Daughters of the King |✓|

Chapter Thirty-Four

It was a month before we heard anything. I'd begun to lose hope that our message had reached my mother at all.

I'd lost hope Zelle was even alive.

Until one day a messenger came, carrying a letter. Zelle was not only alive, but she'd surpassed all expectations. She had safely reached the City of Roses and she'd negotiated everything beyond what we had aimed for.

Gunnar was alive. That much was confirmed. I clutched the letter so tightly, reading that sentence over and over, until the edges of the paper became bent.

The letter went on to say that mother would send guards to escort Gunnar halfway to us, and all we had to do was meet them. There was just one condition: Zelle had informed them we had the fallen king, and my mother asked we give up Bastian in exchange, as a form of collateral.

If we didn't follow through with our promise to restore their access to the factories, she would publicly execute him.

"They're ensuring your safety, Bastian," Bjorn the child-like king when we visited him.

What was it about aging that made us regress into childhood? Until you're left innocent and blank-eyed, blinking vacantly at a world you've forgotten how to understand? Something about it was disturbing, but also strangely comforting. To forget what it means to be hurt and to hurt others. To be wiped cleaned, in a way. Prepared for the after life, or for a whole new life altogether

"You'll get to go home," Bjorn emphasized to him.

"Home," Bastian echoed, his eyes lighting up, full of trust.

Bjorn looked over his shoulder at me and flashed his fangs in a smile, looking pleased with himself. I couldn't bring myself to smile back. I flattened my hands to my pregnant belly, feeling the baby move beneath, and tried to convince myself everything would be alright.

"You stay here," Bjorn told me later, when he walked me back to my house.

"Of course," I said easily, wrapping my shawl tighter around my shoulders. A chill swept past us, a breeze frigid with lies.

"I mean it, Olya." His voice hardened, his eyes sharp. "You're going to wait here until we come back. If things go bad out there... If things don't go as planned, it could start a war again. I don't want you there in case that happens."

The way he said the word war, you'd think he was hoping for it. That edge to his voice, the hunger to prove himself in this way. I wondered if he knew how right he was—how close to a war he was getting, by going up against my mother?

All the more reason for me to go. I couldn't let that happen.

"I understand," I lied to his face again.

I was going to be there waiting for Gunnar at the meeting point, no matter what. I'd already talked to the others. They were taking a truck, and there was going to be a spot for me in the back.

It was all arranged, and everyone knew I was going. Except Bjorn.

It seemed I had a little bit of influence around here, after all.

We were leaving at dawn.

...

Bjorn had only left for a few short minutes when someone else showed up at my door, big army boots stomping my entry way.

"Wolfe," I said in surprise.

I admit, I was pleased to see him, even though he didn't seem pleased to see me. We hadn't left on good terms, after all.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, pretending not to notice his distant eyes and clenched jaw. "And come in."

I waved him into the house. He wiped his boots on the mat before following me into the den.