Page 8 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
"I'm pregnant."
The words fall between us like stones dropped into still water, sending ripples through the afternoon quiet. Korrun goes absolutely motionless, the whetstone slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter against the stone wall.
For a heartbeat, maybe two, he simply stares at me. Then his expression splits into something so brilliant, so completely unguarded, that my chest tightens with the force of it. Pure joy transforms his features, makes him look younger somehow, as if years of careful restraint have suddenly melted away.
"Pregnant," he repeats, his voice dropping to something almost reverent. "You're... we're..."
"Having a baby," I confirm, nodding so hard my hair falls across my face.
He gathers me against his chest before I can draw another breath, his laughter shaking both our bodies as he lifts me clean off the ground. The sound is rich and deep and completelyuninhibited, bubbling up from somewhere fundamental inside him.
"A baby," he says into my hair, spinning us both in a slow circle. "Our baby. Soreya, we're going to have a baby."
I can barely breathe through the tightness in my throat, overwhelmed by the sheer happiness radiating from him. This is what unrestrained joy looks like on Korrun—this brilliant, consuming delight that makes everything else fade to background noise.
"Names," he says suddenly, setting me down but keeping his arms locked around me. "We need to think about names. Do you think it'll be a boy or girl? Not that it matters, obviously, but—by the Lady, Soreya, we're going to be parents."
His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones as if he needs to touch me to believe this is real. The careful control he usually maintains has completely evaporated, leaving behind this wonderful, overwhelming enthusiasm that makes my heart feel too large for my chest.
"I love you," I whisper, going up on my toes to kiss him properly. "I love you so much."
"And I love you. Both of you." One hand drops to rest flat against my stomach, spanning nearly my entire abdomen. "How long have you known?"
"About an hour." I laugh at his expression—part amazement, part something that might be possessive satisfaction. "I suspected for a few days, but I wanted to be certain before I said anything."
"An hour, and you came straight home to tell me."
It's not a question, but I nod anyway. "Where else would I go?"
Something shifts in his expression at that, going soft and wondering. As if the simple fact that he's my first thought, my first priority, still surprises him somehow.
The rest of the afternoon dissolves into a haze of planning and laughter and endless, gentle touches. Korrun can't seem to stop reaching for me—brushing my hair back from my face, resting his palm over my stomach as though the life growing there might vanish if he doesn't maintain contact, pulling me close just to feel me breathing against him.
"I'll reduce my hours at the colosseum," he says as we sit together on the garden wall, my back pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped around me. "Focus on private training instead. Better pay, and I'll be home more."
The words paint pictures in my mind—lazy mornings together, shared meals, Korrun here to hold my hair when the morning sickness gets bad. A future bright with possibility, untainted by the constant worry of watching him come home increasingly battered from training sessions.
"You don't have to decide anything right now," I say, though part of me wants to encourage this line of thinking. "We have time."
"Time." He says the word like he's tasting it, finding it sweet. "Months to prepare. To make everything perfect."
His dreams spill out faster than I can follow—a larger house with proper nursery space, savings accounts for the child's future, connections he can make to ensure our baby has opportunities neither of us enjoyed growing up. The enthusiasm in his voice is infectious, painting our small life in broad strokes of hope and certainty.
For the first time in years—maybe ever—I let myself believe in something without bracing for loss. Let myself sink into the warmth of Korrun's joy and imagine a future where everything goes right instead of wrong. Where love is enough to build a life on, and happiness doesn't come with hidden costs.
The sun sinks lower in the sky, casting long shadows across our garden while we talk about names and nurseryarrangements and whether the baby will inherit Korrun's size or my more manageable proportions. His hand never leaves my stomach, fingers splayed as if he's already protecting what we've created together.
And sitting here in the circle of his arms, surrounded by the life we've built and the promise of the life we're creating, I've never felt more complete.
3
DAEGAN
TheSiren's Callcuts through the silver-topped swells like a blade through silk, her hull responding to every shift in wind and current with the grace of a creature born to the waves rather than built by mortal hands. Salt spray kisses my face as I adjust the rigging, the familiar burn of rope against my palms grounding me in the rhythm of shipboard life.
"Ease her off a point to starboard," I call to Jorik at the wheel, my voice carrying easily over the whistle of wind through canvas. The ship responds immediately, her bow swinging into the sweet spot where wind and sail sing in perfect harmony.
My crew moves around me with the easy confidence of men who've sailed these waters long enough to read the sea's moods better than their own wives'. Tam scrambles up the ratlines to adjust the topsail, while Brek coils lines with the methodical precision that keeps us alive when storms turn deadly. They barely need my direction anymore—a fact that should fill me with pride but instead leaves me oddly restless.
