We’re home.
Home. The word feels strangely right. My mother’s house in Tárnov seems like something from another lifetime.
“Theron,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, my throat dry and aching. I try to clear it, but the effort turns into a cough, and I wince, closing my eyes again.
“Your Majesty, please, drink this,” a melodic voice, light as a song, says. A nýmphá.
I open my eyes again and see her pale hand holding a cup shaped from a leaf.
Theron takes it from her and raises it to my mouth, his other paw bracing my back as I sit up. As soon as the cool water touches my lips, I drink desperately, and I don’t stop until it’s gone, my body craving every drop.
I’m sitting on his lap, leaning into his solid, rock-hard chest as he rests his paw on my back. “Thank you,” I murmur, glancing at the nýmphá who offered me water. My gaze shifts to the garden, and my breath catches.
“Theron!” Blue roses, countless and fully grown, stretch out around the porch. Their glow illuminates the nýmphí sitting among them and the way their small hands trace the petals as they chat with one another.
I’ve never seen so many before. My mother’s garden had a few dozen flowers she ardently nurtured. But this? This is unlike anything I’ve ever imagined.
“I love having these rare and beautiful roses inside our home,” Theron says, his tone calm. “But you grew so many, and we needed space to walk. So I brought us out here.”
My jaw goes slack. I tilt my head to look up at him, my eyes heavy and struggling to stay open. “How did I do this?”
“It is said that the tears of a blue-rose blood make the flowers bloom,” he says, his claws combing through my hair.
It hits me all at once. My mother never cried. At least, not in front of me. Not once in my life had I seen her shed a single tear. Is that how we have blue roses in the first place? Did she cry when I wasn’t there to see it?
Why had she never told me a thing? Never answered any of my questions?
“Did I cry that much? Enough to grow a whole garden?”
Theron nods. “Three nights, my mate.”
Three nights?
I blink at him. “Have I slept for three whole nights?”
“You were asleep for seven.” His tone is heavy with a sadness that makes my chest ache. “The last three, you were crying.”
I reach up instinctively to rub my temples. No wonder my head feels like a horse trampled it.
“What dreams haunted you?” Theron’s deep voice rumbles as he tugs me closer and wraps his arms around me.
“I saw my mother,” I begin, my words barely audible as I rest my head against his chest. “I saw myself... saw lots of hands and paws. They were reaching for a baby, for me. I was that baby.” My voice trails off, the memory still so vivid. “Theron... what was that dream?”
If I had any tears left to shed, they would’ve come now. But I’m drained, hollow. The ache in my chest reminds me how much I miss her.
I sigh into his fur, then inhale his scent. He smells so good, like the roses surrounding us, earthy and comforting, with a warmth that soothes my raw nerves.
His brows knit together, his gaze fixed on me. I brush my hand over his furrowed brow, trying to smooth it. His throat bobs as he swallows. And then...
Oh. I feel something, hard and growing, against my hip. My face burns as realization dawns.
“Alright, time to feed you and get you cleaned,” Theron blurts, panic flashing across his face as he scoops me up with a speed that leaves no time for protest.
I want to tell him to put me down, but my body feels like a sack of stones. So, for now, I let him carry me, my pride taking a backseat to my exhaustion.
As Theron opens the door, my eyes catch the overgrowth of blue roses spilling around the bed-nest. My jaw slackens at the sight.
“Goddesses,” I murmur. “I must’ve stayed unconscious so long just because I was so dehydrated.”
