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Copyright © 2022 Abigail G. Thompson.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, including photocopying, recording, or other
electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written
permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other
noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For
permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed
“Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
 
 
ISBN:
9798784825681
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021924768
 
Any references to historical events, real people, or real
places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places
are products of the author’s imagination.
 
Front cover image by Abigail G. Thompson.
 
Book design by Abigail G. Thompson.
 
Printed by Ingramspark, Inc., in the United States of
America.
 
First printing edition 2022.
 
Ingram Content Group

1 Ingram Blvd.

La Vergne, TN 37086
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               The Whispers of the Wind
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
To the ONE that never leaves me no matter the
adventures I go on. LORD, You’re the only answer to my
loneliness and for that I’m thankful.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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“For he grew up before him like a young plant,

               and like a root out of dry ground;

he had no form or majesty that we should look at him,

    and no beauty that we should desire him.

 
He was despised
and rejected by men,

    a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief;

and as one from whom men hide their faces

    he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

Surely he has borne our griefs

    and carried our sorrows;

yet we esteemed him stricken,

    smitten by God, and afflicted.

But he was pierced for our transgressions;

    he was crushed for our iniquities;

upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,

    and with his wounds we are healed.

All we like sheep have gone astray;

    we have turned—every one—to his own way;

and the 
Lord
 has laid on him

    the iniquity of us all.”

-Isaiah 53:2-6 (ESV; English Standard Version)

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     Prologue
 
 
 
Emma Ambrose flung out her arms over the ship
railing, and nearly tumbled to her death. Despite it, Emma
loved the sensation. It felt like when her mama rocked her
to sleep, whispering sweet lullabies in her ear.
 Emma squeezed her ocean blue eyes shut and felt
the lulling beneath her toes. Her grin was wide as the
expansive top deck. She flung out her arms and let the boat
sway beneath her feet. She let the ship rock her wherever it
liked. It was a game she loved.
“Emma, what are you doing?” A soft, watery voice
croaked from behind Emma’s swaying frame. She spun
around with laughter on her lips.
              “Mama, look! I almost have as good a pair of-”
Her exclamation died on her lips as she saw the stains of
water on her mother’s face. Emma’s eyes roved over the
rest of her, her little mind spinning with questions and
nightmares. Then, she saw the rest of her mama’s pale pink
dress was dry; her feet were bare, mud-caked to the soles.

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      Momentarily, she stared at the mud before her eyes
found the rip.
The shoulder of her dress was ripped, and bruising
lined her delicate ivory cheek. Tears welled in Emma’s eyes
at seeing her typically beautiful mama in such disarray. Her
game forgotten, she rushed forward and hugged her mother
around the waist; her mother didn’t respond; she just stood
there as though numb to affection.
Normally, when Emma cried, her mother would
wipe the tears away with a smile and kiss her nose.
“Normally,” in Emma’s world. Something was wrong, and
Emma could sense it in her belly.
        “What’s wrong, mummy?” Her words were muffled in
the pink dress. No response.
“What’s wrong, mummy?” She whined.
Mama always asked her what was wrong when she
was sad, and her mommy was sad.
“Mum-”
“Emma, shut up! Can’t you see I’m thinking!” Her
mother snapped, pulling away from Emma’s clingy arms.
Shock coursed through the young girl’s figure as air met
her. She stood and stared. Another burst of tears came out in
short sobs, causing her chest to heave. Confusing fear roiled
in her tummy, and she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t
seem to stop. Her mama never snapped.
Why was she angry?
The thought wouldn’t leave her be. She had always
been curious, flitting from one crew member abroad her
father’s stately ship spouting off questions as fast as she
could
think of them. The questions always seemed to endear her
to
people, and they would ruffle her hair and say, “You’re
gonna be the north star of this ship, ain’t ya?” She didn’t
know what that meant, but she would grin and nod her head
in a vigorous way that caused part of her braids to slip free.
Surely mama wasn’t mad at her.
Mustering a plucky amount of courage, Emma
stood as straight as a wooden board.
She mouthed the words repeating themselves over
and over in her mind. She knew she wouldn’t be happy until
she had the answer.
“Why are you so angry?”
Her mother growled before answering.
“Emma, sometimes people don’t want to talk and
answer your stupid questions! Leave me be, go to your
cabin.” Her mother’s voice cracked by the end; Emma could
hear the tears. She didn’t want to listen to her mother cry.
Out of her fear, she raced to her cabin and slammed the door
behind her.
Her cabin was tiny, a little box with a bed and a
trunk full of sea-stained dresses and frayed ribbons. Her
petite frame raced for her bed, and she jumped onto her
chained to the wall mattress. Fresh tears streamed down her
freckled cheeks.
Why was her mama so upset?
                The question still pranced through her mind. A
while after, after fits of tears and the shakes, she fell asleep
discontent. The bruises along her mother’s jaw sauntered
their way into her dreams. How had she gotten them? Had
she slipped and hit herself on something? Emma sometimes
fell.
The following day Emma awoke with the sun as always; the
rays peeked through the hole she counted as a window. Her
tiny blue eyes opened, and hope fluttered in her chest.

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Maybe her mama would tell her what was wrong? With a
hopeful grin, she shimmied out of her tear-soaked dress and
threw on a new one, her best one. Maybe her mama would
be open to telling her secret if she looked pretty.
Her braids had fallen out, but she didn’t know how
to braid, so she let her hair fall free around her shoulders,
and after a quick brush, her locks flowed around her petite
shoulders.
She unlatched her door and raced down the hall. In
her hurried excitement, she ran into a sailor.
“Eddy, have you seen my mama?” She asked
breathlessly. The sailor’s big, bulky frame intimidated the
average man and child, but Emma knew different. The sea-
worn face broke out into an endeared grin when he saw the
sprite of a girl sprinting down the hallway.
“No, miss, but you look pretty on this fine day.”
She smiled at the compliment and gave a wobbly, crooked
curtsy.
“Thank you. I was hoping mama would like
my dress.” Eddy shook his head with a grin spread across
his rough features.
“I’m sure she’ll find you soon. I’d check with
Water Breaker.” The formal name for her father always
made Emma uncomfortable. She didn’t like her father
much: he was stern,
strict, and scary, but she still nodded her head thoughtfully.
Sweetly she reached up on her toes while the big sailor got
on his knees. The little girl kissed the sailor square on his
rough cheek. The innocent peck always made the sailor
blush. He almost felt ashamed to receive such affection
from such an innocent child.
He was dirty, done dirty things, and yet here was a
pure child who loved him without hesitation. It was enough
to
make him tear up on an occasion.
He cleared his throat of emotion.
“Well, you better get on your-”
“Emma.” A deep voice broke through the
sentimental moment. Eddy spun at attention before bowing
ceremoniously.
“Water Breaker. I did-” Emma’s father waved his
hand dismissively as the man stuttered an excuse.
“I don’t mind you doting on my daughter Edward.
My daughter does have a way with people.”
The slight smile he gave was the only show of
affection for his young daughter. Eddy gave a succinct nod
before looking to the ground.
“I’ll be going, sire,” the man mumbled.
Mingus Night Ambrose, also known as Water
Breaker, only nodded his stately head before moving to
Emma.
 Mingus had a professional sort of relationship with
his only daughter. He never catered to her whimsical
desires. He never squatted before her, never understood the
term “getting on the child’s level.” Logically, it made sense
for the child to rise to the average man’s level. His wife had
been foolish to cater to the girl.
“Come, Emma. I must talk to you.” Emma smiled.
Her father rarely sought her out. Mama had always said it
was due to how busy he was with his duties as a Clan
Leader. He held out his hand, and Emma gladly took it
before asking her question.
“Where’s mama? I’ve been looking for her.” Water
Breakers’ lips tightened before saying, “That’s what I must
talk to you about, Emma, but let’s get some privacy before
I tell you more.” Her father, always direct, headed for her
cabin at the
end of the hall. Once they had entered, he lifted her by the
armpits and set her down on her mattress. He turned his
large frame back to the door and latched it shut. His eyes
were serious, his lips stern; he stood before his five-year-old
daughter with her completely trusting eyes.
The eyes that told him how adored she was, not
one care weighed on her pretty shoulders.
Those eyes… the Clan Leader’s chest tightened; he
cleared his throat.
“Your mother, Emma.” The words stayed in his
throat. How? How was he supposed to tell her?
 “Your mother is gone.” He started abruptly.
Emma’s face twisted in confusion.
“Where did she go? When will she be back?” The
questions so innocent caused tears to pool in the back of
Water Breakers’ eyes. If Marina had just kept to her own
business of raising this child, he wouldn’t have had to stand
here breaking their child’s heart.
“She’s not-” he cleared his throat. “She’s not
coming back, ever.” He stated directly.
           Emma’s thick brows lowered; her expression turned
stormy. Her face mimicked waves amid a
horrible storm.  She didn’t say a word; she just
stared. She didn’t cry; she just stared.
“Emma, aren’t you going to say anything?” He
asked.
The girl looked at him and felt the bitter anger in
her gaze. He knew she didn’t understand what she was
feeling, but the look said it all.
“I had a question.” As she said the words Emma’s
voice was tight with unspoken emotion.
Mingus blew out a breath.
“Questions bring answers, darling, and answers
bring pain.” He kissed her on the temple before standing
and walking out of the cabin.
 
 For months, Emma didn’t speak. She made a vow
to herself that she wouldn’t talk until her mother returned. 
Emma stopped going up to crew members, her eyes were
forlorn, and her skip was all but a glide.
Emma’s thoughts were dark and lonely. She would
lay in her cabin and sob, but no one would come running to
kiss her nose.
One night her moans became especially
rough, grading on the walls and the window. The
door latch unhooked, and the door slid with a creek
across the floor of the ship.
“Emma.” The voice was calm but firm. Emma sat
up in her bed, her eyes puffy from such horrendous crying.
Her father’s firm footsteps moved to sit on the edge
of
the youngster’s bed. He reached for the young girl and
placed her in his lap.
“Why are you crying?” He asked.
It greatly troubled him that the crew had reported
her crying as such multiple times. The girl didn’t speak,
only sniffled. Her father looked at her sternly.
“I won’t help you unless you speak to me. I know
you
aren’t mute.” His words brought another rush of tears to the
girls’ eyes. Mingus, never one for comforting, awkwardly
rubbed his daughter’s back.
“Speak to me Emma, I miss your voice.” Emma
looked up at him, her eyes filled with so much sadness.
 “I-” She croaked.
“I-I miss her.” Her voice was rusty from
disuse. Mingus Night Ambrose hugged the girl close to his
chest and let the tears that had been building fall. He didn’t
fight them. He let them fall silently.
“I miss her too,” he whispered. Emma sniffled and
snuggled closer. The night wore on, and Mingus stayed with
his daughter, for they were a comfort to each other.
Even after such a betrayal they symbolized they
weren’t completely alone when they lay next to each other,
father comforting daughter. After that day, Emma started
speaking again. Her glide turned into a prancing, and her
eyes learned how to be light again. Emma never did stop
missing her mother and how she would kiss her nose. Emma
never forgot the bruise lining her pretty jaw, but she never
questioned why. After all, answers bring pain.
That’s all she needed to know; her mother was
gone all because Emma was stupid enough to want answers.
Her father was right. Her father was always right
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

  Chapter 1
 
 
 
Fourteen years later:
It was cold. It was awful. And it was precisely
what Emma deserved for betraying her father. Hopefully,
the numbness in her feet would spread to her heart so it
could stop its anxious dance inside her chest. Sometimes
feeling was a curse. Calmly, she told herself it was useless
to worry what Summer Eyes, the Clan Leader of the
mountains of Aiyana, wanted. Tragically, Emma could only
remember all the stories she’d read on the powerful woman.
 This only caused her anxiety to spike; it also gave
her anxious thoughts ammunition against her. The Clan
Leader’s steady and intimidating eye could bend even the
most stubborn man’s will. Her heart skittered.
It wasn’t that she was cruel, she was just driven. Or
at least that’s what Emma told herself. But even Emma
knew they were lies. Her anxiety didn’t believe her
platitudes. That was the wretched thing about being
anxious… it didn’t believe you unless you were telling the
truth.
She told herself to just focus on putting one step in
front of the other. The snow crunched beneath her cracked
boots. They were too big, made for a man, but the peddler
didn’t have women’s boots, and Emma hadn’t needed the
clunky shoes before. Living on the sea, where the weather
was always warm and a salty spray tainted the air, had its
advantages. Carelessly, she’d run barefoot, not bothering
with shoes because the seawater tended to ruin them.
Emma breathed in, her lungs burning with the
frozen air. She tried pulling the scraggly scarf closer to her
raw, red face, which stung as the wind blew across her skin.
“You’ve got this,” she told herself, even though
nothing seemed alright.
 The sky was a clear, almost a taunting, blue.
Emma didn’t understand how the sky could be clear and the
sun shining when the ground was covered in the annoying,
cold, wet stuff called snow. The sun was supposed to bring
warmth, but it seemed to be failing at its job.
 Just another step. One more, and then another
after that.
Her foot dropped farther into the snow.
“EEEH!”
The cold, wet, mushy ground came up to meet
Emma. She put her arms out to catch herself.
“Oomph.”
Her hands nearly froze off at the contact with the
frozen ground, further numbing her fingers, which were
growing stiff from the cold.
Cursing as she pushed herself to a sitting position.
Her clothes were all wet. Her clothes were all wet.
It was all her mind could focus on. Tears started to
sting the back of Emma’s eyes.
“You will not cry. It’ll make your cheeks burn,”
she told herself, forcing herself to get to her feet. The wind
started to blow.
“I did something, didn’t I, God? You find it
humorous to torture me!” She stumbled before being able to
continue. She blew on her thinly gloved hands, trying, and
failing, to warm her frozen digits.
 After five more minutes of painfully, torturous
walking, Emma started smelling smoke. Did she dare
hope… no, that was foolish, but the smell of burning wood
was growing with every step. Hope flopped in Emma’s
chest like a fish that had just been caught. She bit her lip to
keep herself from smiling.
Warmth.
That’s all she wanted
was warmth. Her speed increased, and soon she could see
the bustling camp. It was a vague outline in the beginning,
but it was there, and it was real. Emma would have
whooped for joy if the base didn’t signal the worst part of
this awful journey.
The letter was probably crumpled and wet after her
fall. However, it still sat in Emma’s pocket, reminding her
of her horrifying purpose.
The carrier had had a grim expression when he
handed the letter to Emma. Nervously, she had scrambled
for it hoping it was from her father. That hope had been
futile, much hope was vain, but she never seemed to learn.
Never.
Summer Eyes wanted to see her for reasons
that remained unknown. Emma may be a Clan Leaders’
daughter, but that didn’t mean she had any right to deny a
command from a Clan Leader. If anything, she was all too
aware of the consequences if you did refuse.
The wind started to howl, burning right through
Emma’s poor attempt at a winters outfit.
Another storm was on its way.
 Emma cursed in her head. She hoped it would hold
out until she got to the camp. It was large, filled with people
bustling about. Emma could now see the tents in rows,
creating neat paths. She saw adults walking to and fro, some
laughing, some scowling.
Her heart lurched when Emma saw children
running and playing. She had no idea what they were doing,
but the yells and laughs created a wonderful sound as all the
voices merged. A fierce longing rose within Emma; she had
always been lonely, isolated because of her father’s position.
No child wanted to risk knowing her if it led to
their family’s ultimate demise by being friends with her.
Disobeying a Clan Leader wasn’t something to be messed
with and Water Breaker tended to be a hard man, not one for
mercy.
Anxiety wove its way through Emma’s stomach
and to her throat, clogging all hopes of noise. She drew a
shaky breath - she tried to keep it shallow as to not burn her
lungs.
She was close enough to hear tidbits of out-of-
context conversation, to draw stares. Indignantly, Emma
held her chin high, refusing to let the eyes get to her.
             Let them stare; she had just traveled through piles of
snow to get here. Let them stare at the ragged clothing she
had pieced together along the way because no one thought
to tell her that the Plains were frozen more times than they
were thawed.
An unwanted question rang through her head.
 Who would have told you?
Acute loneliness flashed through Emma. She
adamantly refused to answer the question. Questions bring
answers, and answers bring pain. She wouldn’t bring herself
more pain.
She strode through the edges of the camp. As she
walked further and further into the camp, her confidence
waned as she realized she didn’t know where she was going.
After ten minutes of wandering, her pride depleted enough
to ask for help.
She asked an older man with a beard trimmed close
to his face and kind eyes; indeed, he wouldn’t judge her too
harshly.
“Excuse me, sir, I don’t mean to bother you, but
where is the Summer Eyes’ tent?” she asked.
The man chuckled, “It’s just down four tents to the
left, third one on the right.”
Emma tried to memorize his words. “Thank you so
much.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Emma Ambrose.”
The man smiled warmly at her and patted her arm as though
he knew her.
“Sir, I don’t know you,” she stated, fear rising even
though she should have guessed such behavior based on his
long dark robes, he was a Magi and they were prone be a tad
strange.
 Her mind raced with scenarios. Hopefully, there
were too many people around for him to make any
unwanted advances. Emma became acutely away of his
superior strength between his magical prowess and his being
a man.
The man’s eyes were crinkled, “Summer Eyes has
been expecting you. I’m guessing that it was not a
prophecy.”
The man knew a lot more than he should. It struck
Emma as strange that he had this information. Usually, she
knew more than the person she was talking to, her father’s
position gave her that advantage, but she was at the mercy
of this man. She felt as though she were going to hurl.
“I don’t know you,” she repeated. It seemed the
only thing she was capable of saying. The man shook his
head.
“You wouldn’t know me. I’m Jediah Hugo.” He
never seemed to stop smiling. Emma gave a wobbly smile
herself.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hugo. I really need to-”
“Of course, my girl, of course. Go!” He motioned
her to leave with his hands towards where he had told her to
go and if she weren’t mistaken she felt the ground rumble
underneath her feet shoving her forward. She stumbled and
Emma heard the man chuckle as he walked away.
The air was considerably warmer inside the camp
than outside. Every few paces, they had another fire going,
the pits deep and roaring. It felt like absolute bliss.
 She continued down the path and turned right. The
tent was evident once she turned the left corner. Men were
lined up out front at attention guarding their leader. Military
garb stretched across their shoulders, a combination of
leather and metal covered in length their entire body, and
each wore varying degrees of a scowl. Relief and stark fear
warred in Emma’s belly and mind.
She drew to a halt. Swallowing hard, she forced
herself to calm down and take a deep breath.
Three, two, one…
She counted down before
walking up to a man with bright red hair. Maybe red was too
generous; it looked more orange than red.
        “Excuse me,” she said, “I have an important meeting
with Summer Eyes.”
         The man’s dark eyes studied her, assessing her as
though
she could hold a threat in her wet, tattered clothing. When
he looked at her directly in the eye, Emma noticed the scar
running from right under his gaze to his chin.
She didn’t know how she had missed something so
obvious. It sent shivers down her to think what cruel things
he must have done to get that scar. One didn’t get that kind
of scar from picking daisies.
  “I understand that you probably think I shouldn’t
even bother because you’re big, tough, and scary,” she
momentarily looked at herself and huffed a breath. “I look
like a vagabond, but I swear I need to see Summer Eyes.”
              The nerves were getting to her. She’d really just
said,
“Big, tough, and scary.”
               The man’s lips quirked, “It’s the scar, isn’t it?” He
made a tsking sound. “I told that wild dog that it was wrong
to harm children, especially girls, but he didn’t listen, so I
had to teach him a lesson but seems he taught me one first.”
               His grin was wide and wicked as though he knew
her thoughts and the direction they went. Emma’s cheeks
burned with embarrassment over her wrong assumption as
he continued.
“What’s your name, Vagabond?” he asked with
humor.
She cleared her throat, trying to force her cheeks to
cool down. It was useless, but it was worth a shot.
“Emma Ambrose, daughter of Clan Leader Water
Breaker,” she boldly proclaimed. Or at least that was the
intention.
The man just seemed even more amused, “You’ll
have to be patient. Summer Eyes, as you rudely reference
her, is in a meeting.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Can you at least tell her I’m here?” she asked.
The man studied her again before answering.
“No.”
Emma balled her fists. He must be being difficult
on purpose.
“Listen here-”
“Are you going to try to intimidate me with
your father’s title? If that’s the case, then you can shut your
pretty trap because currently, I hold the access to what you
want.”
“No.  What I was going to say,” she started,
looking him directly in the eyes as she straightened
her spine, drawing every inch she could out of her
small stature, “is that I am a woman. And as such, I
can do whatever I please.”
         Pausing to catch her breath, she reminded herself of a
phrase she has heard before:
fake it til you make it.
            “As long as it is inherently good and productive for
society, I have that right."
The annoying man laughed, actually laughed at
her!
“That’s a good one,” he said.  “But that doesn’t
change the fact that the Clan Leader of the Mountains is in a
meeting.” He leaned in closer to Emma as he continued. 
“Do I need to remind you she is a woman?  And as such can
do anything she pleases…as long as it’s inherently good and
productive for society?”
              Emma resisted the urge to slap the sly, mischievous
smile from his face. She wanted to cause the big man
physical pain to remind him that she wasn’t a joke.
She growled before backing up.
“It’s rude to use someone else’s quip,” Emma
gritted out. The man just looked bemused.
“I’ll wait,” she finally breathed out before moving
to the side of the tent.
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Chapter 2
                                    

