"She was brave," I murmur, reading the inscription beneath her name. "They all were. Volunteering for transformation that had never succeeded, believing love was worth any risk."
"They were." Thorian's arms circle me from behind, his massive frame offering shelter from the divine power that's slowly consuming me. "Just as you are."
"But I have something they didn't," I realize, the truth crystallizing with perfect clarity. "I have time to choose how this ends. They died in the process, victims of biology they couldn't control. I can decide what my death means."
"Maya—"
"I'm going to die, Thorian." The words come out calm, matter-of-fact. "Maybe in labor, maybe before. But our daughter will live, and she'll be extraordinary. The question is whether my death accomplishes anything beyond bringing her into the world."
Through our bond, I feel his desperate denial, his refusal to accept the reality I've already embraced. But underneath the emotion, I sense something else—a glimmer of understanding about what I'm truly asking.
"What are you thinking?" he asks carefully.
"I'm thinking about the greater good." I turn in his arms to face him directly. "About whether one woman's sacrifice can accomplish something more than individual survival."
The setting sun paints the memorial garden in shades of gold and crimson, and for the first time since my transformation began, I feel truly at peace. Not because I've accepted death, but because I finally understand what my life—and my ending—could actually mean.
"Take me home," I whisper against his chest. "I want to spend whatever time we have left making memories instead of mourning what we're going to lose."
As he carries me back toward the palace, I press my hand to my belly one final time, feeling our daughter's strong movements beneath my palm. She's going to change everything—I can sense it in the way the very air responds to her presence. And if my sacrifice can ensure she has a world worth inheriting, then every moment of this impossible transformation has been worth the cost.
Some love is measured not in duration, but in the magnitude of what we're willing to risk for it.
And I've never been more certain that this risk—this beautiful, terrible gamble—is exactly what love demands.
CHAPTER 28
THORIAN
Maya's screamstear through the night like something dying.
I'm in my study reviewing grain reports when the first cry echoes through the palace walls, but the sound stops my heart mid-beat. Not the controlled breathing Lady Elvinia taught her, not the rhythmic panting of normal labor. This is something raw and primal that speaks of biology pushed beyond its limits.
"My lord!" Elvinia's voice carries panic I've never heard from her in three centuries of service. "You need to come. Now."
I'm already moving, ancient instincts overriding royal composure. The bond between us writhes with Maya's agony, each contraction sending lightning through my own chest. By the time I reach the healing chambers, my hands are shaking.
The sight stops me cold.
Maya lies on the birthing bed like a fallen star—her dark hair plastered to her skull with sweat, her enhanced body blazing with unstable divine power. When another contraction hits, the light beneath her skin flares bright enough to hurt, and I hear protective crystals crack under the strain.
She's burning alive from the inside out.
"Thorian." Her voice is barely a whisper, but her hand reaches for mine with desperate strength. "Something's wrong. The power—it won't let the baby come."
I take her offered hand, feeling the fertility magic coursing through her like molten gold. The divine enhancement that makes her extraordinary is fighting the birth, treating our daughter like an invader to be expelled while simultaneously trying to preserve what it sees as its vessel.
"How long?" The question comes out rougher than intended.
"She started labor three hours ago." Elvinia's ancient features are tight with helplessness. "But the contractions aren't progressing. The divine power keeps interrupting the natural process."
Three hours. And Maya looks like she's been fighting for days.
"Options."
"I could try to encourage the birth along, but the power surge might stop her heart." Elvinia's hands flutter uselessly over instruments that were never designed for this. "Calming herbs might ease her suffering, but they could stop the contractions entirely."
Another massive surge of divine energy tears through Maya, and this time the scream that follows isn't human. The remaining crystals shatter with sounds like breaking stars, and the very air begins to smell of ozone and burning roses.
