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“No, but I know what it is.” And how horribly it can devastate humans. “Is she…” I’m not sure what to ask. Gods, I’m not good at handling feelings. I would rather have an enemy to fight and conquer. “Your mother?”
“She beat it.” Meg smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and she still sounds sad. “It was hard on her, but she’s tough.”
“A warrior like you.”
Her reaction to my obvious conclusion ripples over her face as quickly as the changing waves set off by a stone dropped into calm waters. Her expressions flicker from the rosy sweetness that warms my magic and makes my chest swell in pride at causing it, to doubt’s shadows, to the flat nothingness that screams of lack of passion. The very opposite of my Meg.
The fact that I can’t merely demand that she accept herself for the queen that she is? It sends an uneasy ache and keyed-up energy through me that I can’t settle. “What makes you question the truth of your worth? You are a warrior.” She has a deep wound, one that bleeds her confidence like a scourge. Yet I can’t see it to heal it. “It’s the same as whenever I speak the obvious about you. Your beauty, your strength, your brilliance—those are facts, realities plain for everyone to see.” Everyone but her.
Her eyes shine with tears, and I want to stop this hurt, to slay whatever put that sadness there. “I trusted someone, and he made me doubt myself.” The confession seems to pull the courage from her.
Anger rolls through me, the kind that would level my world if I unleashed it in magic. “Give me his name. I’ll end him.”
“Leander.” Her voice comes out shaky, a half-teasing chiding that soothes my rage but doesn’t take it away. “You can’t just go around threatening people because they hurt me.”
She’s my mate. It’s my privilege. “I can, and I will. His name.” I stress the last, insisting that she let me do this for her.
“Hurting him won’t take away the damage he did.” She heaves a sigh that makes me want to unload her burdens.
But if slaying her enemies won’t heal this wound, then what will? Emotions. Gods, the most arduous of battles. “Then tell me how to help.” I cup her face, keeping my touch light.
She leans into my palm, the trust in that simple action humbling me. “Keep treating me like I’m precious.”
“An easy task when you are precious.” If it takes the rest of my long life, I will make her see how much of a treasure she is. Except she’ll leave in a few days, unless I can convince her to stay. The thought has my heart sinking, my gut knotting. I push past my fears and uncertainty because right now I need to focus on hers. “You should be spoiled, cherished. He was a fool to do otherwise.”
Her adorable huff that’s almost a snort eases some of my worry. “You and my mom would agree on how little you think of his opinions. She couldn’t stand him.”
“A wise woman, your mother.” Much like her daughter. “What’s she like?” I ask because I want to know everything about Meg, and because talking about the woman makes her happy. The love she has for her mother is clear.
“Mom’s amazing. She’s super old-fashioned, like her folks raised her in an anti-tech cult or something, but they died before I was born. She bakes the best cupcakes, works too hard, and has no patience for slackers. What about your mom?” The question rolls so easily off her tongue, but I don’t have an easy answer.
“If I had one, I don’t remember her.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, staring at me as if she wants to know about me as much as I crave information about her.
Sharing my personal history makes me uncomfortable, and I have to distract myself by looking anywhere but at her or her demon cat. “Most memories of my early times are hazy, except feelings of hunger and rage. I was held captive, trapped in a maze, and hunted until I escaped to this realm.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh no, Leander.”
“I don’t need your pity,” I say, softening my voice. “Other monsters suffered worse fates.”
“Is that why you built your own maze here?” she asks.
“To keep others out, not to imprison anyone inside.”
She takes so long to answer that Oggie leaps to the floor with a thump and pads out of the room. Have I said too much? I study one of the characters she carved today, noting how similar the appearance could be to Tauren. A match to Bess’s piece. How wonderful of a queen she would be if my mate would only accept me.
“I don’t know my father.” Her admission seems an intimate exchange of secrets, and I treat the shared information as prized. “He disappeared on my mom.”
Horror spreads through me, and I struggle to keep it off my face when she continues.
Meg makes a dismissive motion, picking up her brush and going back to her painting. “I’ve worked through the hurt, and my mom said he didn’t have a choice. Besides, she loves me enough for two. She told me his name and sketched his likeness for me, although I figure she embellished. No man could be that attractive. I tried to find him in high school, but the leads went dry pretty quickly.”
How could a man to whom the gods have granted a child ever abandon that little one? I shove down the judgment, as I would be forced to make the same terrible decision if the Fates gave me that incredible gift. “Do you want children?” Hope soars through me alongside crushing grief. Whatever her answer, I can’t offer her the impossible.
“Maybe someday.”
I must tell her. Hiding this truth from her would make me one of those monsters who destroys those they love. Even if it means losing her.
