"Worth every moment of chaos," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Though I admit I'm looking forward to the daywhen they're old enough to understand that plants have feelings too."
As if summoned by his words, Ryaed appears at our feet with a crown of flowers she's woven from stems that clearly volunteered for the purpose. "For the baby," she announces seriously, placing it gently on my belly. "So she knows she's loved."
The crown immediately begins sprouting tiny buds in response to the life growing beneath it, creating a living circlet that pulses with gentle magic. Through our bond, I feel Thorian's overwhelming love for our daughter, for the family we've built, for the woman who chose to sacrifice power for wisdom.
"Thank you, little star," I tell Ryaed, using the endearment that always makes her beam. "I'm sure she can feel how much her big sister loves her already."
Ryaed nods importantly, then scampers back to her game of making flowers dance in patterns that would impress court choreographers. Her unconscious magic is starting to attract attention from the gardening staff, but in the best possible way. Plants respond to her joy with such abundance that we've had to expand the greenhouse twice just to accommodate her enthusiastic experiments.
"Any word from the other courts?" I ask, settling more comfortably against Thorian's warmth.
"Lord Kaelen writes that Lady Rosalind is expecting their second child. Lord Aratus mentions that Lady Elise has adapted well to her ice magic and they're quite content." His voice carries satisfaction at his fellow kings' happiness. "The prophecy bonds seem to be holding strong across all the completed matches."
Three bonds completed so far, according to the ancient prophecy that brought us together. Three human women transformed and mated, three courts strengthened by the addition of enhanced omega queens. Sometimes I wonder aboutthe five bonds yet to come, about the women who will face the same impossible choices I did.
"Do you think they'll be happy?" I ask. "The other five women, when their time comes?"
"I think they'll be as happy as they choose to be," Thorian replies thoughtfully. "Love can't be forced, Maya. Not real love. Whatever circumstances bring them to their mates, the relationships will only succeed if both partners choose to make them work."
His wisdom comes from hard-won experience. We both know how easily our own bond could have failed if either of us had chosen differently at crucial moments. The lies could have destroyed trust permanently. The sacrifices could have bred resentment instead of deeper love. The challenges could have driven us apart rather than binding us together.
Instead, we chose each other. Over and over again, through every crisis and joy and quiet moment of domestic bliss.
"I love our life," I tell him simply, watching Ryaed teach butterflies to follow her in complicated aerial patterns. "Even with all the chaos and uncertainty, I love what we've built together."
"Even though you gave up divinity for it?"
It's a question he asks sometimes, usually when he's feeling particularly grateful for my sacrifice. I consider it seriously, as I always do, taking inventory of everything I've gained and lost.
My magic is perhaps a tenth of what it was at its peak—enough to encourage growth and ease fertility struggles, but nothing like the reality-reshaping power I once wielded. I'll never again be able to make roses bloom with a thought or accelerate plant growth to impossible speeds. The divine awareness that let me sense life stirring across vast distances is gone, replaced by more intimate sensitivity to my immediate surroundings.
But in exchange, I have this. A husband who chose me over duty, children who fill our days with laughter, a court that flourishes because we learned that love builds stronger foundations than power. A family created through choice rather than compulsion, tested by sacrifice rather than convenience.
"Especially because I gave up divinity for it," I reply. "What we have now is real, Thorian. Built on truth and choice and mutual sacrifice. That's worth more than all the divine power I could have kept."
His arms tighten around me, and through our bond I feel his deep contentment. We've both changed since those early days of lies and desperate manipulation. He's learned to rule through partnership rather than dominance, while I've discovered that true strength sometimes lies in choosing what matters most over what seems most powerful.
"Mama!" Ryaed calls excitedly. "Come see what the roses told me!"
I let Thorian help me to my feet—eight months pregnant makes graceful movement more challenging than I'd like to admit—and waddle over to where our daughter is having what appears to be an animated conversation with a climbing rose that's draped itself across the garden arbor.
"What did they say, sweetheart?"
"They say there's someone watching," she reports seriously, pointing toward Thorian's study windows. "Someone far away who's been looking through the pretty mirror."
A chill runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the afternoon breeze. Thorian goes very still beside me, and I can feel tension radiating through our bond as her innocent words register.
"Someone watching through a mirror?" he asks carefully.
"Uh-huh. The roses say he has silver eyes and he smiles like he knows secrets." Ryaed turns back to the flowers as ifdiscussing magical surveillance is perfectly normal for a three-year-old. "They don't like him very much."
Thorian and I exchange glances over her head. Scrying magic is ancient and powerful, typically used by the oldest Fae lords to observe events across great distances. And silver eyes could only mean one person.
"Stay with Ryaed," Thorian murmurs, but I shake my head.
"We go together," I reply firmly. "Whatever this is, we face it as partners."
He nods after a moment, understanding that our unity is more important than any protective instinct. Together, we walk toward his study, Ryaed skipping between us as she continues her botanical conversation.