 
 
 
               The tent flap fluttered open, and a small woman exited
along with a pregnant lady who looked to be the small woman’s
junior at least ten years.
Emma stepped forward, but the arrogant ass of a man
stepped in front of her. The pregnant woman waddled off, and then
the Prick spoke.
“Madam, Emma Ambrose is here to see you,” he started
quickly; his voice low as he spoke.
 The small woman looked over to Emma. Her large brown
eyes looked at her with acute knowing.
“Greeting’s daughter of Clan Leader Water Breaker.” Her
voice was smooth and elegant.
                  Emma curtsied deeply, “It’s with the deepest honor I
come and ask for your presence, Summer Eyes, Clan Leader of the
mountains Aiyana.” As she rose, she saw a small, almost invisible
smile on the Clan Leaders lips.
“The wind carried your impassioned words. While I
respect a soul of fire, it didn’t much sound like it was my choice to
see you and decide.”
Emma stood solid, trying to comprehend what the
woman had just said. The man leaned down.
“She heard you call me ‘big, tough, and scary,’” he
whispered.
She pinched him in the arm. He just smirked. Emma
didn’t know how to respond to the petite woman. Summer Eyes
gazed at her almost lazily before motioning inside.
“I have a great many knowings, Emma. Your father owes
me many debts, and they cannot go unpaid,” she stated. Her voice
managed to be low and soothing, almost like a whisper, but it
carried, so a person never questioned if they heard her right.
“That may pose a problem, madam, seeing as though my
father is in prison.”
He had been for quite a few months now. Emma was
confused as to why now her family affairs concerned the Clan
Leader.
Arrogant Prick was decent enough to open the tent flap to
allow them inside before following them. Summer Eyes nodded
her head and entered Emma followed, not giving him the courtesy
of a bowed head.
 The inside was deliciously cozy and expansive. Her
frozen fingers ate the heat, her raw cheeks burned. Animal skin
lined the floors keeping heat, and there were many rugs and mats
dyed with beautiful colors. The quaint amount of furniture was
solid oak; beads hung from the sides. Summer Eyes motioned for
a table.
“Sit, daughter of Water Breaker.”
Emma did, not questioning the woman. Not that Emma
ever
asked. She prided herself on that fact. The anxiety roared
back to life as Emma pulled out the solid chair and sat.
She had let herself be overcome with anger for a few
minutes, for anger was easier to feel than the constant nagging
of a thrashing heart. Summer Eyes continued standing. She was
small, but her presence filled the tent. The Clan Leader’s eyes
were large and knowing, and the jewelry filled her frame with
color and wonder; each finger along with an elegant neck was
laced with beads and jewels. One would think for someone so
small it would weigh them down, but not her; it only added to her
presence. Her skin didn’t match the horrid temperatures of the
Plains, but then she wasn’t from the Plains. She was from the
mountains where the sun shone more than it rained or snowed.
The sun loved her; Emma could see it in the brown of her skin.
       It adored Summer Eyes, where it hated Emma. Her mother
had not been from the sea, but rather the Dessert whose climate
was much like the Plains. Emma had inherited the gene of
freckling instead of tanning. It was rather annoying, especially
when her father tanned beautifully being a full blooded Sotarian.
 “Daughter of Water Breaker, your father owes many
debts, and tragically he committed many crimes before he repaid
them. It breaks me to say it, but children must bear the weight of
their parent’s mistakes if for the sole purpose of fixing them. My
home was ravaged by the Rusalka
many years ago, my-” her voice caught.
               Emma sat still. Her stomach dropped before tightening
up to the point it almost felt unbearable. Her father
wasn’t guilty of murder and treason like the government claimed.
He had to be innocent; she couldn’t survive knowing he was
guilty. She wouldn’t make it a question because questions brought
answers, and answers brought pain.
Summer Eyes continued.
“My people’s villages were burned to the ground. My
people were viciously murdered. Blood still stains my heart. That
day, I lost my name, and I became Summer Eyes Clan Leader of
the mountains. Yet my title mocks me because I don’t live in the
mountains of Aiyana.
I live in the Plains. Your father made a deal with me and
as you known those deals are bound by blood,
never
to be broken.
He would go to Cupala, the capital of The Forest where the king’s
castle lies, and plea for me and my people at Quatervois when the
time arrived. The time is quickly approaching, but your father is
sitting in a cell eating bread and water. His debts are deep, so I
need you. I command you to go and make the pleas for him.
Correct your father’s wrongs.” Her voice was calm but steady and
commanding.
 Emma wanted to vomit; she was going to vomit. What
the Clan Leader said was true. Deals among leaders were bound
by blood, each party sliced their hand open, let their hand bleed
until enough gathered for a handprint. Once ready they pressed
their hand to a piece of parchment. Each Blood Bond was sealed
away in the Magi’s tent to which only the head Magi of the Clan
and the Clan Leader could access such Bond’s. 
“Excuse me.” She steadily got up from her chair and
went out of the tent and emptied her stomach into the snow. Once
she had regained a tiny bit of composure, she returned. Her
stomach empty and her head thrashing with a headache.
“Sorry about that,” she said as she sat back down. “I’m
sorry about your people. I’m sorry my father made debts. But I
don’t know why you would punish the child. I did not know of my
father’s actions. He kept me fully in the dark,” Emma’s voice was
tinged with desperation, but she wasn’t great
at negotiating, and she was desperate. She knew it was thin
line of reasoning for Blood Bonds usually carried down to the
family, it didn’t mean that it was any less unfair. Plus, going to
Cupala meant breaking every rule her father had commanded her
before he was dragged away. Summer Eyes moved close to
Emma; her facial expression was firm and
unmoving.
“It’s a family debt, as you well know, and I’m not too
kind to debtors who refuse pay. Your title will be stripped from
you and your name will so tattered and broken that no one will
ever respect you or your children. You will be the laughingstock of
society, the mockery of your peers. Blood for blood is the
requirement of these bonds and not only will your name be in
tatters but so will your body. This is my command, not my
inquiry.” The words were eerily calm, but the threat was the same.
 Emma swallowed hard, trying to get past the anxiety and
fear coursing through her. She knew it all to be true.
“Before we entered, you said that it didn’t sound like you
had much say. The comment was meant to be embarrassing and
demeaning. I’m too loud, maybe, but now I can say, with the same
confidence and demeaning attitude, that I don’t feel like I have
much say. And while I may be temporarily your slave, I will not
be one without a voice.” Emma rose and curtsied. “I’m glad we
have communicated.”

            Emma exited, leaving the warmth of the
tent behind as she prayed her incompetence wouldn’t get her
killed.
 
 
 
William Mather’s boots crunched into the snow, leaving a
path to follow as he walked up to Emma Ambrose with her wild
hair and raw cheeks. She sat curled on a log that was carved to be
a seat.
The clutter of people had dimmed from that afternoon.
The sun was setting, and people needed to start lighting their
candles and fanning their home fires.
Liam would be traveling to his tent very soon, his shift
had ended, and his back and feet ached, but he had one more
obligation to fulfill before he settled in for the night.
The crunching of snow halted as he stood to Ms.
Ambrose’s back.
“Yes?” her voice echoed.
 He cleared his throat, “I want to apologize for being so
rude earlier,” he stated solemnly.
Liam didn’t usually make a habit of being difficult, but
how she had come charging up to the tent had sent his defensives
flying.
Rash people ended up dead in his world.
“It’s okay. I was rather difficult earlier myself,” she
snorted. “I’m always rather difficult. So about we call it even?”
She turned around; an eyebrow lifted. He nodded sternly.
Time stretched; he wasn’t sure if he should leave, let her
watch her sunset in peace. The silence hung heavy, but silence
always seemed to on the eve of such topics as treason, murder and
Blood Bonds.
He was about to turn around and run for his tent when
she spoke again.
“I always see the sunset.”
The statement caught him off guard.
“What?” he asked, confusion lining his brow.
She turned her head again and smiled a wicked little
smile.
“So, Big, Tough, and Scary, you may be able to handle a
sword…  or whatever weapon you use, but can you enjoy a simple
sunset.” The words were a challenge, and Liam wanted to fall into
the simple trap she was setting so perfectly, but he wouldn’t.
“I use a spear,” he stated deadpan.
It was a half-truth. He only sometimes used a spear; they
were large and awkward to handle. He much preferred a sword or
a crossbow, each for different reasons.
She looked at him askance before chuckling soon after
her expression grew serious.
 “You know, I’m sorry for assuming the worst about your
scar. It was awful of me.” Her expression did look remorseful.
Liam grasped his hands behind his back.
“Most do it, especially when they know my profession.
Do you know, though, that I’ve never harmed anything more alive
than hay bales?” he stated, a slight quirk to his lips.
She looked at him again with that singular eyebrow.
“Well, then, I need to learn not to assume the worst.”
Liam chuckled, “That might you save a lot of chance
encounters later on,” he said but felt like a hypocrite, for he did
the same solely because that’s what the world had taught him to
do.
She let out a curse, “How do you survive here in the
Plains. It’s freezing!” she exclaimed as she blew on her fingers.
“We sit by fires and don’t go trekking through the snow
with only a thin dress and threadbare coat.”
She laughed at what he’d said. It wasn’t that humorous,
but rather wry and sardonic. But still she was laughing.
“My father would call that another of my harebrained
ideas.” Her laughter died into just a smile.
“You cuss; I don’t particularly see you as someone of that
caliber.”
Liam had said the statement for the sole purpose of
nettling her. His social skills were apparently lacking tonight.
Liam knew it was ridiculous, but there was a way she did
it, as though she wanted him to notice. He did notice, but only
because she said the words with such emphasis. At the end of the
day, it was an inconsequential thing. Even though the statement
got her to turn around entirely.
 “I’m a sailor’s daughter. Daughter of Clan Leader Water
Breaker and all that. Of course, I cuss. My father would beam in
pride.”
“Why do I doubt that?” he asked.
She chuckled, and a sly smile spread across her face.
“Oh, we women cuss. We just don’t say so in front of
men,” she leaned closer to his face, “otherwise, we might shake
you men’s sensibilities.” Sitting straight, she shook her hands and
put on a scary face. “Ohhh, soo scary,” she stated mockingly. Liam
pressed his lips together, setting them in a thin line. “Did I burst
your little bubble? MM?” she asked with a devilish smile.
He looked straight in her eye before shaking his head.
“No, my sister will just be so pleased.” he stated. “She
calls me-” he cleared his throat, “let’s just say she doesn’t call me
nice things.”
The woman threw her head back and laughed.
Liam just smiled and shook his head. She laughed at the
most peculiar things. He was surprised she was still capable of
laughter after such intense threats from Summers Eyes. After her
laughter calmed, he bowed.
“Thank you for accepting my apology. Have a
good evening,” he stated before he revealed more. It was too much
of a risk, even if he felt as though he could tell this woman stories
of his sisters and the names they had concocted for their tight-
laced older brother.
The bells were ringing loudly in his head. She was
dangerous, and he would be forced to spend weeks with her as her
Escort to Quartervois.
What was he going to do? What options did he have?
Emma nodded her head with a smile, and Liam twisted
on his feet and walked away.
 The emotions were now gurgling inside him, causing
adrenaline to course through him. So much for going to his tent.
It was time to think, and with thinking came a couple of
slashed bales of hay.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter 3
 
