth, that scent that makes something deep in my belly clench with want I don't understand.
"Dr. Maya Nakamura," he says, and hearing my name in that voice makes liquid heat pool between my thighs. "Your reputation precedes you."
Up close, he's even more overwhelming. His presence fills my entire world, makes everything else fade to background noise. The heat radiating from his skin makes me want to press against him, to bask in his warmth like a plant reaching toward the sun.
"I have a reputation?" The words slip out sounding far more surprised than sophisticated, but his answering smile is so warm and genuine that I forget to be embarrassed.
"Your research on stress adaptation mechanisms has been quite the topic of discussion among our faculty," he says, and something in his tone makes my pulse stutter. Like my work—my work—has genuinely impressed him. "We're all eager to hear your presentation tomorrow."
The way he says 'we' sends little thrills through my chest. Like I might actually belong in this world of miracles and magic.
"I hope I don't disappoint," I say, trying for modest confidence while my body screams at me to step closer to his incredible heat. "This is all rather overwhelming."
His laugh is warm honey that makes my toes curl in my shoes. "You'll do beautifully. Your work shows exactly the kind of innovative thinking we value here."
We. Value. Here.
I'm so distracted by his words and his proximity that it takes me a moment to realize he's moved closer. Close enough that his scent surrounds me completely, making my head spinand my skin flush with heat that has nothing to do with the conservatory's temperature.
"I'm sorry," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't think you told me your name."
Something flickers across his expression—too quick for me to interpret through the haze of whatever this is that's happening to me.
