Sage's silence resonates with disapproval, yet I find I care not at all. The ancient obligations that once drove every decision now feel distant and irrelevant compared to the woman sleeping in my chambers, her skin glowing with power that might kill her.
I would choose Maya over my people, over the prophecy, over eight centuries of responsibility. The realization should horrify me. Instead, it brings savage satisfaction.
My perfect fertility goddess, the salvation of everything I've built—and I would let it all burn to ash rather than lose her to the magic I've helped channel into her veins.
The irony is bitter and perfect. After waiting centuries for a solution to save my dying court, I've fallen so completely for the woman who represents that solution that her individual survival matters more than the collective fate she was meant to ensure.
I trace the carved names on seven graves and acknowledge the truth my ancient Fae nature accepts without shame: Maya means more to me than everything else combined.
Even if that obsession dooms us all.
CHAPTER 21
MAYA
I waketo the gentle pressure of Thorian's lips against my temple, his arm tightening around my waist as morning light filters through the living wood shutters of our chambers. For the first time in weeks, the overwhelming thrum of divine power has dulled to a manageable whisper, and I feel almost... normal.
"Good morning, my queen," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep. The tenderness in those simple words makes my heart flutter like I'm still the nervous botanist who first arrived at his academy, rather than the fertility goddess carrying his heir.
"Mmm," I sigh contentedly, turning in his arms to study his face in the soft dawn light that seeps through the translucent flower petals covering our windows. Even after all we've shared, he still takes my breath away—the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the way his golden-green eyes warm when they look at me, the flowering scars that mark his skin like living art.
"You feel different this morning," he observes, his large hand spanning my belly where our child grows. "The power isn't singing as loudly through your veins."
"Is that bad?" A thread of worry creeps into my contentment. "Should I be concerned?"
"No, sweetheart." His thumb traces gentle circles over the silk of my nightgown. "Your body is learning to regulate the divine magic more efficiently. It's a sign of adaptation, not weakness."
The reassurance in his voice, the absolute confidence with which he speaks about my condition, fills me with warmth. This is why I trust him so completely—his eight centuries of experience, his careful attention to every detail of my wellbeing, the way he makes me feel precious beyond measure.
"I had the most wonderful dream," I tell him, snuggling closer to his warmth. "We were in a garden together, but not any of the ones here in the palace. Somewhere wild and untamed, with flowers I'd never seen before. Our children were playing among the blossoms—not just one child, but several. They all had your eyes but my curiosity, asking endless questions about every plant they found."
Thorian's expression grows soft, almost vulnerable. "How many children?"
"In the dream? Four, maybe five. They seemed to range in age, like we'd had years together to build our family." I reach up to trace the line of his jaw. "Do you want more children after this one?"
"With you? As many as you're willing to give me." His voice carries an intensity that makes me shiver with anticipation. "I want to watch you grow round with my heirs, want to see our children learn your scientific curiosity and your gentle heart."
"And your patience," I add with a smile. "Your incredible ability to nurture growth in everything you touch."
Something flickers across his expression—too quick for me to identify, but it looked almost like pain. Before I can ask about it, he's kissing me deeply, pouring what feels like desperate devotion into the connection between our lips.
"I love you," he whispers against my mouth, and there's something in his tone that sounds almost like a confession. "More than duty, more than court, more than the eight centuries of obligation that shaped me. You have become the center of my world, Maya."
The declaration should thrill me, but something about the way he says it—like he's trying to convince himself as much as me—sends a small chill down my spine. "I love you too," I respond, studying his face. "Thorian, is everything alright? You seem... troubled."
"Just overwhelmed by how much you mean to me," he deflects, though his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Centuries of emotional distance don't disappear overnight. Sometimes the depth of what I feel for you terrifies me."
I accept the explanation because I want to believe it, because the alternative—that something might threaten our happiness—is too frightening to contemplate. Instead, I lose myself in the warmth of his embrace, in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
"I should let you rest longer," Thorian eventually murmurs, though he makes no move to leave our bed. "Your power levels have been so intense lately. This respite is a gift."
"I don't want to rest," I tell him honestly. "I feel more like myself than I have in weeks. Maybe I could explore some of the palace areas I haven't seen yet? The living architecture here fascinates me—the way the trees grow in perfect harmony to create rooms and corridors."
"Of course." He presses another kiss to my temple. "Though perhaps avoid the older groves. Some of the ancient magical growths can be unpredictable, and I worry about exposure affecting our child."
The protective concern in his voice melts my heart completely. This is the man who's shown me depths of pleasureI never imagined, who's given me power beyond my wildest dreams, who speaks of our future with such tender certainty. Whatever momentary shadow I glimpsed in his expression must have been my imagination.
"I'll be careful," I promise. "Just some gentle wandering through the gardens and galleries. Nothing that might harm the baby."