 
 The sun was setting. She loved it, like an artist showing
off, colors splashed through the sky. Emma never fully understood
sunsets like those of a person who grew up on land; she saw them
through the eyes of a sailor. Her face ached for the splash of water,
the twang of salt sprinkled in the air.
"It's beautiful," a soft feminine voice commented behind
her. Emma turned her head in curiosity to see Summer Eyes in all
her regal glory standing so still you would think she was a part of
the landscape. Emma smiled at the woman yet her face remained
stoic. Emma was learning not to expect emotion from Summer.
Calmly, she turned her gaze back to the sunset.
"I oft saw a sunset on the sea that was wonderfully
splendid. Crap, it was gorgeous." Emma commented.
"Each breath of nature holds its special beauty."
The vague statement wasn’t surprising; Summer Eyes
wasn't one for direct conversation.
Emma sighed, "And tragically, I'm in love with the sea."
Summer Eyes hummed a sad little tune.
"I am in love with the Mountains, and yet I live in the
Plains." The woman's voice was heavy with meaning. Emma
chuckled.
"Here we are not where we want to be."
Summer remained silent, her luminous eyes watching the
sunset with deep introspection, so it seemed.
"Yet where we need to be. To us, it's a tragedy, but the
world and our souls, it's the greatest form of triumph." Her silk
voice laced the air with assurance.
"Do you know how to talk so I can understand you? Or is
that not a possibility?" Emma asked with an inquisitive look. A
tiny smile drew Summer Eyes' lips up.
 "Someday, my language will not seem strange. Growth
changes the mind," Summer Eyes stated.
Emma just stared at the serene woman.
One wouldn't believe she could murder someone in a
split second, wouldn't believe that fluid grace was used for death
and intimidation. At least that's how the stories went as they spun
around Emma's head. Sailors loved tall tales, and sadly Emma's
imagination equally loved them. She’d seen some of the woman’s
power earlier and Emma’s heart rate picked up at the memory.
Appearances. Everything in life was just that,
appearances.
"Yet I know that the Mountains are still where you want
to be. You may say fancy words, but that's what you
want. That's why you are making me go to Quatervois, why
you made a Blood Bond with my father, so I can make stupid
pleas to a bunch of do-nothing dignitaries so hopefully they will
give the resources and man-power you need to defeat your
enemy." Emma had turned entirely around to look at the woman
with her jewelry and large eyes.
              Summer Eyes never looked away from the fading sun.
Her eyes held a sadness that words couldn't define.
"The Mountains were where I grew up. I was never
supposed to leave or be forced out. My feet
were never supposed to tread down the path. I wasn't supposed to
be Clan Leader. The magic of the earth and of God wasn’t
revealed to us like a born leader, my father was a medic, not a
warrior and he paid for it in the price of his own blood. I was there
when my parents were killed. I was there when Clan Leader
Mountain Stream was murdered. I had to step up because I saw
that if no one did, then the people and
the clan I loved so dearly would dissipate into nothing. I saw us
fading like a morning fog. No one truly knew me, for my family
was so inconsequential that it was easy to forget my true name. I
haven't been remembered as my true self; I'm only seen as the
blood-gored woman that can't seem to forget the demons racketing
around her brain." She motioned downward to her extravagant
garb.
           Emma just stared, not knowing what to say or do.
The woman looked down at her finally, "I do understand how this
pushes everything within you, but sometimes if we don't step up,
the thing or the person we love will fade into nothing more than a
mere memory."
The smile she gave Emma was the broadest, most
genuine smile she'd seen. Granted, she barely knew Summer
Eyes. It was sad, but it was there. Resistance still screamed within,
but she didn't have a choice, and maybe, just maybe, Summer
Eyes was right.

 
 
The hay mocked him. It was still whole while his anxiety
ate away at his sanity.
He would fail. He wouldn't succeed.
That was the only thought he could ponder; it ran over
and over and over in his head like a stampede trampling him.
His chest and stomach were tight with concern.
He slashed and picked and prodded the hay to shreds
until all that was left was morsels flying away in the wind.
 
 He stared into their faces full of fear and pain. Why could
he never be good enough for them? Why could he never provide
enough? Liam growled, spun around, and cursed.
He knew he wasn’t acting how he should. He should be
comforting them, telling them it was okay, that he would protect
them, but he was only 15. He cursed again and again and again.
Hoping that speaking out would relax his muscles so he could
actually deal with the reality.
Why could they never escape? Why did that life haunt
them like a bad dream? His sisters silently sobbed behind him.
Suddenly, he felt something tug on his leg. He looked
down to find Charlene with tears pooled in her eyes. She
didn’t understand, she couldn’t. Thankfully, the pig had
enough decency to not touch a two-year-old, but that wasn’t
saying much. Liam reached down for his baby sister, holding her
like a lifeline. His emotional dam broke and he was sobbing too.
How had he trusted the man? How had he been so blind?
Was he still that naive?
His chest shook from the overwhelming, suffocating pain
he felt. He fell to knees still holding Charlene close. She also
started crying, her little wails reverberating through him. He was
young, and he felt every inch the small child.
He didn’t have the time or luxury to be that, but maybe for a few
minutes he would allow himself to cry. After few minutes he put
Charlene down and moved to where Natasha and Lindsey sat
holding each other. He wrapped his gainly arms around them. He
nuzzled his face in their hair and just sat there, his own grief
hanging heavy. Maybe the weight would be bearable if they
shouldered it together? A few minutes later, Charlene weaseled
her way into their hug not wanting to be left out. They stayed like
that for hours or minutes or seconds. They knew that their grief
was slowly draining into numbness, and that was something they
could handle. Eventually, they broke apart, their faces blotchy
from so many tears, their eyes red and shot, their bones weary and
sagging. They didn’t have time to be tired or grieve.
Liam stood and he moved over to the mats sprawled
across the floor.
“We are leaving,” he said.
Lindsey helped him pack while Natasha cared for
Charlene. When all was quite, they snuck out under the cover of
darkness.
They crept along, praying, though they
knew God had abandoned them long ago, that they
wouldn’t be caught by the drunk in the front room. The cruel man
was drunk while Liam hoped it was to escape the weight of his
sins, he knew better. People like that never felt remorse. Being
drunk was something to do; like molesting children was something
to do. If Liam had been braver, he would have killed Laurent
Ahren. But Liam didn’t feel brave. He just made sure he did the
bare minimum. They would escape. There would be no more
torture at the hands of that man. Now they could only hope that
they would find better. 
Maybe they would.
 Maybe, just maybe, God hadn’t abandoned them. How
Liam prayed that night. Prayed that he could protect his sisters
once and for all. He vowed that never again would his happiness
come first. Even if he must live in absolute hatred of his job, he
would do it because it wasn’t about him, it was about his sisters.
He wanted so desperately for Charlene to grow up with good
memories, not the nightmares Lindsey, Natasha, and he faced.
 
They walked for days, their feet blistered, their faces raw
from harsh wind. Each taking a turn holding Charlene. Finally,
they found a miracle in the middle of the frozen Plains. They found
people full of life even though it was clear something was wrong.
These people were as battered as he and his little family. The
difference being they still danced and sung every night.
            At first, they were weary and mistrusting of these happy
people. Well, at least the three oldest. Charlene was drawn to a
man named Jediah Hugo who had a kind smile and twinkling eyes.
That man doted on Liam’s baby sister.
Liam didn’t fully approve of the bond, but he did nothing to stop it,
as some tiny part of him ached for the same type of connection.
Jediah was almost a father to Charlene.
         Eventually, only Liam remained hard and mistrusting, yet
one person saw potential in the closed off boy. One day, a
beautiful woman came to Liam’s makeshift tent when he was
alone. The girls were playing elsewhere, but he didn’t want to. He
felt so many years past that even if he was only fifteen.
        He felt like a man that had experienced more than his fair
share of life. The woman presented herself with guards protecting
her. Liam scrambled from where he sat on the many rugs they used
as floors and bowed deeply.
 “Clan Leader Summer Eyes, William Mather at your
service.”
The woman looked at him with serene brown eyes. The
boy looked significantly older than he was.
“I have a grand proposition for you,” she told him with a
sly smile.
Liam looked at the elegant woman before him. Her skin
was brown and beautiful as though the sun found
special favor with her. She wore a long dress that flowed
from her waist past her feet; it was simple white cotton on
the top and a range of colors waist down. Her hair was swept up
in a masterful style, jewelry hung from all points of
her body adding to her elegance. She was small, but no one would
dare cross her path wrong.
“What is you want from me?” he asked wearily.
“I see how you look at the sky as though disdained by its
sunny brightness, but I also see your fluid grace, like a stream
flowing down river. I want you to come, train with
the men who can shoot arrows and swing swords. Become a
master of preserving life, and of taking it.”
                The words were overly poetic and took Liam a moment
to translate in his head what she wanted.
“You want me to train to become one of them?”
He motioned disdainfully towards the guards standing on
either side of her.
She nodded her head once, her face revealing nothing.
Liam stared down at his feet. What option did he have? He wasn’t
sure how he would like to be a guard, a warrior. But he did
remember his vow.
 Looking the Clan Leader directly in the eyes he tried to
summon all the confidence he could. Yet when he opened his
mouth, only a whisper come out.
“Yes. I will train.”
 
As the memories swept over him, Liam continued to bash
at the hay. Brooding over his own past mistakes caused an ache to
settle in his chest.
Suddenly, a tender whisper filled his head, a voice so
steady and soft it broke through his rampaging mind.
I'm on your side.
Silence for a moment, and then it came again.
Beloved, do not fear for the Lord's will is at hand.
Liam's breath was ragged and heavy. Tears ate at the back
of his eyes. He let them fall. The anxiety was nonexistent most
days, but today it plagued him with sickening clarity. Liam
desperately wanted to believe the words, but his faith was nothing.
I am enough.
It came again.
I am enough.
Liam felt so small, insignificant even with his mighty
sword…
he was nothing
, and he felt every inch of it. He had no
control. He might like to pretend that he was in control, that he
could manage everything because if he didn't pretend
that, then the world seemed to be going to hell in a handbasket.
He stopped and stared at the hay flying uselessly in the
wind.
When would God be enough?
When would it be enough?
 For years he had tried to believe, he did believe, but his
flesh was so strong he never seemed to have enough faith. It was
pathetic, and
yet God
. In all His mercy, reminded him that no
matter the terrifying possibilities…
He was enough
.
Liam sucked in the air hoping the oxygen would loosen
the knot in his stomach.
People can't save you.
You can't save yourself.
                             The words raced through his head.
He shook them away; it scared him to no end
the possibilities of evil. It petrified him the bloodshed he might
see. His head raced; his heart pounded. He wanted to
scream, but he didn't. He couldn't because then he was weak, and
nobody wanted a weakling.
Footsteps echoed behind Liam as he readied another hay
bale for slaughter. It was a useless practice, but he'd learned long
ago that it calmed his mind.
"Hello, William!" a calm baritone called.
Liam's lips turned up wryly.
Jediah Hugo seemed to turn up at the best and worst
possible times. Currently, it was the latter.
"I just saw you, and I thought you should know how your
sister's studies are going. She's very bright and talented. Her mind
is like a whip, sharp and fast. It's avidly, deli - are you all right?"
The man's words shifted abruptly. Liam grunted.
"Um? Is it that new girl, Emma?"
Liam just slashed a hay bale. Was he that predictable?
Liam knew the answer.
The man remained silent for a moment.
"I understand that she's scared you."
"She doesn't scare me," he growled.
 "At least one woman scares a man, William Mather, and
that's the truth."
The man's chuckle was knowledgeable.
The tone was sweet and memorable. Jediah had been
married for forty-nine years before his wife died unexpectedly in
her sleep. It had been tragic; it had almost been the death of
Jediah. He moped around for months, barely eating and sleeping
due to missing her.
It was one of the many reasons Liam had allowed
Charlene to start her magical studies early. It gave the old man
purpose. Teaching his baby sister all she needed to know about the
external magic that had revealed itself at such a ten-
der age that had saved him and Liam learned how essential
purpose was to the human soul.
Liam didn't respond to the man; his humor died.
Suddenly, the ground moved and in a rush his hay crumbled to the
floor and the earth swallowed the bales whole. Liam spun to the
man. “What was that for!” he cried.
"That is a reminder to not be afraid, my child. It will all
work out, and if something happens, it won't be the end of the
world."
It would be, though; it would be the end of the world for
him. He would die of guilt and regret; he couldn't handle any more
than he already carried. He hadn't been good enough for his
sisters. Natasha had left him for something else, ultimately Liam
hadn't saved Lindsey, and these days Charlene learned much more
from Jediah than she did him. Liam didn't have magic, never
would, and so he was useless to her.
“God speed, Liam. Don’t let your fears stop you from
God’s will because like Jonah, He will find you no matter your
location!” with that the old Magi was off.
 It weighed heavy on him, the things that had happened
many years before. He still remembered the darkness as they crept
out of that god-awful place. He still remembered the terrified look
in Natasha's eyes when she told him her and her sister’s biggest
shame even though it wasn't their shame to hold. It was that
insidious man with his wandering hands. Rage built in Liam's
chest before falling to utter shame; he hadn't saved his sisters, so
why did he think he could help Emma Ambrose on the mission
Summer Eye’s had set before them?
Why did Summer Eyes believe he could help Emma
Ambrose?
It was lunacy. He slashed his sword in the air only cutting
air, his frustration evident and his muscles burning.
If only he had more faith! If only he were good enough!
If only he weren't scared...if only he had more faith!
  
 

