"Different." She considers this with the thoughtful precision I love about her. "Like I've been living in a storm and finally found shelter. Still connected to the magic, still able to feel the growing things around us, but no longer drowning in power I was never meant to contain."
"Any regret?"
"None." The certainty in her voice makes my chest tight with pride. "I can feel the grove responding, sense the life returning to your lands. Your people have their futures back, Thorian. That's worth everything."
Our daughter stirs in Lady Elvinia's arms, and Maya reaches for her with hands that shake slightly from exhaustion. When she takes our child, roses bloom spontaneously around them—not from Maya's touch, but from our daughter's inherited power.
"She'll be extraordinary," Maya observes, watching tiny flowers unfurl in response to the baby's presence. "More than either of us ever was."
"She'll be loved." I wrap my arms around both of them, marveling at how Maya now fits against me with purely human proportions. "By a mother who chose wisdom over power, and a father who learned what love actually means."
As we stand together in the restored grove, surrounded by the evidence of Maya's sacrifice, I feel the magnitude of what we've accomplished settling into my bones. My court will survive and flourish. Maya will live beside me for centuries as my enhanced omega queen. Our daughter will grow up understanding that love sometimes demands impossible choices.
And I will spend every moment of our eternal time together proving that some bonds are worth any sacrifice—especially when both partners are willing to make them.
"Ready to go home?" I ask.
"More than ready." Maya leans into my warmth, and I marvel at how human contact can feel more meaningful than divine power. "I want to show our daughter what a mortal queen looks like. What it means to rule with wisdom instead of magic."
As I carry my mate and our extraordinary child back toward the palace, I realize that Maya was right about the mathematics of love. Centuries of partnership built on mutual choice and sacrifice will be worth more than any dominion built on others' suffering.
Some gifts become more precious when they're chosen rather than stolen.
And the woman who gave up divinity to save my people has given me something far greater—the chance to love someone who chose wisdom over power, conscience over convenience, others' happiness over her own extraordinary abilities. A queen who will rule beside me not because magic compels her, but because love earned that place.
If that's not divine, I don't know what is.
CHAPTER 31
MAYA
Six monthslater
Our daughter's laughter makes roses bloom.
I'm sitting in the palace gardens, watching Ryaed toddle between flower beds with the unsteady determination of a child who's just discovered the joy of walking. Every giggle sends ripples of magic through the air, coaxing impossible blooms from winter soil and making the gardening staff shake their heads in fond bewilderment.
"She's going to be a handful," Lady Elvinia observes, settling beside me on the marble bench with practiced grace.
"She already is." I can't keep the pride from my voice as I watch our daughter discover that touching rosebush stems makes them burst into flower. "Yesterday she made the entire conservatory bloom just because she was happy about her afternoon nap."
"And how are you feeling? Any lingering effects from the ritual?"
It's a question I've been asked daily since my sacrifice, though the answer never changes. I consider it anyway, taking mental inventory of the woman I've become versus the goddess I used to be.
"Better than I have in months," I say honestly. "The constant pressure is gone. No more divine power trying to consume me from within, no more feeling like I might shatter if I touched the wrong plant." I flex my fingers, watching small flowers respond to my presence—not the overwhelming torrents of before, but gentle encouragement that feels right. "I have just enough magic to tend a garden and help things grow. It's perfect."
And it is. The magic flowing through me now feels like wearing silk instead of armor, natural and comfortable rather than overwhelming. I can coax roses to bloom early, encourage fruit trees toward sweeter harvests, and help healing herbs reach their full strength. It's useful power that enhances my work as queen without threatening to burn me alive.
"Any regret?"
"None." The certainty in my voice surprises even me. "Elvinia, look around. Really look."
She follows my gesture across the thriving gardens where life blooms on every branch. Lady Rosemary tends her herb plots with a glow I've never seen before—she's three months pregnant with her first child, conceived within weeks of the court's restoration. Captain Sage works with a young recruit who carries the promise of bloodlines continuing. Master Gardener Ash propagates cuttings that will grow into trees his great-grandchildren will tend.
"Five thousand Fae have their futures back," I continue. "Children being born, bloodlines continuing, centuries of knowledge preserved. How could I regret trading impossible power for that kind of hope?"
"You gave up divinity. Some would say you gave up your chance to reshape the world."
