Each admission feels like flaying myself alive, but she deserves this brutal honesty even if it destroys us both.
"Why?" The word emerges as a broken whisper. "Why risk my life for your court's survival? Why not find another path?"
"Because there is no other path." The words carry the full weight of my ancient desperation. "My people fade, Maya. Our children are stillborn, our magic withers like dying roots. Without a fertility goddess to restore what was lost, the Vine Court dies within two generations."
"So you decided human lives were acceptable sacrifices?"
"I decided that hope was worth the gamble." Rage flares hot in my chest—rage at her stubborn refusal to see what we could have together, rage at the waste of her perfect fertility if she flees. "You don't understand what you are, what you mean to my court. You're not just any human, Maya. You're the first woman in centuries who could bear my children successfully, whose body calls to mine like no other. You think I would risk that bond carelessly?" Even as I say it, I know how savage it sounds. "The others understood the risks?—"
"Did they?" Her voice erupts with fury that makes the air itself crackle with power. "Because Ash told me you kept them ignorant. They thought they were being honored, not murdered."
The accusation hits because it's true. I had spoken of challenges and strength required while carefully omitting thatevery previous attempt ended in death. Just as I had done with her.
"I believed your human blood would succeed where Fae heritage failed," I say, the words feeling like poison on my tongue. "Untouched biology could potentially channel power that would destroy magical flesh."
"Potentially." She seizes the word like a blade. "You had no certainty. You were gambling with my life based on nothing but desperate hope."
"Yes."
The admission hangs between us like a death knell. Maya stares at me with dawning recognition, finally seeing the truth I've hidden behind careful tenderness and protective devotion—that I am exactly what she's named me. A predator who selected her as prey and wove the perfect snare.
The admission hangs between us in the sudden silence. Maya stares at me as if seeing me clearly for the first time, and I know she's recognizing the truth I've tried so hard to hide—that beneath the careful tenderness and protective devotion, I am exactly what she's accused me of being. A predator who identified her as suitable prey and crafted the perfect trap.
"I love you," I say desperately, the words feeling simultaneously true and inadequate. "Whatever else you believe about my motivations, that is genuine. I would sacrifice my kingdom before I would willingly let harm come to you now."
"But you were willing to risk my life to save your people."
"At first, yes. Before I truly knew you, before I understood what losing you would mean."
"And when did that change? After you'd already transformed me? After I was already pregnant with your child? How convenient that your conscience awakened only after the damage was done."
The chronology she's outlining is devastating in its accuracy. My feelings for her had grown gradually, deepening from clinical interest to possessive need to desperate love. But the timing makes it impossible to prove that my care for her is genuine rather than simply protective of my investment.
"I know how it appears," I begin.
"It appears that you groomed me perfectly," Maya interrupts, her voice breaking slightly. "You studied my psychological profile, identified my weaknesses, and crafted an approach designed to make me fall in love with you. You made me feel special, chosen, irreplaceable—all to secure my cooperation in a process that has killed every woman who attempted it."
"Maya—"
"Was any of it real?" The question emerges as barely a whisper, but it carries the weight of absolute devastation. "The intellectual connection I thought we shared, the way you seemed to value my mind as much as my body—was any of that genuine, or was I just a particularly challenging mark that required more sophisticated manipulation?"
"It was real," I insist with fierce intensity. "Your brilliance, your curiosity, your gentle strength—I didn't manufacture my admiration for those qualities. They captivated me beyond what I expected, beyond what I could control."
"But you studied me beforehand. You knew exactly what would appeal to me, exactly how to make me trust you."
"Yes." Another damning admission. "I observed you for months before we met, learning your interests and vulnerabilities. But Maya, what grew between us transcended that initial manipulation. The connection we forged was real, even if its foundations were built on deception."
She's silent for long moments, her hand resting protectively over her belly where our child grows. When she speaks again,her voice carries a hollow quality that chills me more than her anger did.
"I can feel the symptoms getting worse," she says quietly, her voice hollow in a way that tears through my chest. "The racing heart, the breathlessness, the way my power makes flowers burn bright and die. I'm following the same path as the others, aren't I?"
"Your human flesh is stronger?—"
"How long do I have?"
The direct question strips away all possibility of deflection. I meet her gaze, letting her see the terrible knowledge I've carried alone. "Isabella lasted three months after the symptoms began."
"And I've been showing signs for how long?"