          Chapter 4
 
 
Her tent was comfortable and warm despite the horrid
temperatures outside. These people knew how to deal with cold
weather; it thoroughly impressed her sea-loving self. She sat on
the prepared mat covered with thick comforters and skins; while it
was strange having animal skin weighing down and warming her
feet at night, it worked well. She just tried not to think of it too
hard.
The morning light shown under the flaps. She had slept
reasonably well, much better than some nights.
Her clunky boots finally tied; she stood just as someone
called at the front of the tent.
“Hello, this is Charlene Mather. You don’t know me, but
it would give me great pleasure to talk to you.”
Emma walked to her flaps and untied them before lifting
them. They revealed a girl with long blond hair blowing in the
wind and a wide, infectious smile across a sturdy-looking face.
“Hi, nice to meet you. I am Emma Ambrose.”
The girl’s smile widened a degree.
“That’s incredible. I’ve never seen my brother in such
a case of cold, brooding ornery-ness since Lindsey punched Villar
and broke his nose.”       
Most of the girl’s words were gibberish. Emma lifted
both eyebrows.
“I don’t think I know your brother,” she stated.
 Emma was confident she didn’t. She didn’t know anyone
in this camp besides two people. The girl’s smile lessened.
“You met Liam right? Tall. Has hair the color of a carrot.
Looks like some version of the devil but has the heart of a kitten.”
Ah, Big, Tough, and Scary was her brother, and
apparently, his name was Liam.
Jerk.
“Oh, I did meet your bother,” she said with a scowl.
The girl laughed, “I know he’s annoying, but great. He
really will make a good escort. I mean, sometimes his rules are a
little overbearing, but he means well, most of the time.”
Emma’s mind halted as she comprehended the girls’
words.
Escort
Summer Eyes had already set up trans-portation
before she’d even agreed to the terms. It was her luck, that it was
Liam, who tested every bit of her false courage.
Her eyes were glued to Charlene and then, in Emma’s
half-awake brain, she noticed the girls’ garbs. They were long
flowing robes made of thick cotton and wool. She was a Mage, a
Magi’s apprentice. Hence, she knew of all the political goings on
for the Magi and the Clan Leader worked closely together on Clan
needs and politics. Emma wanted to groan, instead she hid her
emotions and tried to continue to the conversation.
“He seems… high strung.”
It was the best and kindest word she could use to describe
Liam. Charlene chuckled.
“Yup, he’s a little cut up about this job, and I wanted to
meet the girl that was giving him such heartburn.”
The words made Emma snort.
“Big, Tough, and Scary is cut up about escorting me to
the capital?” It came out as a question, and Emma cursed herself.
The girl looked at her strangely before her grin widened.
 “My brother is the most capable person I know, but yes,
he’s cut up about this, and I find it extremely hilarious. Anyways,
I just wanted to put a face to the name.”
Emma laughed, “I hope his heartburn doesn’t stop him.”
“It won’t, Liam loves a challenge and you? You are the
perfect challenge.”
Charlene grinned and winked before turning away and
walking off. That was the weirdest and yet most entertaining
conversation she’d ever had.
It slightly amused her that Big, Tough, and Scary was
having problems being her escort.
At the same time, the thought was frightening to some
degree.
Emma’s gut clenched. Her mind began to
spin; she tried desperately to shut off the spiraling thoughts.
The conversation had brought to the forefront of her
mind the meeting about to be at hand. It also made her realize that
this would be difficult, possibly even more difficult than she
initially thought.
Emma clasped her hands, her fingers laced together
 in hopes that it would stop their violent shaking of fear and
anxiety. It managed her nerves. It didn’t seem to be working
wonders, but it worked well enough.
Emma pursed her lips as she waited on Summer Eyes to
finalize their deal.
“Breath Emma,” she told herself under her breath as the
tent flap opened, allowing gobs of cold light inside.
In all her small but powerful glory, Summer Eyes glided
inside the warm tent. Behind her was Mr. Arrogant.
 Emma stood quickly, preparing to curtsy as this was a
formal meeting. Summer Eyes put out a staying hand before
motioning to Mr. Arrogant.
“Daughter of Water Breaker, I would like to formally
introduce you to your new escort, and one of my best guards, Sir
William Mather.”
Mr. Arrogant managed to look composed, which she
didn’t know was possible for the snarky ass of a man. He’d
apologized, but that didn’t erase his behavior. Plus, anger was
easier than anxiety so she held onto every piece of petty anger she
could manage. Emma curtsied before mumbling.
“Nice to meet you.” The man walked up to her and
bowed deeply; he took her hand and kissed it.
Emma wanted to jerk her hand away to see how he would
respond, but that wouldn’t put her in the best of graces with
Summer Eyes, and she had a feeling he knew, and precisely that’s
why he’d done it.
Cad
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Ambrose,” he stated lowly, still
bent over her hand.
He stood straight, his mouth quirked into a smirk. Emma
wished to scowl.
In the past, her father had always been her barrier,
her protection, from men like William Mather.
She felt bare and exposed without him. The
loneliness started to creep up. She tried shoving it back; it wasn’t
helpful. In private she could deal with the overpowering emotions.
 She tried to manage a pleasant smile, but it probably
turned out looking like she had to use the lavatory. The man’s eyes
crinkled at the corners after her poor attempt at a smile. He did
have pretty eyes if one found dark and mysterious appealing.
Maybe intriguing was a better word for them, but they did strike
her as beautiful even if they weren’t common in their utter
darkness.
She looked away, refusing to find any good qualities even
though behind her initial anger and frustration, she did see how
this man was decent.
She knew she wouldn’t have to be afraid.
“Have you finally agreed to my way of thought?”
Summer Eyes asked smoothly.
Emma bit her lip before nodding.
“Yes, I have concluded that I will go to Cupala. I cannot
clear my father’s name, but I will make your pleas,” she stated
calmly, trying to sound confident in what she was saying. “As
long as you respect how I go about it.”
Negotiating wasn’t her strength, but she
tried anyway. That was worth something, she hoped.
Summer Eye’s luminous eyes looked at her for a moment
before a tiny smile broke out across her face.
“I can agree with those terms. The wind spoke to me and
assured me that you would be right.”
Emma just stared at the woman. She never made
complete sense, at least not to Emma. The utter confusion was
plain as day on her face. She could hear William, or Liam as his
sister called him, chuckle.
Liam.
It was a decent nickname. She’d
heard it used before, but for some reason it truly seemed to fit the
man with the scar and carrot-colored hair.
 “I’m glad that you see it my way,” Emma nodded
knowing all agreement was a farce. Summer Eyes had made it
very clear Emma had no option unless she wanted the punishment
that awaited her at refusal.
Summer Eyes then looked to William.
“Please escort Miss Ambrose out.”
The man nodded, and Emma stood. He walked over to
her and leaned down.
“I must escort you from the premises, and please don’t
attack me. It’s not my fault.”
                Emma pinched him much like the first time he had been
overly snarky.
“I said it wasn’t my fault,” he whined.
Emma rolled her eyes.
“And yet it doesn’t stop you from being antagonizing.”
He chuckled as he offered Emma his arm. She took it just
for appearance’s sake. William lifted the flaps for her, and they
exited into the freezing outdoors.
They walked in silence for a bit before William spoke.
“You know that decency and formality you showed back
there was quite attractive. You aren’t supposed to be that
Vagabond. You might want to stop before I decide you’re pretty.”
The statement left her completely stunned. She knew
he had guts; he wasn’t afraid to mock her or snark back at her
but to outrightly flirt with her was a different matter. He was gone
before she could respond, and Emma was left there standing in the
cold before a guest tent.
            No one had ever dared flirt with her before, she knew it
was a silly, small thing, but it reminded Emma, she was in this
alone.
            The anxiety spiraled. The world seemed so big without her
father to guide her steps. She was wandering on a path walking as
though she knew where she was going but, in all actuality, she was
lost. The loneliness spiraled. She could talk and be friendly, but
she’d never had friends and, ironically, William Mather made her
ache for friendship. Sometimes she hated how something so
innocent could make her mind go to dark, dark places. It was a
demon that haunted her too regularly. Dazed, Emma stepped
inside her borrowed tent and let her emotions have reign.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Chapter 5
 
 
She looked down at the letter from her father.
Be happy; you've wanted this for a long time now. Your
father wrote you.
She raced as fast as she could without looking strange to
her tent having come from alterations to the new dresses Summer
Eyes had ordered she have made to replace her current rags. She
ducked under the flaps and ripped the paper open. Her fingers
shook as she unfolded the page. It was brief but to the point, just
like her father in real life.
 
"Dearest Emma,
I absolve you from investigating any further and never
leave the ship. It’s a dangerous world full of people that would
love to harm you for my alleged crimes. It's against all judgment
you have that idea; leave it in the dust. If you go against my
orders, I will not fight for you to be my heir if I’m found guilty.
You have no magic anyways, but I know this is a null issue
because you are the most obedient, loyal girl. Remember,
questions bring answers, and answers bring pain.
With love,
Mignus Ambrose"
 
"Father," she sobbed as she sank to her bed. "You have no
idea the twisted trap you have neatly put me in."
There wasn't anger in the statement, no bitterness; she
loved her father too much for that. Her father was all she had left,
and yet she would be disgraced either way she went. Guilt poured
over her as she knew her path already.
She swallowed.
She wasn't going to ask questions. She was only going to
make pleas for Summer Eyes.
That was it.

No more nonsense about finding
what happened even if it had been a brief idea; answers brought
pain. The memory of her mother's defeated, angry eyes was
enough reminder for that.
 
 
 
 Liam stood at attention while Summer Eyes paced the
length of the tent.
"The wind spoke disturbing lullabies last night. The
destruction and the foreboding are rising. We must act soon." The
urgency in her voice only came when the wind spoke a little too
much and deprived her of much-needed rest.
"Madam, we have gone through this before." He tried to
state the words calmly and soothe her roughened nerves. She
looked at him, her usually calm, serene eyes, bloodshot and
worried.
"Yes, but this time we have an answer."
"What?" he asked, visibly confused.
"Emma Ambrose. She is the only one with enough
connections in this game to unravel it finally. To set the bird free
or perhaps create a stampede," Her words were just as strange and
poetic as ever. Lack of sleep didn't change that.
"And yet, she is a sprout. Isn't that what you said but a
few days ago?" he asked. Summer Eyes sighed.
"Yes, she is that." She bit her lip. "But that's why I have
you. You are the greatest protector I know. You lugged your sisters
through snow and hardship, bandaging their wounds before your
own. I trust you with her."
Liam's gut clenched; his chest tightened. How was she so
wrong? He had failed on so many accounts. But she didn't know
his biggest failure; she didn't know how horrible he was. She
didn't know how he was already failing her. His mind wandered to
his last encounter with Emma where he had flirted with her. He
hadn't thought himself capable of flirting with anyone; he had no
interest in anything romantic.
If Summer Eyes knew all of that, she wouldn’t allow him
to protect her most significant prize. He understood her urgency,
every day the Rusulka were creeping closer. It seemed every week
there was a new report of a bloody massacre somewhere from the
mountains or at the border of Aiyana. A set of refugees seemed to
come every week into Tyche, some saying some moving further
south to the Dessert. She needed the backing of the king especially
after the arrest of her strongest alley in Clan Leader Water
Breaker. He remembered her harried steps after word of Water
Breakers
incarceration.
 Footsteps crunched outside the tent before racing in. The
boy's chest was heaving, his eyes bleary.
"The-" he wheezed before letting out an impressive
number of coughs. Liam stepped toward the boy.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his face twisting in worry.
"The-" he cleared his throat, "the Mage tent is on fire."
Panic washed Liam in a new wave; his feet moved before
his brain could comprehend what he was doing.
Charlene!
That was the only thing he could think of,
Great
Protector
. Who was he fooling?
His heart pounded, desperately hoping she wasn't there;
hoping God would protect her. It was all he had. A little faith
because, in all blatant honesty, the fear was more significant than
the faith. It was shameful to admit, so he tucked that truth away
and focused on getting to the tent.
After what felt like years, he reached the burning fabric
that was caving in. Suddenly, he saw Emma with her dark hair
whipping around her face as she raced from her tent to the burning
one.
What she was she doing?
 The same thing as him, except this was his job. He was
trained for this; Emma wasn't. Anxiety overtook him, forcing his
legs to run even faster even though they burned. He made it, but
not before she did. He saw her dark hair enter the tent as he raced
in behind her.
The smoke blinded him and coated his throat. The boy
must have been close to the fire, no wonder his eyes had been
bleary. Suddenly, he saw it, the limp body on the floor, the blond
hair sprawled out, the cheeks dark with soot.
Charlene.
The inner weight began to crush him. He couldn't move;
all he could do was stare at his failure. This accident was proof.
He couldn't protect anything; he would always fail. His eyes roved
over Charlene's body. Was she dead?
"William!" A voice snapped.
He blinked over to see Emma; her ragged old scarf pulled
over her nose and mouth.
"Are you just going to stand there like an idiot?" she
asked. Liam grunted before moving forward, trying desperately to
shove his feelings aside.
He went forward. Emma knelt before his sister, pressing
an ear to her chest.
"She's alive." That was all she said.
The weight lifted only by a pound. He went and lifted her
from the ground.
"Get out of here!" he snapped. They were running out of
time. The fire crackled and the top of the tent was getting closer
and closer to the ground. She jumped to her feet and moved
toward the exit. He was close at her heels when something fell
behind him, causing him to jump.
 He raced out, not risking staying any longer in that tent.
A man stood off the side spraying water on the tent from what
appeared to be his hands, but Liam knew better. Magic was
peculiar thing, but Liam understood enough to know the man was
simply collecting water from around and directing it toward the
burning tent. His lungs thanked him even if his heart cursed him.
Charlene was breathing, but for how much longer? Summer Eyes
stood outside the tent along with a cluster of people. They began
to clap. It hadn't been a daring rescue, but someone had been
saved, and that was enough to clap over.
"We need the medic!" Emma called, obviously a lot more
clear-minded than he.
An older gentleman moved forward, his eyes kind.
"Come, lay her on the mat over there. I will assess her."
Liam nodded grimly.
His fear was still so evident even though his sister was
okay for the moment. He felt so weak as he laid his unconscious
sister on the mat.
"Get better," he whispered in her ear as he placed her
down. "I would die of guilt if you didn't." It was a lot to put on her
but was it was the truth.
 
He was a coward.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 

Chapter 6
                                    

 
 
The crunching of Emma Ambrose’s boots was the only
noise, and it was beginning to wear on his thin nerves. He didn’t
want to tell her to stop because it was the only thing keeping her
sane. He could see that from the twisted scowl she wore on her
pretty face. His gut was tight with worry, and his mind was still in
denial over the fact that his sister, his baby sister, could be
seriously injured.
She’s not. She can’t be. God wouldn’t do that.
Immediately he knew that last thought was wrong, but he
didn’t bother to correct it; that would take more heart-searching
than he had the where-withal for.
Thankfully, the tent flap flipped opened, and the old
medic stepped out with a smile on his face. Liam’s muscles
loosened in relief. The medic wouldn’t be wearing that smile if it
was bad news.
“Miss Mather will be fine. She only needs rest, clean air,
and water, and she should be good as new. She’s awake if you
want to visit her but keep it short. She needs much rest.”
The medics’ words were a song to his ears.
Thank you, God!
Liam thought exuberantly.
Emma rushed towards the tent, but the medic held out an
arm.
“Family members only, miss.” His look was steady but
sad. Emma’s eyes rounded in desperation.
“Can she come in if I let her?” he asked the medic. The
medic shook his head.
 “Family members only,” he said again, adamant in his
stance. Liam pursed his lips before looking at Emma.
“I will update you when I’m done,” he stated.
The look she gave him was worry, hurt, and hope all
mixed into a painful bunch. She nodded before stepping away as
he walked into the tent.
It was rather plain yet cozy. A wooden table sat off to the
corner filled with supplies. A pot full of water also sat on the
table. In the opposite corner sat a very fluffy, comfortable sleeping
mat. Charlene, whose face was now clean of all soot, sat up, an
exhausted smile gracing her lips. His heart sank in relief.
She was okay.
He told himself that over and over again, though
paralyzing fear still lingered. He couldn’t forget the image of
Charlene lying unconscious on the floor. Calmly, Liam went and
sat by her at the edge of the mat.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like I was just trampled by a horse,” she answered, a
wry tint to her words.
Liam chuckled.
“I guess that’s expected.”
She looked at him, her smile still there. It was always
there with Charlene. She was the only one that he felt okay about.
Her childhood had been much more straightforward than Natasha,
Lindsey and he experienced.
He was so thankful for that. He didn’t wish his childhood
on anyone, especially someone he loved as much as Charlene.
“What happened?” he asked, concern plaguing him.
She sighed and then chuckled. He didn’t know what was
funny about this situation, but she always managed to find humor
in everything.
 “I was cooking dinner.” The humor was evident in her
voice as though she expected him to laugh after she had just
almost died.
There was no laughing on his part. The smile and humor
died a little on her face.
“I turned around, and while I did so, I knocked over a
lamp. That lamp sputtered and caught on the edge of the tent,
causing it to go up in flames.”
Liam cursed aloud. His sister gave him a point look for
his crass language.
“You need to be more careful,” he groused. Charlene
reached for his hand, her small one encompassed by his large one.
“Liam,” her words were steady and forceful at the same
time, begging to be listened to, “I am careful. As careful as I can
be. But you can’t control everything that happens in life. You have
to give God some control.”
Fear, anxiety and pain rose to meet him at those words.
His insides screamed to keep control because life would be chaos
if he gave it away, just like when they were kids. He wanted to
trust God; he wanted to give God control like the Chaplin always
preached, but Liam was weak in faith and never could do it.
Shame filled him along with defensiveness.
“I do give God control; you just need to stop
being so clumsy.” He tweaked her nose like he had all the time she
got herself into trouble as a kid. A grin widened on her face.
“Elegance is for the wimps; only a truly talented
individual can be clumsy.”
He laughed before rising.
“Get some sleep, kid, so I can stop worrying about you.
You can’t do any more damage asleep… I think.”
Her grin was mischievous.
 “You underestimate my talents.”
Liam just shook his head and exited the tent. He breathed
deeply for what felt like the first time all day. After exhaling, he
remembered that he needed to go see Emma and tell her that
Charlene was fine.
“You have to give God some control.”

The words continued to haunt him in
the back of his mind. Everything in him still fought the idea. He
wasn’t ready to give up the one thing he had… control.
 
