Page 7 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
Heat rises in my cheeks at the casual assumption in her words—that minotaur of yours. Even after two years, hearing someone acknowledge our relationship so matter-of-factly still catches me off guard. In the best possible way.
"Something like that." I set my basket down carefully, suddenly uncertain how to begin. "Actually, I was hoping you might... examine me? I've been feeling a bit off lately."
Mirath's expression sharpens with professional interest. She sets aside her work, dusting herb residue from her palms. "Off how? Specific symptoms, or just general unease?"
"Nausea. Mostly in the mornings, but sometimes other times too. And I'm tired—more tired than I should be." I hesitate, then forge ahead. "My monthly bleeding is late. Nearly three weeks now."
Her eyebrows climb toward her hairline, and something knowing flickers across her features. "I see. Well then, let's have a proper look at you."
The examination is thorough but gentle, Mirath's practiced hands checking pulse points and pressing carefully along my abdomen. She asks questions in a steady, clinical voice—when did the symptoms start, how severe is the nausea, any changes inappetite or sleep patterns. She's got a touch of magic, so she can feel things others can't.
With each question, a possibility I've been trying not to consider grows more solid, more real. My heart hammers against my ribs as she completes her assessment, stepping back with an expression that's equal parts professional satisfaction and barely contained excitement.
"Well?" I ask, though part of me already knows.
"Congratulations," she says, and the word seems to echo in the small space. "I'd estimate you're about six weeks along. Everything feels perfectly normal for this stage."
"Six weeks along." The words spin around my mind. "Am I?—"
Mirath grins at me. "You're pregnant, Soreya."
Pregnant.
The word hits me like a physical force, stealing the breath from my lungs. For a long moment, I can only stare at her, the rush of possibility colliding with sheer disbelief. A baby. Korrun's baby.Ourbaby.
"You're certain?" My voice comes out as barely a whisper.
"As certain as I can be without magic to confirm it, and the signs are all there." Mirath's smile softens, making her look even younger. "Given how happy you two seem together, I assume this is welcome news?"
Welcome. Such a small word for the explosion of joy and terror and wonder currently reorganizing my entire understanding of the future. I press both hands to my stomach, amazed that something so momentous can be happening without any outward sign.
"Yes," I manage, and then with more certainty, "Yes, it's very welcome."
Mirath dispenses advice about nutrition and rest, warns me about foods to avoid and symptoms that would warrant immediate attention. I nod and murmur agreement, but herwords seem to reach me from a great distance. All I can think about is Korrun—how his face will look when I tell him, what he'll say, how those massive hands will feel pressed against my belly.
I practically float out of the shop, Mirath's final congratulations following me into the street. The walk home passes in a blur of anticipated joy, my feet moving without conscious direction while my mind spins through a dozen different ways to share the news.
By the time I reach our backyard, I'm nearly vibrating with excitement. The front door stands slightly ajar—Korrun must have come home early from training. I can hear the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone coming from the back garden, the familiar sound of him sharpening his practice weapons.
I drop my basket just inside the door and hurry through the house, my heart racing with anticipation. The back garden opens before me in late afternoon light, all golden warmth and dancing shadows from the fruit trees we planted together.
And there he is.
Korrun sits on the low stone wall that borders our property, his massive frame bent over a training axe as he works the whetstone along its edge. Sunlight streams through the overhead branches, catching along the polished curve of his horns and turning them to burnished amber. His concentration is absolute, each stroke of the stone measured and precise.
He's beautiful. This powerful, gentle giant who chose to love me despite every reason the world gave him not to. Who makes me feel safe in a way I never thought possible. Who's about to become a father.
"Korrun." His name escapes me on a breath, barely audible.
His head snaps up immediately, those molten amber eyes finding mine across the garden. The whetstone stills in hishand as he takes in whatever expression I'm wearing—probably somewhere between giddy and terrified.
"What is it?" He sets the axe aside carefully, rising to his full height. "You look... different. Did something happen at the market?"
I cross the space between us on unsteady legs, suddenly uncertain how to begin. How do you announce something that will change everything? How do you hand someone the key to an entirely new future?
"I didn't go straight home after the market," I say, stopping just within arm's reach. "I went to see Mirath. Well, I had her examine me."
His expression shifts immediately to concern, hands reaching for me as if to check for injuries I might be hiding. "Are you hurt? Sick? What did she?—"
