Maya hasn't spoken morethan a few words to me in three days.
She sits across from me at dinner, picking at her food with mechanical precision while avoiding my gaze. When I ask about her day, she responds with polite monosyllables. When I reach for her hand, she doesn't pull away, but her fingers remain lifeless in my grasp.
Something has changed, and I fear I know what it is.
"You've been spending time in the memorial garden," I observe as she pushes roasted vegetables around her plate without eating them.
Her fork stills. "Yes."
"Ash mentioned you've been asking questions about the previous candidates."
"Candidates." She sets down her utensils with careful precision. "Is that what you call them?"
The ice in her voice makes my ancient heart clench with dread. "Maya?—"
"Seven women, Thorian." She finally looks at me, and the devastation in her green eyes hits like a physical blow. "Seven women who underwent the same transformation I did. Sevenwomen who are buried in that garden because the magic killed them."
The truth hangs between us like a blade, and I know the careful edifice of protection I've built around her is crumbling. "You don't understand the full situation?—"
"Then explain it to me." Her voice remains deadly calm, but I can see the fury building beneath the surface. "Explain to me why you never mentioned that becoming a fertility goddess has killed every woman who tried it. Explain to me why they're all dead within months."
"Because you're different," I say desperately, the words I've been clinging to like a lifeline. "Your human blood, your untouched biology?—"
"Is that what you told them too?" She stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. "Did you tell Lyra Moonwhisper she was special? Did you convince Isabella Thornweaver that she was chosen? Did each of them believe they were the one who would finally survive?"
Each name hits like a dagger to my chest. I rise to face her, my hands spread in placation. "Maya, please, let me explain?—"
"Explain what? That you've been lying to me since the moment we met? That every kiss, every tender word, every promise about our future happened while you knew I would probably die?"
"My feelings for you are genuine," I growl, desperation making my voice rough with eight centuries of barely leashed power. "What burns between us, the bond we've forged?—"
"The bond you crafted to secure my cooperation in a deadly ritual?"
Fury rises in my chest alongside the desperation. She carries my child, my heir, the first new life my court has seen in decades. Her fertile body glows with the power I've waited centuries tofind, and she speaks of leaving as if what we've built means nothing.
"The bond I forged because you're perfect for me," I snarl, my ancient nature bleeding through careful control. "You carry my child, Maya. You're everything a Vine Court king could desire in a mate—fertile, responsive, strong enough to channel divine power. Do you think I would risk losing that lightly?"
The accusation cuts deeper because it carries too much truth. Yes, I had studied her, learned her weaknesses, shaped my approach to ensnare her completely. But what grew between us transcended my original cold calculation.
"It began as strategy," I admit, the confession tearing from my throat like broken glass. "But it became everything to me. You became everything. More important than my duty, more precious than eight centuries of rule?—"
"Your rule over a court that's dying without a fertility goddess." Her laugh carries no humor. "How convenient that your growing feelings happened to align perfectly with your political needs."
"That's not—" I step toward her, but she backs away, her hand raised to ward me off.
"Don't." The single word carries such pain that I freeze in place. "Don't touch me. Don't lie to me anymore. Just... tell me the truth. All of it."
The truth. Eight centuries of leadership have taught me the power of carefully chosen words, of revealing only what serves my purposes. But looking at Maya's shattered expression, I realize that anything less than complete honesty will destroy whatever chance we might have of salvaging this.
"The becoming is dangerous," I say quietly, my voice carrying the weight of eight centuries of failure. "The power required to transform into a fertility goddess burns through mortal flesh like wildfire. Fae bodies, already touched by magic, cannot holdsuch intensity without being consumed. Seven women have died attempting what you've survived."
"And you knew this when you brought me here."
"Yes."
"You knew this when you seduced me, when you made me fall in love with you, when you claimed me and put your child in my womb."
"Yes."