 
 
The darkness began to creep in along with the loneliness
and the memories of the last few months.
She felt her heart begin to beat rapidly; her mind began to
spin. She sat up. It was too much; it was all too much. The arrest
of father, the investigation into her, the letter from Summer Eyes,
the trip to the Plains, the Clan Leader’s demands.
I’m going crazy,
she thought as she threw the blanket to
the side, revealing her thin legs covered with thick woolen
leggings. A gift from the Mountain people that resided in the
Plains. Even their reminder laid heavy guilt on her shoulders. She
would either fail the clan or her father.
The harsh cold permeated her bones, but she couldn’t
bring herself to care as she scrambled out of bed.
 I’m going crazy
, she thought again as she searched the
darkness for a lamp. In sweet relief, she found it and turned it on;
the faint glow didn’t help. She still felt out of control.
You’re okay.
The platitude was weak and didn’t make a dent in her
racing mind. She thought of her father being dragged away. She
had been standing on the deck watching the waves when men had
stormed the boat. Fear had begun to weasel its way in. She hadn’t
known what was wrong until her father came to her, his white and
overly grim face telling a story that Emma felt even if she didn’t
understand. He told her in a halting voice that he must go away.
She knew what that meant. He had also said to her that he was
being accused of bad things and to stay safe. A man that barely
looked tall enough to be a king’s guard then wrapped a rope
around his wrists and shoved him forward.
Emma hadn’t called out, hadn’t made a scene; she had
just stood there in absolute shock and horror.
Silent tears had raced from her eyes, seeing who could be
the fastest. The days that had followed had been bleak, full of the
colorless monotony of uncertainty until a guard from the king’s
court came calling accusing her of knowledge of her father’s
treason by murder of a Clan Leader, and his association with the
Rusalka. Emma had been appalled by his accusations and
heartbroken for her father if the alleged claims were accurate. The
man had stayed weeks, invading her personal space, asking
question after question, studying her behavior before realizing she
hadn’t known of her father’s alleged dealings. The memories
washed over her, accompanied by the time she’d run to her room
in fear of her mother’s tears. Fear. She was always afraid, even
when she had been just a child. A child was supposed to be
fearless, but Emma had never been.
 She was weak.
She was nothing.
She was crazy.
The light continued to flicker; it did nothing besides
highlight the one thing that made her want to vomit. The letter
from her father was shadowed in the dim light, but it reminded her
that she didn’t have a choice. She’d already failed her father and
Clan Leader’s Summer Eyes would make good on her threats if
Emma didn’t obey her commands.
She needed to move. Her feet walked towards the tent
flap, and she flung it open, hoping a change in scenery would help
calm her mind. The fierce wind stung her cheeks as she stepped
out into the cold. Its ferocity reminded her of her own emotions,
causing her to curse. Everything reminded her of her weakness,
her loneliness, her nothingness. A dark voice whispered to her
from the crevices of her mind.
“
You’ll never be okay,”
it whispered, caressing her with
more panic. Her pulse beat faster to where it felt like a throbbing
being in her head. She lifted her hand to her messed-up hair.
She was out of control.
She was afraid.
She was a failure.
She was crazy.
The snow crunched beneath her feet as they took her to
nowhere in particular. Around a tent she saw a flickering light
much like her own. Her stomach tightened. She hoped whoever sat
with that lamp hadn’t heard her walking
The Clan Leader sat with her eyes closed, hands clasped
together while a blanket sat under her.
The racing of her heart continued.
 She couldn’t handle Summer Eyes in this state. She went
to take a step back when the woman spoke. Her voice was soft but
seemed to carry through the wind. She never misspoke; she never
mumbled. Her words were always perfectly pronounced.
“I’m sorry I’m pushing you to anxiety, but I don’t have a
choice, child. It’s my only choice.”
Emma scrambled back. The words echoed in her mind.
She didn’t have a choice.
She didn’t have a choice.
She didn’t have a choice.
She felt trapped.
She was going to fail.
Her father was going to hate her and the family name
would be disgraced.
Her feet scrambled back desperate to leave the Clan
Leader, she almost tripped in the snow in her haste as tears freely
streamed from her eyes.
Her heart thumped faster until she felt as though she was
going to explode.
Her father was going to hate her… but she didn’t have a
choice.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                                   
 
 

            Chapter 7
 
 
 
Liam’s muscles ached from utter exhaustion, but he
continued pacing. In public, he might be strong enough to control
his nerves, but he had no such reserves in private.
 The silence overwhelmed him like it did every night. At
least, every night since Charlene had moved to the magi tent away
from the tent all the girls had called home.
He stopped. His eyes roved over the tent, that had
changed so often as the girls grew, and he along with them. One
little mat sat on the floor, covered with animal skins and thick
blankets, the pillow old and worn.
One left… him.
Always him.
The responsibility weighed on him so long, it was
supposed to be lifted, but it hadn’t left with the girls. If anything, it
had gotten worse once all had gone. He couldn’t protect them like
he had while they lived in this tent.
You did a horrible job while they were with you.
Pushing the voice from his head, he closed his eyes and
let the memories of girlie giggles wash through his mind. Times
before Lindsey had married, before Natasha’s demons had
overwhelmed her, before magic had revealed itself to Charlene;
they were his girls. 
His girls.
Warmth flooded his soul.
Dear God, let me remember only those moments.
The prayer was weak, but it was something.
He remembered coming home from training, and a fire
surrounded by family sat welcoming him inside. It wasn’t an
average family, it never had been, but it was his. His to protect.
Had he brought up the girls correctly? Or was it only by
the grace of God they weren’t thieves and thugs?
The dark attic room filled with grief and regret bit him
harshly, reminding him that he had most certainly failed.
Natasha’s haunted eyes had reminded him of this every time a
strange man came near. He hadn’t seen the clear pain of her being
assaulted during those months he worked for Laurent. The heavy
weight of guilt laid like a brick on his chest every day. He hadn’t
seen the visible hurt of his sister when it was in his face, how
could he imagine seeing to the protection of a young woman?
Worry that danger would be looking right him in his face with
Emma Ambrose and he’d be blind ate away at his inner peace.
Danger was sure to be on Emma Ambrose’s back once
she arrived at Quartervois. The fast-paced political event led to
some interesting stories Liam could weave having experienced it
multiple times himself accompanying Summer Eyes. This time
was different, this time he would be the sole guard, sworn to
protect Miss Ambrose.
His mind wandered to what it would be like to be truly
free. Free of the guilt he wore so readily, free of the mistakes that
haunted his every step. Free of this life and the painful memories
it bore, but he couldn’t untangle himself from it. Duty had always
ruled Liam. When he was a boy, it had led him to trudge through
the ice to find a home for his sisters after their mothers’ death. It
had forced him to raise them even though he made more mistakes
than anything.
Duty over freedom.
That had always been his stance, even if he longed for the
latter. He clasped his hands behind his back and opened his eyes.
The tent was lonely, and soon it would be desolate.
Tears rose to his eyes as he remembered all the years of
healing and brokenness and new beginnings wrapped up in these
canvas walls. The beautiful memories overwhelmed him along
with the bad, and the tears broke free; he let him slide down his
cheeks.
He let it roll over him; he let it overwhelm him because
then Liam could get up and protect another woman.
Shaking off his intense emotions Liam lifted the tent flap and
walked out, his mind numb, his heart numb, everything felt numb,
empty.
He sighed. His feet continued to wander, but his mind
wasn’t there; he didn’t care where he walked to. He just let the
cold of the evening wash him anew.
Suddenly, he heard a voice and saw shadows, two
shadows.
He stepped closer, his feet crunching in the snow.
Summer Eyes and… Miss Ambrose. Seeing her out in the dark
surprised him, but then again, that just seemed to be what she did
to him, surprise him.
It was Summer who spoke.
“I’m sorry, I’m pushing you to anxiety, but I don’t have a
choice, child, my only choice.”
The second shadow scrambled back as though terrified of
the words spoken.
Was Miss Ambrose, okay?
It was the only thought that rang through his mind. The
crunching of snow was fast and urgent. He scrambled after the
young woman. As the snow crunched underneath his feet, he
realized this may be his second chance. God may be giving him a
chance to make up for his mistakes.
He needed to make sure she was okay. Maybe he could
help her like he could never help Natasha? She’d left Tyche, the
Plains, before she’d healed. She’d still had reoccurring panic
attacks when she’d disappeared without a word to him or
Charlene.

He needed the assurance that
everything would be okay. He didn’t know how but he wanted to
help. Maybe she was fine, and he was just overreacting from his
inner turmoil. Whatever it was, he followed the light through the
darkness in hopes of comforting at least one soul.
 
 
The tears continued streaming as Emma ran back to her
tent. Their silence reverberated how suffocated she felt in her
grief. Grief sometimes she created herself. She cut that thought
off. It was her mother’s fault. Her mother was the one who left her
five-year-old daughter to a man strict and rigid in his ways, who’d
left her completely unprepared to live independently. Her muscles
tensed as she heard footsteps. Her heart rate, which had calmed by
a degree, shot back up.
She clenched her fists.
“Who’s there?” she choked out.
“William Mather,” came a solid male voice.
A strangled cry left her lips as she heard the name. She
wanted to shout at him to leave her be. He was everything that
reminded her of her father’s hatred. He was going to rip away any
chance she had at happiness. She had been so close to living
peacefully. He reminded her of the Blood Bond she’d had no idea
existed until a couple of days ago.
 “Am I the source of your fear?” his voice was soft. He
sounded concerned, which made no sense. He shouldn’t be
worried over her; she had always treated him rudely and spitefully.
He shouldn’t ask questions. Her insides revolted at how blunt he
was, how arrogant to assume he was the source of her pain. She
spun around then, not caring that her face was splotchy with tears
and her hair looked as though she had been electrocuted by
lightning.
There he stood in all his broad, masculine glory. Emma’s
eyes went to his scarred face. The fault couldn’t mask the
compassion and worry encapsulating his features.
“Did I do that?” Persistent in his quest for answers he
motioned to her tears. His motions were choppy and nervous. A
silver of humor wove itself through her overwhelming anxiety.
“Yes, in the two seconds-,”
“It was stupid, okay,” he let out a huff of laughter. Emma
bit her lip and sniffled as he spoke again.
“I’m stupid sometimes.” He ran a hand over his face.
She rolled her eyes and mumbled.
“No kidding.”
He let out another huff of laughter, his breath creating fog
in the frigid air. They stood in silence for a moment. Emma’s tears
caused the wind to bite at her cheeks with a bitter sting.
“Do you need a hug?” he asked. The words were so soft
she could barely hear them.
A hug. William Mather wanted to hug her. He must have
realized how strange the question seemed because then his face
started to brighten.
“When my sisters were younger, and they would start
crying-,” he ran a hand over his face trying to cover his
embarrassment, “they would want a hug. Not that I-”
         Emma let out a watery laugh interrupting his bumbling mess
of an explanation.
“You are slowly becoming a decent human being,” she
stated, and his mouth quirked into a tiny smile.
She pursed her lips and studied him. Her anger
simmered; he looked so innocent, surrounded by her dim
lamplight that was going to burn out quickly. His posture was so
unsure that all frustration left her.
It isn’t his fault; it’s yours. You deserved what you got for
being the daughter of a traitor,
a gleeful little voice hissed in the
back of her mind. Her anxiety spiked again; desperation for
anything to help clawed through her.
“I would love a hug.”
She set the lamp on the ground and stepped forward, her
eyes burning with a new wave of tears. She reached out and
gripped William, finding peace through his strong arms as they
wrapped around her figure. Security and calm radiated from him;
she wanted to sink into that warm, quiet place and never leave.
The peace he conveyed she had never felt in her life seemed to
come off him in waves.
Her heart stopped beating like it was about to explode; it
calmed right above average, her head stopped rushing with a
thousand what-ifs. She just was, no worrying about her father, no
incessant fear of how she was going screw up at Vois, nothing
until he stepped away and cleared his throat.
Emma smiled, trying to hide her sadness at the end of the
hug.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He smiled back.
“You’re very welcome.”
 “Hey, I won’t be able to sleep for a while; why don’t you
come over for some tea and we can talk, get to know each other
before we spend hours on the road together,” she stated.
It was a horrible idea, but she couldn’t retract the
statement. What was wrong with her?
You’re just a self-destructive piece of trash,
the voice
hissed again.
 To block herself from her own thoughts she crossed arms
over herself. His presence was soothing her anxiety instead of
skyrocketing it like she was expecting. His dark eyes glinted in the
night.  He smiled.
“I would love that; I won’t be able to sleep for a long
while myself.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

     
          Chapter 8
 
 
He was leaving. His head understood, but his heart didn’t
know why he was leaving Charlene.
He bowed to Summer Eyes.
“Thank you for this opportunity to travel.”
Her big luminous eyes just blinked for a second before
she answered.
“No pretenses, keep her from harm and hurt. I trust you.”
The meaning of her last words rung heavy with him.
“Don’t fail me because I have laid my trust and hope on
you and this naive girl.”
 He bowed again.
“I will, madam, I will!” he assured her before
turning to see his sister speaking with Emma. Their heads were
bent, and a sad smile rested on his sister’s face.
“Have I been forgotten, the one to take care of you-”
“Shush!” his sister motioned for him to stop before
finishing whatever he was saying.
“Seems I am unloved by my own sister,” he mused
dramatically.
Charlene finally faced him an exasperated smile. She had
been released from the medic tent two days ago. The only thing to
have suffered was her magic. According to Jediah’s report, it
hadn’t resurfaced. The Magi had mumbled off about something to
do with a magical block and the mistrust Charlene now held in
herself.
“You big wimp,” she stated, affection lilting her words.
He laughed and hugged her tightly.
“I’ll be back, but that won’t stop me from missing you
dearly,” he whispered to the top of her hair. She squeezed him
harder. He pushed her back to see tears running down her pretty
face.
“Oh, don’t cry. Do you want me to stay? I will. I swear I
will.” He was serious, he’d reap the consequences of the Clan
Leader if need to be.
Her tears ripped his heart from his chest. His love
crashed in around him. Saying good-bye never got easier no
matter how many years he did so.
He hugged her close again. Charlene shook her head
against his chest.
 “It’s good for you, Liam, really good.” She sniffed. “I’m
just a selfish prig,” she mumbled and pushed him away, wiping
her tears.
“You are not selfish, not even a lick.” He
ruffled her hair before planting a kiss on her forehead.
“Stay safe, please, and get that magic of yours working
again,” he begged.
“I will try my best.”
Even though her eyes didn’t look hopeful he smiled
before turning to Emma, whose arms were wrapped around her
middle, tears rested on her eyes.
“You’re crying too?” he asked, humor lighting his words.
Emma sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“I- I,” she shook her head. “Yeah, I was crying. Let’s go.”
She motioned towards the horses, which were already fitted and
packed.
He helped her mount her horse before straddling his own.
“You ready?” he asked. She nodded; he could tell she
was still trying to recover from her tears.
He lightly kicked the horse’s sides, and they started at a
walk. He waved to Charlene and mumbled.
“Bye, my baby chick, bye.” His heart would never
understand that this wasn’t betrayal.
It was love.
 
The horses clip-clopped underneath him, their weight
swaying from one hoof to the next. His mind was heavy with
memories and regret. Saying good-bye always brought unwanted
memories to the surface. He pursed his lips and gripped the reigns
tighter. T
his was going to be a long journey,
he thought wearily.
His shoulders already sagging under the weight of responsibility.
 “You know what? Screw this god-awful silence.” Emma
proclaimed.
                              Liam snorted, “You fed up?” he asked sarcastically.
She side-eyed him before smiling.
“Just a tiny bit.” There was another beat of silence.
“I feel there are two opposing sides within you. Grizzly
bear and teddy bear.”
The statement was so strange he looked over at her, and
her expression looked challenging.
“Emma, you are the most interesting woman I have ever
met. Do you just say whatever comes to your mind?”
She chuckled before answering.
“Yes, pretty much. It keeps life interesting.”
He began to scowl as the horses continued to clop along.
“Life is interesting enough.” He adjusted his position on
the seat. Her statement worried him. A deep ache settled in his
chest, he knew someone who said whatever they pleased, and he
had failed to protect them.
“You’re scowling,” she stated.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” he grumbled.
“See, right there, you’re being a grizzly bear. But five
minutes from now, you’ll be this teddy bear, all concerned for my
well-being,” she rambled.
“It’s my job.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”
He grunted, unwilling to show how much she said was
accurate.
“I was assigned by the Clan Leader of the Mountains to
protect you while you fulfill your end to the Blood Bond. I am
sworn by a duty to follow through on my claims.”
He lifted his chin completely dignified in his statement.
 “You talk as though your fifty,” her eyes twinkled with
mirth; she was trying to get under his skin. He just smirked.
“And yet you talk as though you’re twelve and just
learned your first cuss word.”
“Crap, that was harsh,” she mumbled.
“Point proven.”
The girl looked at him a moment before she burst out
laughing. It was echoed loud in the open space of the road and the
snow that encompassed miles and miles of land.
“I grew up around dignified soldiers,” he stated as though
it excused his demeanor.
“And I grew up around sailors,” she shook her head
while she said it. “You don’t cuss, you don’t drink, you don’t do
anything besides work.”
The mirth died on Liam’s lips. The statement struck him
as odd.
“Do you expect me to do those things?” he asked.
“I mean, I don’t know that much about you, but I gather
your life hasn’t been easy and normally…” she drew the last word
out, “people have something to relieve stress.”
“Cussing relieves stress?”
She snorted. “No, but you know, there are other things.”
Liam frowned. “Emma, how much do you know about
those ‘other things?”
She blushed, “Not much. My father was very protective,
kinda like you now that I think about it.”
He scowled, and she laughed. Inside though, he warmed
at her words; he didn’t mind her thinking of him like that, the
protector, if only he could view himself the same way without
guilt and shame pouring over him in waves.
“I like how I live.”
 Liam breathed deeply. One day when he could escape his
own guilt he could tell the whole truth, but today he settled for
half-truths.
“Of course, you do,” she said as Liam smiled.“Don’t get
too cocky, mister. I know something bothers you; otherwise, you
wouldn’t have been wandering camp so late at night.”
The reference made Liam tense. He had regretted how
he’d opened himself up, hated how vulnerable and… safe she
made him feel.
Oh God, why? h
e thought. He couldn’t feel safe. Being
safe led with trusting people. And trusting people only led to
expectations that could not be met.

Liam’s resolve hardened even as the
snow melted beneath the horse’s hooves. He would not drop his
guard. He couldn’t.
 
