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Confusion blasts through me, followed by hatred of an unknown enemy. “Who made you doubt your creation?”
“It’s just a game.” The way she tugs at her dress makes me want to still her hands and erase her unease.
“Nonsense,” I argue. “Games teach us life skills, and it’s important to you. Therefore, it’s important to me. Give me a name, and I’ll make them wish they hadn’t been so careless with your feelings. Better yet, tell me all those who have wronged you, and I’ll add them to my list. The labyrinth hasn’t lured any human sacrifices in centuries, but we can revisit the issue.”
“You’re serious?” She stares at me, no fear in her blue eyes that glow with firelight.
“No one harms you. Not in action. Not in words.” Not even me. Never again if I can help it.
She makes a half-snort, half-snicker that I want to hear again. “Such vengeful talk. So much for the benevolent king that Bess makes you out to be.” Tugging at the dress, I notice it’s not the seams she has been worrying with. It’s a carving. “I’m working on a war board game called Mutter Udder Maniacs. Ridiculous name, I know, but it’s catchy, and I like it.” She sounds as though she’s daring me to disagree. I won’t. “It’s a strategy game mixed with chance.”
“War games have taught military strategy for millennia.” I tap the carving in her hand, clicking it with the tip of my nail that looks like a claw next to her dainty painted ones. “Let’s see.”
She uncurls her fingers, revealing a tiny brown cow dressed as a gladiator, complete with breast shields and kilt. Standing on two hooves, long horns curling from her head over two flattened ears, and wearing a scowl to match the wicked battle ax she carries, the game piece looks ready for combat. The detail and precision? It’s a masterpiece in miniature. “You made this?” If her slender fingers can work such intricacies, what would they feel like touching me somewhere other than my arm?
“I did. I call her Lady Snarl.”
“Your carving talents alone would make you a prize here.” I bring the game piece closer and stare in wonder. “It’s a mini Bess.”
“I know, right? When I woke to find her in the rocking chair next to my bed, chewing her cud and tapping her hooves, I flipped out, thinking my fantasy character had come to life. I thought I was still dreaming.” She scoots closer and I can smell the soap she must have bathed with, the lavender someone has woven in her hair, the hints of excitement and—I breathe deeply—arousal.
The last surprises me as much as it gives me hope, but I stick to the subject that’s driving her passion because, gods, she must think I stink after days of travel. “Did you change your piece to match her?”
“No, I’d already finished it before I came through the portal. I don’t have paints or my carving knife with me.” Her speech comes faster and faster, words tumbling together in an infectious enthusiasm. “I’ve had so many new ideas since I arrived. I can’t wait to sketch them.”
“That game piece shows the Fates meant for you to come here, for you to be inspired and to have time to work on your art.” Say you’ll stay. I don’t push, dangling the shiny bait.
“An offer I can’t resist.”
I want to cheer, to celebrate her choice with a feast or a fine gift—one she would enjoy. “I would like to see other game pieces that you create while you’re here. Let me know what supplies you need, and I’ll make sure you have them.” And more.
“Not so fast.” She holds up a hand but doesn’t move away. “What do you get out of this?” Narrowing her eyes, she says, “The truth.”
“A chance to make you mine.”
She shakes her head. “Pretty words, but while you were gone, everyone told me how committed you are to your people. What they didn’t want me to hear is that your kingdom’s in trouble.”
Observant human, my mate. “I meant what I said.” I keep going when she gives me a pointed stare. “I just didn’t give you the whole truth.”
“Which is?” Meg makes skeptical look seductive.
“My realm’s a few thousand years old, relatively young in the timeline of worlds. Yours is much older.”
“Your realm?” She frowns.
“I created it. Or most of it, anyway. The maze that keeps us safe, the castle, the boundary wards.”
“How old are you?”
“Ancient, when you ask the question like that.” I lean my head back against the chair until the fabric squeaks against my horns. “Part of my existence I don’t remember. I raged and hungered and did horrible things, which is how I came to be here. A few centuries ago, I decided to offer shelter to other monsters and misfits. It worked as a refuge, but the magic I wove into the labyrinth has begun unraveling. The power drain happens in realms—sooner in some, later in others.” Exhaustion has me saying the last on a weary sigh. Why did this realm have to go so quickly?
“How do we stop the magic from leaving?”
Her simple use of we makes me smile, however sad the curve of my lips may be. “No one can stop the loss. The only hope is to create more magic, enough to sustain the realm.”
“How?”
Why does she have to ask this now? We’d talked of courting and choices, yet she’d decided to stay. If I tell her, she’ll bolt. If I don’t, then I trapped her in a lie of omission.
