"Three weeks."
She nods as if she expected this death sentence. "So if the pattern holds, I have perhaps six more weeks before the power consumes me completely."
"We'll find a way to anchor the magic. Your survival proves?—"
"My survival proves I'm the first human you've been willing to sacrifice for your court."
The brutal truth silences any protest I might offer. In the growing quiet, I can hear the distant pulse of the palace's root systems, the whisper of leaves responding to ancient currents. The sounds of a living court that depends on Maya's transformation for its continued existence.
"I need time away from you," she says finally, her voice breaking slightly. "I need to think without your scent clouding my judgment, without your touch making me forget how thoroughly you've manipulated me."
The words hit like physical blows, but underneath the pain, fury burns white-hot. She speaks of leaving while heavy with mychild, of abandoning the perfect match I've searched centuries to find. Every instinct I possess screams against letting her go.
"Maya, please. We can forge something true from this wreckage?—"
"True?" Her laugh cuts like broken glass. "How can anything between us be true when our entire bond was built on calculated lies? When I can never know whether your actions come from love or from desperation to keep your breeding stock alive long enough to complete your grand design?"
"Breeding stock." The words make my vision blur with rage. "Is that what you think you are to me? You carry the first heir my court has seen in centuries, Maya. Your body responds to mine like it was made for my claiming. You think I see that as mere breeding stock?"
But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they're not the complete truth. The others carried children too, briefly, before the power consumed them. Isabella lasted long enough for her pregnancy to show before the magic tore her apart from within. But this... this feels different in ways I cannot voice to her.
The ancient prophecies speak of a human-born goddess whose child will bridge two worlds. Maya's pregnancy pulses with power I've never sensed before, as if the babe she carries is touched by forces older than my court, older than the Sundering itself. And beneath the political necessity, beneath the desperate need for an heir, lies a truth that terrifies me—I cannot bear the thought of losing this child not because of what it represents to my kingdom, but because it's hers. Because for the first time in eight centuries, a pregnancy matters to me not as a king, but as a man.
The crude phrasing she used makes me recoil, but underneath the hurt, possessive fury claws at my control. She is mine—my mate, my queen, the mother of my children. The thought of losing her, of losing our child, of watching centuriesof hope crumble because of my own deceptions... it's unbearable. "Where will you go?"
"Away from this place. Away from you." She moves toward the door, her hand protective over our growing child. "For what it's worth, Thorian, I believe you love me now. But that doesn't erase the fact that you were willing to watch me die before you cared enough to mourn the loss."
She leaves me standing in the ruins of everything I've built, surrounded by the remnants of trust I took centuries to learn and moments to destroy. Fury and devastation war in my chest—fury at her stubborn blindness to what we could build together, devastation at my own role in destroying it.
The irony cuts deeper than any blade. I finally found my perfect mate—fertile, responsive, strong enough to bear my children and restore my dying court. Her body was made for mine, her womb designed to carry my heirs. And I'm losing it all because I was too much the calculating king and not enough the devoted mate when it mattered most.
But there's a darker truth beneath even that recognition. The others who came before her were vessels for my political necessity, tools to serve my kingdom's survival. Maya's pregnancy should be the same—another attempt at securing my court's future. Yet when I think of losing the child growing in her womb, the pain that tears through me has nothing to do with succession or magical bloodlines.
For the first time in eight centuries of rule, I want a child not because my kingdom demands it, but because it's hers. Because it would have her eyes and her curious mind, because holding our baby would mean our bond survived my deceptions. The others carried heirs I needed. Maya carries the child I want with a desperation that has nothing to do with duty and everything to do with love I never expected to feel.
I should follow her, should use every weapon in my arsenal to convince her to stay. My scent could cloud her judgment, my touch could remind her of the pleasure we share, my authority could command her compliance. Instead, I remain frozen as eight centuries of cold calculation finally claim their price.
The memorial garden calls to me, as it has every night since she began showing the signs. Seven graves of women I failed to save, and now perhaps an eighth being carved by forces beyond even my ancient power to control.
The difference is, this time, losing her might shatter something in my soul that eight centuries of rule never touched. This time, I'm not just losing a candidate for transformation—I'm losing my queen, my mate, the mother of my children, everything I never knew I needed until I held it in my hands.
CHAPTER 23
MAYA
The steam traincarries me away from the Vine Court through countryside that blurs past the windows like a fever dream. Three days since my confrontation with Thorian, and my symptoms are getting worse. My heart pounds even while sitting still, my breathing comes shallow and quick, and the divine power flowing through my veins feels less like goddess magic and more like poison spreading through my system.
I need help. Medical help from someone who understands omega biology and might have insights into what's happening to my transformed body. I need my sister.
The irony tastes bitter in my mouth—running to Sarah for comfort when she's the one who recommended me for this position in the first place. But she's brilliant, one of the world's leading researchers on Fae-human magical interactions, and despite our complicated history, she's still family. Still the only person who might understand the science behind what's killing me.
The university district of New London sprawls before me as the train pulls into the station, all gaslight and steam pipes and the familiar smell of coal smoke mixing with magical residue from the Fae quarter. I take a hansom cab to Sarah's laboratory,clutching my traveling case with hands that shake slightly from the magical strain.
Sarah's office is in the basement of the Medical Research Building, tucked away where her more... unconventional research won't attract unwanted attention. I've been here dozens of times over the years, but something feels different as I descend the narrow stairs. The air carries a metallic tang that makes my enhanced senses recoil.
I knock on the heavy oak door and wait, listening to the sound of footsteps and what might be equipment being hastily moved. When the door finally opens, Sarah's face goes through a series of expressions—surprise, guilt, and something that might be calculation.
"Maya!" She recovers quickly, pulling me into a hug that feels stiff and forced. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at that research fellowship."