 
 
Darkness soon lapsed around them, playing with the light
in the sky.
Emma tugged her new winters coat around herself,
shivers climbing up her back. She should be used to the cold by
now.
 “We should stop soon,” she stated, the annoyance evident
in her tone. Liam had clammed up for the rest of the day in the
frustrating ice-cold persona he had at their first meeting.
Emma turned her head to look at Liam. His sturdy build
rode elegantly on top of the horse. His face was blank.
“Please answer me. I know it would break your precious
facade, but my butt is sore, and I’m hungry.”
The man grunted before responding.
“We’ll stop soon.” His complete answer was three
words…
impressive.
Emma rolled her eyes and tried to resettle herself on her
horse.
“In a few miles, the land should start thawing out a bit.
Tyche is not as far from the boarder as one might think. We will
stop when the ground isn’t so frozen.”
Emma fought a grin at the news that they were nearing
warmer temperatures. She had been in frozen land way too long.
Her eyes settled on the landscape that hadn’t seemed to
change all day. An open expanse of nothing but cold, wet snow
that crunched under each footstep. There never seemed to be
another sound beside their horse’s hooves. It felt as though one
could wander forever, and all they’d ever find was snow, grass,
and the sun that did nothing to warm them.
She tried not to think about the fact that this path was
leading her to betray all her father’s ideals. Her stomach clenched
as she imagined her father sitting with an overgrown beard in a
cell, bread and water being handed to him. Her belly roiled as she
thought about him hearing about her disobedience. He would
disown her.
Dishonor.
 The word clanged through her head, causing her heart to
speed up. She tried soothing herself with her plan to not ask
questions, to not threaten her well-being by letting anyone know
who she was. The voice still nipped at her, though, poking holes in
her well-laid-out plan.
I am saving my father and the family name.
That’s all she could think about in the pounding silence.
I am saving my father.
 
 
The evening was black, and the fire roared, slowly
warming Emma’s numb fingers. She breathed deeply before
watching Liam add more wood to the fire. He had been correct
when he said that it would start thawing out. Afterward, he moved
to lay out a thick tarp as a guard between them and the ground.
There is something so wonderful, so soothing to have some take
care of you, to think of you.
Emma thought as she smiled at her
escort.
“You want some food?” His voice was low as he wiped
something, probably snow, on his pants.
“Thank you for everything,” she said suddenly. The
gratefulness for his thoughtful behavior overwhelmed her. His
head snapped up in surprise.
“I-” The shock was evident even in the scarce light.
Emma chuckled.
“Am I that rude?” she asked; a slight ache rolled around
in her chest.
She knew she could be impertinent.
“No, I’m just surprised. Your need for independence isn’t
wounded?” he asked.
 The shock wore into a wry expression. Emma rolled her
eyes and smiled.
“True independence isn’t doing everything by yourself
all the time; it is realizing you could if you had to. But I don’t
have to right now and I appreciate that.”
Liam studied her a moment, his dark eyes glinting black in the
darkness before he cracked a grin. She didn’t want the grinning
man to know much she enjoyed his attention
and thoughtfulness.
I’ve already cracked once and that’s enough, thank you!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

Chapter 9
 
 
A wild race of her heart awakened her from an already
fitful sleep. Emma kept her eyes closed for a few precious
moments forcing herself to breath, trying desperately to calm her
erratic heartbeat. How she hated this, hated it as much she hated
herself for not controlling her anxiety. She was weak. Slowly,
keeping her steady as to not set herself off further, she opened her
eyes.
Oh, father, how I miss you.
He had always been able to calm her anxiety. It always
comforted her to know that she was fine, she was safe, when he
was there. But now she was alone.
She reached for the letter that still rested in her pocket; it
never left the safety of her side. It was a sort of sick punishment
for her own actions. A reminder of her father’s will and love,
I will not let you down.
She wasn’t going to ask questions; she was going to
make her father proud of her.  
Sucking in a small amount of air in the frigid breath, she
prepared herself for the awful temperatures as she threw off the
animal skin the people of the Plains used for blankets. The snow
may be less thick here, but the morning air was freezing. Liam
stilled snored softly a few feet away.
Emma smiled as she watched him. His face was peaceful,
rare for him while awake. She remembered the night where he had
come, had raced after her to comfort her. She remembered that
wonderful hug along with his eyes, so dark, so unreadable. It
unnerved her.
Her mind wandered to the night before and how kind he
had been to her, preparing dinner and laying out the mats while
she sat there. A tiny bit of guilt rose as she thought of her pure
laziness.
She put a hand to her chest to assuage the ache building
rapidly.
No anxiety, please.
She was never going to make it through the day at this
rate; she would be a mess on the floor by the time the sun was
high in the sky. She stared at the empty fire pit for a moment. She
would be helpful and wouldn’t let Liam have an excuse to leave
her. Wearily, Emma shook her head, already exhausted.
“Get up,” she gritted out to herself, making sure her tone
was quiet.
 Slowly, she rose to her feet before grappling for her
shoes; her hands were already going numb. She couldn’t wait to
be out of the Plains. The vast nothing led to a void within her, it
reminded too much of how her soul felt sometimes. She needed
out. Then her anxiety would be better.
Once her boots were firmly strapped to her feet, she went
wandering a few feet into the trees, hoping to find some form of
berry or fruit. A small part of her knew it was a useless endeavor,
but she tried all the same. After a few minutes of wandering, she
found a pathetic little bush holding out a low number of shriveled
berries. She chuckled as she caressed the little bush.
“You’re trying. That’s all that matters. I’ll take your
offering.” It was a rugged little bush to have fruit in such
temperatures. With her measly amount of fruit, she wandered back
to camp, finding their first sack of nuts, and poured a clump out on
a beaten metal plate she had also put the fruit on. She placed it on
the cold ground, making sure to miss it as she struggled to find the
bread she had tucked away in her sack. Having no table to put her
food on was surprisingly inconvenient. She never really had to
prepare her food. Still, when she had a few times back home, there
had a least been a table, and on her way down, she’d stayed in inns
or taverns… not the ground, but they were traveling in a different
section of the country.
Squatting, she leaned towards the pit, trying to set it up
for a fire. A few poor attempts later, there was a tiny flame
struggling to grow. She started to blow, hoping her breath would
increase its puny stature.
Brushing off her hands, she rose, turning to pick up the
bread when a voice rumbled behind her.
“Good morning, vagabond.”
 With a squeal, she spun to stare at a disheveled Liam,
who wore a sleepy grin. The man was dangerously handsome like
that even with his scar. Who cared about that when his hair stood
up in spikes highlighting his robust, roguish features. His jaw was
lined with a five o’clock shadow that was accentuated by his grin.
The attraction was so unexpected it left her stunned. She had slight
bouts of interest here and there, but nothing like she was
experiencing at this moment.
“Do I get a ‘good morning’ in return?” Liam asked, his
grin turning into a smirk.
Emma forced herself to speak.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” her voice sounded hoarse
to her ears.
Liam looked at her strangely for a moment before he
shook his head and ripped the skins and blankets from his legs.
She forced herself to turn back toward her task, the bread, and
breakfast. Emma mentally shook herself.
An idea bounced through her ragged mind.
Maybe she could use this attraction to her advantage.
He will leave too,
the voice hissed gleefully. Emma
choked. No, no, no, she couldn’t use it to her advantage. That
would cause her pain. She needed to focus solely on her father.
The bread finally warmed. Emma picked the loaves off
the makeshift grate they had concocted when making dinner the
night before.
“Breakfast is ready.” She turned around to find Liam over
grooming the horses and sighed. Her thoughts were overbearing to
the point she hadn’t even heard him get up. She hated how much
the man rattled her, had since they had met. He looked over and
smiled.
“Thanks.”
 “Y-your welcome,” She spit out.
She swallowed and scolded herself; she needed to get it
together. This needed to stop. NOW! She wasn’t like this. She was
the feisty, naïve, spoiled kid. That’s what Liam expected of her.
Liam wandered over and sat on the only log he had
lugged over the evening before.
“How long have you been up?” he asked.
“Since the sun, I was surprised you weren’t up!” she
stated, trying to tease, but it came out hopelessly flat.
Liam smirked, “It was my first day in seven years
sleeping past sunrise.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Of course, it was. I forgot who I was talking to.” She
studied the fire for a moment before she heard him speak.
“Why do you hate how I act?”
Emma’s throat clogged. She didn’t hate it, not really. If
anything, she was jealous of it; he seemed so at peace. He radiated
an ethereal calm she ached for.
“It gives off a mix of ‘I’m better than everyone else’ and
‘get your life together, I’m perfect.’” Bitterness seeped into her
voice. She kept her eyes focused on the fire, not daring to look at
him. Liam suddenly stood in front of her line of vision. A firm
scowl was in place.
Emma’s insides shriveled up. He was going to lash her
for the retort. Her father’s face popped into her mind after she said
something out of turn. His fury, his strong tongue. Emma started
to shrink back, her heart thrashing in her chest. She scrambled off
the log.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I shouldn’t have said those
things. It was out of turn.”
 Liam’s face went from a scowl to pure worry at the tone
of her apology.
Her fear didn’t let go. Her chest began constricting. She
couldn’t breathe.
He was going to leave.
Your nothing.
He was going to leave.
You’re a worthless piece of trash.
You’re a worthless piece of trash.
A sob escaped.
She felt so weak. So out of control. It was as if her
thoughts were taking the reins and she could not regain her own
power.
As Liam stepped forward Emma scrambled
back farther and farther; he was disappointed in her, just like her
father.
“Emma, it’s okay.” Gently, he reached out and placed a
hand on her shoulder. “Do you want a hug?” The innocent
question knocked a wee bit of sense into her fear lathered brain.
Did she want a hug?
He wasn’t going to hurt her. He wasn’t disappointed in
her.
Slowly, fearfully, Emma nodded her head, and relief
swept Liam’s face. Cautiously, Liam crouched before her; he
kneeled into the slushy snow and wrapped his strong arms along
with her shivering, heaving frame. He gripped her tightly and
slowly rocked her. He didn’t say a word, just hugged her. Emma
sobbed into his shoulder. Emma knew she shouldn’t cry, knew that
she was letting him have leverage against her, but she let herself
go.
 Finally, when she was done sobbing, Liam pulled away;
he held her shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. His dark
eyes poured into hers.
“Emma, I’m not upset with you, just bothered you see me
as some goody-too-shoes. I’m not. Not really. But than what I
need to do is survive. Maintain control. Always.” He tugged her
back to his chest and continued.
“I want you to speak your mind, share your opinions.
That’s how this works. You be honest with me; I’ll be honest with
you. Okay.”
“You don’t understand. Life is about protecting
reputation, which means you don’t ask questions, and you never
say what you are thinking.”
Liam’s face was hard as she pushed herself from his
chest.
“We all have wills Emma, and we have a right to express
those wills.” He said.
She shook her head, “It will only get you in more
trouble.”
He studied her as though trying to read her and see to the
end of her logic. She turned away from him and looked at the food
with a watery laugh she said.
“Well, food is served. It’s probably cold as this stupid
snow by now.”
Liam’s lips lightly quirked.
Emma struggled to stand and made her way over and to
grab her tin plate. They ate in silence as Emma tried to cope with
her out-of-control emotions. She shoved as much bread, berries,
and nuts in her mouth as she was capable.
She choked as the taste of the berries settled in her
mouth.
 “Ah!” She spit out the overwhelming sour taste that
radiated throughout her mouth. Liam began laughing. She shook
her head, trying to get the sour juice from her tongue.
“Don’t laugh at me! I’m suffering!” She
playfully pleaded. The comment only made Liam
laugh harder until he was bent over.
Emma smiled even though the awful taste
           still sat on her tongue.
“I would like to see you try these berries!” she poked;
Liam shook his head.
“Nah, I’m rather fond of the stale bread
taste.” He stated with a smirk once he recovered from his fit of
laughter.
Emma chuckled.
“The whole breakfast was practically gourmet.”
“Made by the best chefs in the land,” Liam added. Emma
snickered before standing.
“I really do want some fruit, though. I’m going to go look
for some more.”
“I think you like suffering.” Liam snarkily replied.
She whirled to face him and guffawed, “I’m trying to be
nice.”
Liam looked at her for a second, his dark eyes pulsing
with an emotion that she couldn’t place. It made her feel
uncomfortable and out of control. Slowly, he spoke.
“Stop it.” The low timbre of his voice made
the two words sound like a warning. Emma’s thick, dark brows
furrowed.
“I need to stop being nice.” She stated, quite stunned by
the words.
Liam nodded.
 “Yes, you need to.”
Wryly, Emma snorted. Biting her lips, she turned and
trudged toward the forest.
“Please, Vagabond, be careful!” Liam called behind her.
“I promise!” She called. His concern warmed a tiny part
of her worried heart.
Emma scanned the area looking for another fruit bush
when a rustle stole her attention away from her mission of finding
something slightly digestible. Her eyes scanned the overgrown
brush nervously. Quickly, she turned on her heel, determined to
head back to Liam, back to safety. She didn’t bother pondering
that she was already becoming way too attached to the high-strung
man.
CAW!
The bird’s cry pulled her attention. A man with frightful
eyes and a blank void in place of a mouth moved toward her. The
birds swarming at his feet seemed to be carrying him. It gave
Emma the impression he was gliding across the forest floor.
A noise echoed from the man’s mouth. It must have been
a command because in an instant the birds began to surround
Emma. Their feathers overwhelmed her before their beaks began
to peck.
Emma scrambled backward.  As she tripped, a loud cry
sounded. She landed on a bird, probably crushing it under her
weight. She heard another loud 
CAW! 
The birds began pecking
harder, causing tiny gashes to form and pain to sting. Desperately
Emma screamed one last time before the darkness started closing
in. She covered her eyes with her hands, trying to protect herself
from the horrific birds. Her scream rang out while she prayed to
the silent God in the sky that just this once He would save her,
save her from a fate that always seemed to crouch in, whispering
she should join it.
“LIIIAAAMMM!” her voice was loud, and desperate
as she used the last of her energy to call on her guide. The world
went dark as soon as her mouth closed.
 

 
 
 
 
“LIIIAAAMMM!” Liam’s face snapped up at the scream.
That was Emma!
He was a fool for letting her go into the forest by herself.
He dropped the horse comb he had been holding. It clunked into
the dirt, his heart raced with such an intensity he hadn’t
experienced since the wild dog attack. He gulped. Where was she?
God.
That was all he had to think before his gut led him left.
God, save her.
His legs burned as he raced towards the sound of the
scream. Then he saw it. A bandit. A bandit, taking advantage of a
girl without magic. They often haunted the woods, their danger lay
in their excessive, unlawful use of dark magic. Liam cursed under
his breath. The situation very much warranted it. He grabbed for
the sword in its sheath at his side.
 “‘…be of good cheer. I have overcome the world.”
He
quoted in his head. The verse gave a measure of strength.
“Give me words, Lord.” He took a deep breath and
stormed forward. “The Lord is above you, you wicked creature!”
he shouted.
Well, that should do it.
He thought sarcastically.
Bandits such as these were deeply involved with the spirits that
often-offered false gifts, such as this man had.
The creature looked over to Liam, his eyes as dark as
night without stars even his pupils were black. A sign that he was
little man and mostly spirit.
“Dear God.” Liam breathed. This man was in deep. His
mouth was gone, his mouth hopeless.
Let him go.
You can’t save the man. You must protect yourself.
Liam kept his head high. The bandit made a loud squawk
as Liam moved forward.
“The Lord is above you, you wicked creature!” He
screamed again.
Keep me steady, my God, keep me steady,
as the birds
started pecking at him, but he kept moving. The prayer was all he
could muster. He swung at the birds, cutting down one after the
other, but the swarm was so thick. It felt as though for each one he
brought down, two more attacked.
His soul screamed. One attack from a bandit and they
would be dead. He was so weak, so fallible. But he would not give
up. Would not give in.
One after another the birds began to fall; Liam took only
a second to breathe a sigh of relief before he charged at his
offender.
“Submit to your Maker, creature of hell!” He roared as
his knife sank into the middle of the bandit. It hollered a horrific
screech that would forever rattle Liam’s soul.
“Submit!” He hollered as he pushed the sword deeper.
The creature fell back, with a sickening cry, it thudded to
the ground.
“In Jesus’s name, I cast you away from me!” Liam said,
his voice firm.
A peace surrounded him as the spirits that haunted the
man shrieked away. It was only then he spun, searching for a
woman with wind-chapped cheeks and beautiful brown hair. His
heart raced thunderously. He spotted her with at least a hundred
birds beside her. With a short little cry, Liam rushed forward,
shoving the birds from her. Tiny wounds surround her whole body.
Tears streamed from his eyes. Overwhelming gratitude at God’s
goodness took him when he felt the consistent pattern of her
heartbeat under his fingertips.
“Thank you!” he called to God.
He picked Emma up into his arms. Muttering the
completion of the verse that rattled through his mind only minutes
before, “‘These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might
have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good
cheer; I have overcome the world.’”
Liam snuggled Emma close to his chest; as he looked to
the man who lay dead on the forest floor. With disgust, and only a
tiny bit of guilt, Liam walked away from him, leaving him to rot
in the forest by himself. In a twisted way, Liam felt terrible for the
man. He had believed the lies of those spirits, thinking he was
better with them, that he could control magic and it wouldn’t
control him. But all it had gotten him was death. Liam trekked
back to their small camp. He brushed a light kiss on the top of
Emma’s head.
 “You’re safe. You will be okay.” The words were as
much for her as for him.
 
