"My lord." Elvinia's voice drops to a whisper. "At this rate, she has perhaps six hours. The divine power will consume her completely before the birth can progress naturally."
Six hours. I stare at my dying mate, brilliant Maya who chose to trust me despite every reason not to. The woman who makes me laugh, who argues with me about trade policy, who approaches her own mortality like a scientific experiment because that's how her beautiful mind works.
"There is another option."
The voice slides through the chamber like oil on water, and I feel my blood turn to ice. Lord Oberon steps from shadows that shouldn't exist near so much blazing divine light, his silver eyes fixed on Maya's struggling form with something that might be hunger.
"You." The word comes out as a snarl.
"Me." He inclines his head with mocking courtesy. "Here to witness history. The first True Divine in three millennia, dying in childbirth because mortal flesh cannot contain what she has become."
"Get out."
"But I bring such interesting possibilities." He moves closer to the bed, and Maya's eyes focus on him with effort. "Young goddess, you face an impossible choice. Your human body is being consumed by the very power that makes you extraordinary."
"I know," she gasps between contractions.
"But death need not be permanent." His voice carries the weight of ancient promises. "The fertility bloodline is bound to magic itself—your soul could return within the year. Born fresh, without complications. Without resistance."
The offer hits like ice water. A new Maya, unmarked by betrayal or trauma. A goddess who would smile and submit and bear my children without the messy reality of earned trust and hard-won forgiveness.
Someone who wouldn't be Maya at all.
"She would be compliant," I hear myself say, understanding the full scope of his temptation.
"Delightfully so. No questions about risk, no stubborn independence, no inconvenient attachment to her own autonomy." His smile widens. "And you would have centuries to court her properly this time."
Maya's grip on my hand tightens as another contraction builds. "Thorian," she whispers, her voice carrying all the fierce love that chose me despite my lies. "Don't let me become someone else. Whatever you choose—let me face it as myself."
The raw courage in those words makes my chest clench. Even dying, even consumed by impossible power, she refuses to trade her identity for easier existence. She would rather burn as herself than live as someone else's idea of perfection.
"There is an alternative," I say, though the words taste like poison. "But the cost..."
"Tell me," Maya demands through gritted teeth.
I look at her—really look at her. Dark hair matted with sweat, skin pale with exhaustion, those brilliant brown eyes burning with determination even as her body fails. This is the woman who discovered my lies and chose forgiveness. Who faced the truth about seven dead women and decided the risk was worth taking anyway.
She deserves to know what I'm considering.
"I can share my fertility power with you. Channel eight centuries of accumulated strength into helping your body manage this." The words feel like confessing to murder. "But the sharing would drain my core essence permanently. I would lose my fertility magic entirely."
"And?"
The simple question hits harder than screaming would have. She's not going to let me soften this blow, not going to accept comfortable lies when the truth is what she needs.
"And because of how court magic works, my sterility would spread to every Fae under my protection. The Vine Court would become incapable of reproduction. One generation, and we fade into extinction."
The healing chamber falls silent except for Maya's labored breathing and the crackle of unstable divine energy. EvenOberon watches with calculating interest, as if this moment of choice is more entertaining than whatever outcome he'd hoped for.
"Thousands of Fae," Maya whispers. "Centuries of culture and knowledge. All sacrificed for one human woman and her child."
"Sacrificed for love," I correct. "For the woman who chose to trust me despite having every reason to hate me. For the future we're building together."
But even as I say the words, the magnitude of what I'm contemplating crashes over me like a wave. I need space to think. Need to understand what this choice will mean not just for Maya and me, but for everyone who's trusted me to protect their future.
"Stay with her," I command Elvinia, then stride from the chamber despite Maya's desperate call of my name.
The palace corridors stretch endlessly before me as I walk—no, pace—through halls that have sheltered my people for eight centuries. Every tapestry tells our story. Every carved stone speaks of permanence, of a court that was meant to endure forever. Every flowering vine represents the fertility magic I'm considering sacrificing for one woman's survival.