 
 
 

 
 
 

                                 
Chapter 10
 
 
The horse clambered up to a lovely, well-used stone
house that sat amongst trees. Ivy climbed up the sides of the stone.
It looked like a peaceful, romantic dream. Liam grunted as Emma
jerked in her half-consciousness. Hope slithered through his chest.
 “Wake up, Vagabond, please,” he whispered. She just
shivered and began slipping sideways off the horse. Liam gripped
her by the stomach and brought her to chest forward on the back
of the horse’s mane.
“Stay put, will you,” he gritted out.
Surprisingly, she grunted. A thicker, sturdier hope soared
through his chest.
Snow had cleared revealing thick, beautiful, green grass.
The warmer weather was a blessing from God. As they neared the
house, Liam could hear the bark of dogs. Lindsey had always
loved animals, and she finally had some of her own. It made him
almost feel giddy for her. She deserved every piece of happiness
she got. A door towards the back of the house opened as he pulled
the horses to a stop.
A beautiful young woman with a babe on her hip stepped
out of the door.
“Liam Mather, what have you gotten yourself into now?”
she hollered, her face drawn into a frown, so familiar from Liam’s
childhood memories.
“Please, I need your husband.”
Lindsey then saw the girl sprawled awkwardly on the
front of the horse. She nodded before turning back to the door.
“He’s in his study; I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Thank you, Lindsey.” he said.
Liam looked down at the sleeping woman on the horse;
his heart ached as he saw the scratches and pecks on her face. The
bruises were beginning to show on her fair skin. He lightly shook
her shoulder, praying that she would wake up.
“It’s time to wake up, Em.” he mumbled.
Emma shook for a moment before her eyes fluttered
open. A stupid grin crossed Liam’s face in relief.
 “Are we stopping for the night?” Her words were a mush
of syllables as she mumbled.
“Yes, Vagabond.” His grin faded into a tender smile.
Warning bells started clanging in his head at the emotions that
began to well in his chest. She was quickly becoming way too
important to him.
“Good, because I’m sleepy.”
“You’ve been unconscious all day! How are you possibly
tired?”
“I have a headache,” she whined.
Liam resisted laughing at her face, all squished and
concerned. He schooled his features. She needed his help, not
humor.
“You have to get off this horse… so you can sleep more.”
he chided teasingly.
Emma groaned and shook her head. Liam chuckled
before sliding off the horse. His feet thudded to the ground, and he
turned to help her down. Clumsily she pushed herself up from her
sprawled position on the front of the horse, her chest having laid
parallel to the horse’s neck. She opened her arms in the worldwide
motion as “carry me.” A grin tipped his lips.
“Em, are you implying you don’t have two feet? Are you
suddenly lame?”
“Just hold me, Tsunami. You’re warm, and your heartbeat
helps my head.”
“Tsunami?” he asked curiously. Emma opened her mouth
to respond.
“I-” Suddenly, with a wrenching body heave, she vomited
all over the front of his leather armor. Emma’s eyes began to
flutter close again in exhaustion, and he quickly grabbed her from
the horse before she could fall. At that moment, the door swung
open.
“She needs a medic. She possibly has a concussion and
these scratches and bruises are all over.”
“I will send a footman to get the medic immediately.”
The urgency in Jacob’s tone soothed Liam’s roughened nerves.
“Come, we will clean her up while Jacob takes care of
that.” Lindsey motioned him inside. Liam breathed deeply, a tiny
bit of peace invading his soul. Emma would be okay; she was in
great hands. Lindsey was a master at treating cuts and bruises. He
walked towards the door.
“You’re a lifesaver, Lindsey.”

A small smile spread across her
face. “You don’t know how much that means, Liam.”
 
 
 
 
 
Her mind felt like a thick fog that settles over the ocean
the morning after a horrible storm. The light hated her. But at least
she was warm. It was soft and cozy; she snuggled deeper, the fog
giving infinite peace.
 “Darling.” A baritone impeded on her nice comfy fog.
She grunted. What idiot decided to wake her?
“Em,” The voice rang again.
Every time she would settle into her dreams, it would
ring out, ruining her perfect peace and solitude. The world’s
problems couldn’t bother her here. Her anxiety couldn’t wrench
her into its tight, suffocating embrace. Here she was free!
She writhed, trying to resist consciousness. A warm hand
touched her shoulder. It must be Papa, Father, for he was the only
one that ever seemed to care. Everyone else left, just like her
mother. It had to be her father because that’s all she had been
given-
Wait, no, it couldn’t be her father. Her father was in-
Prison.
“NO!” She screamed. He couldn’t be in prison because
then, because then that meant he had left her, like everyone else.
She had to get him back because that’s all she had been
given, her father, her only protector. That was it; without
             him, she was nothing.
She curled up and began to cry in her sleep.
“Emma.” The voice rang again.
“Shut up,” she whispered, believing the sound was in her
head.
Her body began to sting as consciousness returned. The
pain brought the memories rushing like a tidal wave. The birds!
Her eyes snapped open, but darkness was still there. Fear clogged
her throat. Was she blind? Her mind raced with horrible
possibilities. Where was she? What had happened?
Liam.
Liam, with all his kindness and steady demeanor
amid chaos.
“Where am I?” she croaked, fear radiating in her chest.
 “You’re at my sister’s house, Lindsey’s. You’re safe,” he
reassured. His voice seemed far away.
“Why are you here?” She asked. “Why are you waking
me up? I’m so tired.”
“Because you have a concussion. You can’t sleep much
more otherwise,” he stopped. “You asked a question.”
She grunted, squeezing her eyes shut; she wasn’t blind; it
was the middle of the night. She tried sitting up, struggling against
the sheets that comforted her not long before. Her limbs were
flailing as she desperately tried to get her bearings.
“Emma lay down. You’re in no-”
She fell into his arms as she tried scrambling out of bed.
She squealed. He gripped her by the arms, and with a grunt, he
lifted her back on the bed.
“Please.” His voice a mixture of concern and sternness.
A sob escaped, “The darkness.”
It was childish, and the sensible part of her knew this was
a useless waste of energy. Still, the crazy, insane, part of her didn’t
know how to control it. Her heart thrashed in her chest.
Dang it!
Dang it!
Dang it!
Another panic attack.
“Can I hug you?” The soft voice brought her from the
intense thoughts.
“Yes,” she squeaked.
The bed creaked under the extra weight as he laid beside
her, and slowly, steadily, wrapped his solid arms around her. He
tucked her head under his chin.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Breathe. It’s okay.”
 Trying to get her mind off her racing heart and tear-filled
eyes, she commented. “You know how to handle a panic attack
well.”
Liam sighed; she could feel his chest deflate
           underneath her.
“Yeah, I do.”
Shakily, Emma tried breathing deeply, trying to steady
herself.
“You’re okay.” Liam continued. His breath was soft and
warm upon the top of her hair, his body so warm and comforting.
It was deliciously tempting to just sink into his embrace and never
leave.
He’s going to leave just like everyone else.
The stupid voice hissed; the glee way too evident.
You delight in my destruction.
And yet, she was powerless to stop it. The heavy truth of
it settled on her, and she couldn’t seem to breathe under its
pressure.
“I’m sorry,” Liam whispered.
“Me too,” she croaked back.
“You shouldn’t have to suffer.” His voice sounded
achingly vulnerable somehow.
She sighed. “None of us should, but God isn’t a very kind
God.” She let out a dry laugh. “He rather seems to like our
destruction.” She hissed, pain and bitterness overwhelming her.
He was gleeful at her destruction, at her pain and her
weakness. He told her everything she was doing wrong all the
time, with gleeful disdain. He allowed her father to be dragged to
prison, He’d forced her to fulfill a Blood Bond and He took away
all peace she’d ever possessed in favor for a mind that betrayed
her.
 “No!” Liam shot up as if distressed. “He hurts at our
destruction, Jesus felt death, He knows pain.”
Emma slowly sat up. “Liam, I don’t have mind enough to
debate the wiles of God.” She rubbed her throbbing head.
He ran a hand down his face.
“Sure, but we are going to talk… sometime.” His voice
sounded painfully tired.
“Okay, if that will soothe you,” she mumbled.
He slowly eased down, and she did the same.
“Thank you.” She stated, easing as she settled once again.
She could sleep like this wrapped tenderly in his arms, protected
from harm.
“For what?”
She heard the yawn in his voice. “Saving my life. This.”
A slight blush crept up her neck at how this might look even
though it was completely innocent. Liam wasn’t that kind of guy.
Right? Honestly, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t known him long and
didn’t really know him well.
So why did she trust him so? Maybe because he had
saved her. He cared for her and had been completely and utterly
selfless about all of it.
It’s his job,
she thought.
Sure. Protection her was. But what about the rest?
Soothing her during one of her panic attacks wasn’t. So why were
those the moments she couldn’t shake.
“You’re welcome.” Liam finally answered, his sleepy
voice interrupting her thoughts. Slowly, their breaths deepened,
and the darkness didn’t scare Emma anymore, not at that moment.
The strength and warmth Liam emanated relaxed her and soon she
was asleep, but not before realizing Liam was also.
 
 Morning came too soon. The sun rays peeking through
the window, penetrated her eyes, and Emma immediately noticed
the lack of warmth. A stab of disappointment went through her,
along with sensibility. Sweet sensibility. Logic was never taken for
granted when you felt crazy half the time. Liam would have taken
his leave, realizing it was better for both of their reputations and
dignity. She turned over, trying to ignore the sunlight peeking
through the window. A small smile perked up her lips as a rush of
contentment filled her. It was a rare emotion for her. But sunshine,
warm blankets, and a tight-laced, ruggedly handsome man could
do that to a girl. Slowly, her eyes fluttered half-open. To her
surprise, and slight delight, she realized Liam hadn’t traveled far.
He had only moved to the chair next to her bed. He had his head
dropped to his chest, his breath was even, and his arms were
crossed protectively over his chest. The posture made her lips
spread into a full-on grin as she snuggled deeper into the quilt
covering her. Her thoughts were happy, and her heart was
surprisingly light compared to yesterday’s events. A craggy, sleep-
filled voice echoed through the room.
“I wasn’t watching you.”
It was such a strange statement Emma snorted.
“If you were supposed to be, you were doing an inferior
job of it,” she scolded.
Liam sleepily rubbed his eyes and yawed before he
spread his arms out to stretch. She tried not to stare as his muscles
went on full display. She quickly turned her head to the ceiling as
her cheeks warmed.
Goodness, the man was stretching. That wasn’t supposed
to be sexy at all! And yet it was. This crush was ridiculous.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as the last of his
stretching was done. The question was reasonable, unlike her
thoughts.
She smiled. “Much better than expected,” she stated. Her
head still held a dull ache, but nothing unbearable. “Your sisters
house seems nice.” She mused.
“I was already planning to stop here seeing as though it’s
on the way, but you sped up our visit.” He wore a tender smile as
he spoke.
Ignoring his look Emma threw the covers from her body
and sat up; her vision spun for a moment before settling.
“You may want to be careful with how you stand,” Liam
warned. His eyes assessed Emma as her hand went to the poster at
the end of the bed, trying to find balance and strength enough to
stand because lying down always lied about your health. She
wobbled for only a second, but not before Liam was by her side
steadying her.
“You good?” He asked, his hand resting on her waist.
“Yeah.” She croaked as his fingers sent sparks racing
through her. She never had to deal with a crush in such close
proximity to her body. Her father’s overprotectiveness, while it
had filled her with much peace, had left many holes in her
upbringing. Circumstances normal children dealt with she had
never experienced. How detrimental it was to her social
capabilities; she was a bumbling fool.
“Are you hungry?” he asked as his hand left her waist.
With the distance between them, she could think again.
Dancing around her attraction was a dangerous game to
play. She could not like Liam Mather; for one, the man was
practically a stranger. She didn’t know his past besides that he had
taken care of his three sisters. Secondly, he was her escort.
She mentally shook herself. She was giving too much
thought to this. She shoved it away; she could deal with her silly,
 childish feelings later.
Plus, objectively, he is terrifying.
Emma thought,
remembering what she had thought when she had first seen him.
Mercenary.
“Em, are you okay?” His concerned voice cut through her
stupor. She looked at him and smiled.
“Perfectly so.” She took her first step and cringed; her
whole body hurt. “Okay,” she corrected, “not perfectly so.”
Liam chuckled.
“Didn’t think so. Want some help?” he asked.
Her pride said no, but at this point, who was she fooling
with her bluster. She had been out cold with bruises, scrapes, a
stupid concussion, and a butt load of other things..
“Yes, please.” She sighed, her head lowering in
embarrassment. Liam offered his arm.
“Milady?” his voice sweet and tender.
“A true gentleman. Your mother taught you well.” She
stated with pride. She patted his arm before she turned her head
forward. She caught a glimpse of his eyes; they were clouded with
something she couldn’t read. She wouldn’t ask. She never asked;
that was his business, not hers.
“To breakfast!” he announced, his voice peppy. But she
could hear the strain behind the words.
“To breakfast,” she said with a grimace as they walked,
every sore spot on her body acting as a reminder of the day before.
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 

    
Chapter 11
 
 
 
The floorboards creaked under their weight as they
carefully made their way to the breakfast room, which Emma
prayed was close. Liam patted her arm.
"Do be warned, my sister is," he pursed his lips a second
before grinning, "a little too much like you for comfort."
 She knew the remark was meant to nettle her by the
mischievous tilt to his grin. She grunted.
"What's that supposed to mean, Liam Mather?" She asked
defensively. She ached for some form of normalcy. The friendly
jabbing was as close to normal as she could hope for at a time like
this.
"She thinks it's hilarious to make fun of my,"
"Dictatorial rules and regulations for everyone within
fifty feet of you?" she interrupted innocently.
Liam sighed.
"Yeah, more or less." His tone was annoyed, but the
enchanted smile said otherwise.
The basic understanding, she had of Liam’s family was
loving and warm. Yet she knew that one sister was missing, but
the love they exude for each other was still awe-inspiring.  She
would forever be on the outside; loneliness clamped in Emma's
chest.
Outside of love. You’re worthless piece of-
She’d never had siblings, never had friends, just her
father and he was taken from her.
"Emma, you keep zoning out on me. Are you sure you’re,
okay?" He asked as voices clamored to be heard from the room
they were nearing. Emma lifted her chin, pushing the loneliness
away.
"Yes, Mr. Big, Tough and Scary!" she stated firmly.
Liam grimaced.
"Will I ever be named something else?"
"Nope. Let us go! I want to meet this woman that's like
me."
"Em, we're walking as fast as we can," Liam said dryly.
Her cheeks flushed.
 "Right." She shook herself. She felt so out of it today.
Her brain seemed everywhere but where it was supposed to be—
focused on her goal of saving her father.
"I'm not incapacitated!" A high feminine voice hollered.
"Some would disagree!" A deeper male voice
retorted. Liam looked down at her, his grin so proud and excited.
Emma wanted that grin to be about her, all about her.
"Lindsey is pregnant with their second child." He stated.
"Oh, Liam! That's wonderful!" She exclaimed. There
was
a monumental difference between her and Lindsey.
Lindsey had family to love her, whereas Emma didn’t.
The only man who loved her was tucked away in a prison cell.
And had to love her. It was his duty as her father.
The feminine voice, whom she presumed was Lindsey,
spluttered.
"I can't sit around doing nothing." The voice sounded
exasperated. Liam pushed the door open revealing a decent room
filled with a long table but only two people occupying the seats.
The man had his hand rested on his head as he looked both
amused and exasperated with the woman next to him.
"Lindsey, are you giving your poor husband trouble?"
Liam remarked. The woman's head whirled to look at him, and she
grinned.
"I don't have you to bug anymore. I was getting bored."
The man next to her rolled his eyes while chuckling. He
sat straight and looked at Liam.
"A day doesn't go by." He winked at his wife. The
woman smiled affectionately before her gaze zeroed on Emma.
"Oh, darling! You must be feeling like crap. You look
great considering."
 "Lindsey." Liam drawled in a tone a parent gave to a
disobeying child.
Emma smiled. Lindsey rose from her chair and made her
way over. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous, her curvy figure
that sashayed in utter confidence as she walked. Unlike her older
brother, Lindsey had dark hair that cascaded down her shoulders.
She was so feminine in every inch of her features. Emma had no
hope if this was the standard of beauty Liam had grown up with.
Emma was pretty; she had nice enough features. But nothing
compared to this woman.
You never had a chance, dummy.
She chided herself.
“Liam,” she said in the same parental tone.
He glared at her in a way that belied any true anger. His
love for his sister could not be masked.
"It's so great to see you again." she finally said and went
in for a hug. Liam left Emma's side and hugged his sister. When
they parted, tears were in the beautiful woman's eyes.
"Geez, pregnancy has me crying over everything." She
shook her head before looking at Emma again.
Emma felt humor bubble up at the woman's peppy
personality; she jumped from one topic to another with lightning
pace. Her joy spread to wherever she directed her attention.
"Sorry, I'm so distracted this morning. You must be
hungry after yesterday!" Lindsey's husband placed a hand on her
shoulder. "Oh!" She jumped. "And this is my husband, Jacob," she
stated with evident affection. Emma's heart clamped as Lindsey
looked back at her husband. The man nodded his head. Emma
smiled; she could see the evident amusement and love in his face
at his wife's antics. He rested a hand on her back.
"Dear, you may want to sit," he whispered, his lips
pulling into a smirk as her eyes sparkled.
 "Oh yes! That reminds me!" She exclaimed as she
directed her full attention to Liam and Emma.
"I should be able to ride, right? Pregnancy doesn't mean
incompetency!" She threw her hands up in dramatic exaltation of
her woes. Liam grunted and led Emma to a seat next to his.
Emma absently stated.
"Ask the medic. He's coming this morning anyways."
Liam pulled a chair out for her, the wood screeching
against the floor.
Liam retorted. "No, Em, you don't get it; that's too
sensible for Lindsey." The wry tone caused Emma to giggle. Liam
went to sit, and his vivacious sister came up behind him and
smacked him on the back of the head.
"Ow!" the muscled warrior whined.
Emma could not help but watch with fervor, awe, and
jealousy at the closeness the two seemed to share. She shoved the
envy aside; it was a worthless emotion.
"You deserve it!" Lindsey retorted as she sashayed back
to her seat.
Jacob pushed it in for her before seating
            himself and speaking.
"Thank you, Miss Ambrose, for saving me another thirty
minutes of discussion. It's settled, then. We'll ask the medical
professional." He gave Lindsey a pointed look. Lindsey just
smiled innocently.
 
 
 
Anxiety roiled through Emma as the firm footsteps of the
doctor echoed in the hall.  She was not sure she was ready to be
alone with another strange man.  Maybe she should have asked
Lindsey to join her.  Or Liam.  She couldn’t exactly ask her father
like she would have before.  
She swallowed hard as she reminded herself that he
had already seen her, checked her over, the previous day.  He
could have taken advantage of her then if he truly wanted to.  He
wouldn’t have to wait until she was alert, right?  
It would be ok
she repeated to herself over and over,
trying to stop the panic from taking control as the door opened.  A
tall man with a kind, boyish face stepped in.  Despite the warmth
in his expression, her heart still raced as he approached her. 
“Hello again Emma.  I’m Dr. Finley Santiago.  Heard you
got into a might bad scrape.”  His smile was warm and
professional. 
Emma sucked in a weary breath and smiled slightly.  
“Yes, sir,” she answered.  
“I don’t get that a lot from one so close to my age,” he
chuckled.  
The statement was innocent, but still Emma blushed. 
Thankfully the doctor ignored her embarrassment.  
“Well, I can see you have some significant cuts.”  His lips
thinned as worry creased his brown eyes.  He stepped closer to
check out the worst of the damage.  
Emma stiffened.  She wanted to scream
Don’t touch me!
 
But so far he had done nothing untoward.  Nothing that would
warrant her panic and anger towards him. 
He made a slight humming sound as he studied the cut
nearest her elbow. 
“Just make sure you clean the cuts and change the
bandages regularly.  Besides that, your cuts should be right as rain
in no time.”  The calm smile on his face began to break through
Emma’s panicked thoughts.  Surely a man who looked so at peace
with life wouldn’t harm her.  
“Thank you, but what about-,”
“Oh yes, the concussion.”  He leaned back slightly. 
“Look straight at my hand.  It might be startling at first, but I
promise you, you will be ok.”
Emma nodded and stared straight at his hand as he raised
it to eye level.  Suddenly a flash of bright light came from his
palm.
He said it would be surprising Emma thought as she tried
to soothe her racing heart.
“Only one more.  You’re doing great,” said Dr. Santiago. 
She bit her lip and continued to look at his palm as the
light flashed again.  
“Well,” he said as he stood and clapped his hands, “great
news!  You should be all healed in seven to fourteen days.  I will
say, take it easy until then.  Quiet, dark rooms and minimal
movement for the next week.  Okay?”
“Sounds good,” she croaked out, nodding stiffly at the
doctor. 
“Good day, Miss Ambrose.”  Vigorously he shook her
hand and left as quickly as he had arrived. 
Emma just stared as the man retreated down the hall.  A
rush of pride began to override the fear she had felt in his
presence.  For the first time in a long time, she felt confident in her
own capabilities to survive on her own.  To do things without her
father.  
I was strong enough. 
She was starting to believe what Summer Eyes and Liam
seemed to believe.  That she was strong enough to survive this
awful trip.  
 Slowly, she stood and walked to the door.  Her
muscles burned, but it made her remember she was tough.  She
had already made it through one challenge, she could face
whatever came next.  
As she learned against the door to let a wave of dizziness
pass, she could hear the muted voice of the doctor down the hall. 
“Sorry, Mrs. Salom, but you shouldn’t ride past the
fifteen-week mark.  And as of now, you are nearly twenty weeks
along.”
Weakly, Emma smiled before chuckling. Lindsey had
gotten her answer, and Emma had as well.
I was strong enough.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                             
Chapter 12
 
 
 
Pay attention.
It’d been a week, a week that seemingly dragged on, but
her daily walks with Lindsey had been a staple. Sometimes they
would talk other times they would quietly keep each other
company.
Today, her mind felt crowded with anxiety and maybe a
hint of depression. She felt as though she were going to fall into
the deep part of the sea and die there, her body resting on the
bottom, lost forever, just like her mother. The deep-seated anger
and bitterness started to nip, creeping around. That was Emma's
darkness. Emma sucked in air, fresh air that smelled of warm pine
as Lindsey walked beside her. When hard things happen, you
ached for the future, for something extraordinary and beautiful
even though you had no promise if the future would hold beauty
or bloody strife. The images that plagued Emma were ones she
had never seen; the imagination could be a great poison to the
mind.
Pay attention.
She scratched her arm hard, the arm wrapping
around Lindsey's. The arm that felt like her only life source in the
soul that was crumbling.
She’d been trapped in her room for a week, low light, and
boredom, along with Liam, had been constant companions. The
fresh air and sunlight were a balm to her crumbling soul.
"It's beautiful here," she whispered. The pine was
hanging like a graceful umbrella, a contrast to the deep blue of the
sky. She thoroughly enjoyed the thick pine that came with the
ever-encroaching mountains. At the same time, Emma missed the
great expanse of the blue of the sky that the sea with its calm
lapping provided.
Lindsey squeezed her sore arm; Emma tried desperately
not to cringe. Her whole body was still so stiff she felt as though
her bones were made of ice, thick and unmovable. The wonderful
woman looked at her.
"This forest brings me such peace," she breathed out.
Emma wished for the same. Peace was a concept her heart and
mind couldn't fathom.
"I could see that," she answered honestly.
            Lindsey's smile tightened.
"It doesn't do the same for you?" She asked.
Emma stared at the ground for a second, weighing how
much she should share with this near stranger. No matter how
amazing that stranger appeared, appearances could be false. Her
mother had seemed to be amazing, and she had left. Emma smiled
a wry smile.
"Sometimes, you can't come to peace with circumstances
no matter how hard you want to." She stated, deciding on the safe
yet vague answer.
Lindsey hummed at the statement.
"Nice hum," Emma said sarcastically.
Lindsey chuckled.
"I was just thinking of an old conversation between Liam
and me…."
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 

Chapter 13
     
 
 
Eleven years ago
The dirt was mailable and soft beneath his bloody knees
from all the scraping and scrambling to get up that stupid rock.
Stupid, stupid, stupid rock.
He thought, why hadn't he been here? Why was he never
responsible enough to know what to do when?
Lindsey stared up at him through a bloody nose and
black eyes; her grin was wicked and sharp. He grabbed her by the
shoulders, digging his nails into her flesh since psychical pain
seemed to be the only thing to get through her thick head.
"We don't have time for your useless scraps."
Lindsey's eyes darkened, and her lips turned into a
disdainful frown.
"Who are you? God." She spit out the words before
ripping herself from his grasp and spitting blood on the ground
like some life-hardened drunk.
Life-hardened, yes.
Was Lindsey a drunk? Nay. He had that much
control over his wildest sibling. He grunted and followed.
"Lindsey, you're going to worry, mam, again!" He called,
she continued walking.
"You wanna break her heart?" He yelled, hoping to knock
some sense into his nonsensical sister.
"Her heart will be rotting soon enough." She snapped.
Liam halted dead in his tracks. Surely, she didn't mean
that.
"Lindsey!" He snapped his voice the hardest he had ever
heard; it surprised him. She stopped. "You don't have the right to
speak like… like…."
She spun on him. Her expression was furious.
"You ain't a saint, Liam, you know mam's a whore. She
doesn't earn your respect." The words struck him as odd, but he
blazoned ahead stubborn enough to keep pressing until he had his
answers.
"She's your mother!" He screamed. Lindsey rolled her
large eyes before turning back towards the tent. He ran up her to
again, his feet stumbling as he crossed the path.
Big and gangly for his fifteen years, he didn't have
control of his limbs like most kids should by his age.
 "Wait!" He called, desperation clinging at his chest. He
couldn't let his sister be so awful about his mother, she may not be
pure and holy, but she still loved him despite all his scrapes and
bruises.
"Liam," Her voice was soft and begging. "Leave it alone.
You adore her for some reason, but I don't, can't." Her eyes were
sad, way too forlorn for a thirteen-year-old. Even though they
were siblings, half-siblings anyways, Lindsey looked like a whole
other creature next to him. She was small where he was big; she
was hard where he was soft; no wonder they clashed so. He
rubbed a hand wearily over his face.
"I can't have you getting into fights, forget mam at the
moment, can you do that for me?" He asked, hoping she had
enough heart to consider it. Lindsey studied him through swollen
eyes.
"Why are your knees bloody?" That was all she asked.
Liam looked at the blood dripping down his legs and
blushed.
"You would hate me more if you knew."
She looked at him askance before shrugging her
shoulders.
"You're probably right, but I still want my answer."
Liam pursed his lips.
"You remember Drillon flower from-"
"Liam!" His sister exclaimed, her cheeks flaming.
"I told you." He mumbled. Lindsey slapped him on the
cheek. It stung. No wonder her eyes were always blue; he wanted
to slap her back. He clenched his fists.
                      Be the bigger person Liam.
He told himself.
"You ain't gonna heal her or whatever you
wish from that stupid, life-threatening flower!" His sister yelled.
"I have to try; it's only the responsible thing to do!" He
retorted. Lindsey blew out a breath.
"You're the greatest idiot. I'm guessing you didn't find it?"
She asked. Liam shook his head.
"No." He said, his one word was heavy with
disappointment. Lindsey motioned with her
hands to the tent.
"Go, go see mam. I don't think you will be able to much
longer." Lindsey's words weren't sad but somewhat numb, as
though she couldn't feel another drop of sorrow in her young life.
Liam nodded and walked the rest of the way to the tent flap. The
wind made him all too aware of his scrapped-up knees.
He rose the flap, and the stench hit him, the smell of
vomit. He spotted his mother lying on her mat to the side. The
vomit was covering her hair and cheek. How long had she been
lying there covered in her insides? Liam went and found a ragged
old cloth they always used to clean their mother's awful vomit
sprees. He kneeled before her, dipped the rag in a bowl of water
they always had sitting close by if she needed some, or something
like this occurred, and started wiping at her cheek. His mother
stirred, and her large brown eyes opened; they were gaunt,
practically lifeless. It hurt to see something that once had held so
much life gone so bare. Liam focused on cleaning her off.
"You're-" She wheezed. "So good to me." She breathed
heavily and labored for every breath. Liam smiled wobbly.
"You're my mother." Marella Mather made a noise that he
guessed was supposed to be a hum but came out strangled and
rough.
"Not a very-" She coughed. "Good one."
 "You were the best you could be." He answered honestly.
What was he supposed to say?
“No, mam, you and all your creepy men were great! I
loved it when you came home wasted shouting profanity
               and striping. I loved it, mam.”
But no, Liam had too much loyalty ever to say something
of the sort.
"I was horrible," She croaked. "Don't say I wasn't, but-"
She coughed again; Liam could see her words were severely
taxing her. He just dipped his vomit-covered rag into the bowl,
ignoring the fact that he had just been coughed on twice. The
water darkened with the soiled mess, and Liam watched it as his
mother continued her taxing rampage.
"I need you to keep your sisters from my sins." The words
out of her mouth surprised Liam. He looked back towards her.
"I don't control them." He answered. Her eyes closed,
and she breathed a few seconds before
             continuing.
"Keep them away from prostitution, please." Those words
struck him at his core; they never actually said what their mother
was. It was an unspoken rule, and his mother had just broken the
rule.
"I will, mam. I will." He said with determination. His
plan was already that. He didn't know his mam's story, and he
never asked because she was never willing to tell, but he knew she
had the choice to walk away in the beginning but hadn't. It
disgusted him. His mother's eyes looked pleased.
"Too good. Too good." And those were Marella's
Mather's last words, for but an hour later she died after chocking
on her own vomit, but at least she was outwardly clean. The sick
irony of it twisted Liam's gut.
 He loved her.
He couldn't help it, Liam supposed he loved shattered
things, but he wasn't blind to the sick, perverted nature of his
mother's job. He wasn't blind that she was anything but clean. It
was a facade kept up until the very end, and Liam had helped with
it. He turned his back on the tent. Two weeks had come and gone;
her body was now a decaying thing in the ground. He shivered
with the memories. Being dirt poor, you didn't even have dignity in
death. His face set in grim lines. He had nothing, not even the
little tent. His mother's face haunted every inch of it, and the job
he had been offered wasn't close enough for him to keep it. He
kept his arms tight around his baby sister, Charlene, as she
shivered from the cold. Two bodies were warmer than one.
"It's okay." He whispered into her ear. She
was barely two. Liam didn't know whether to be elated that she
was still so young that she wouldn't have to remember the awful
things her mother did. On the other side of the spectrum, he didn't
know whether to be devastated that she would never have a birth
parent.
He patted her back again before motioning for his other
two sisters to follow.
"Come." He began walking forward.
To begin again
, he thought.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

Chapter 14
        
 
 
Emma stared at Lindsey for a moment wondering if she
was going to say more. Emma's lips tightened. She was not the
only one for vague commentary. It was a safe shelter to hide
behind. After all, vulnerability led to pain. That was universal
knowledge.
Lindsey's cleared her throat.
"My mother was a prostitute." She stated it so bluntly that
it shook Emma.
"That means," Lindsey nodded her head, "Liam's mother
was a prostitute." A sad smile crossed her lips. "A tragedy, some
would say. I would have agreed at one point or another in my life."
She saw her swallow hard. "I was a very bitter child. You don't
understand how bitter. I was far from everyone I loved, protected
by my anger. If I were angry enough, I wouldn't feel the pain
rooted in my soul." The statement struck Emma straight in the
chest; she had thought similar things many times.
Lindsey continued.
"I thought I could never reconcile that kind of pain. The
pain of being born from such degradation because of my
mother…." Her words grew heart-wrenchingly sad. "Unlike most
prostitutes, she enjoyed her job. She did not mind even though, by
the end, she had four children. I was so angry at her that she
birthed me into such foulness when I was young. I saw the men as
barriers standing in between me and my mother's love. I
understood how they looked at her as I got older. It disgusted me
that she was okay with it. That she willingly did it; even enjoyed
the game to some degree." The woman sighed. "I say all that to
say that sometimes the pain of circumstances seems too big to
reconcile, but God found me." Her smile grew joyous as her hand
wandered to her belly. "God found me through my husband."
Emma walked in stunned silence. Suddenly, crunching
footsteps sounded behind them, and a hand gripped her shoulder.
With a squeak and painful spin, she saw Liam grinning in
satisfaction.
"Jerk," she mumbled.
"Vagabond," he retorted. Emma rolled her eyes, and
Lindsey chuckled.
"What do you want?" She asked, enjoying the banter.
Liam's smile died an inch.
"I was coming to check on the patient." He stated concern
evident in his brow.
 Emma frowned and turned back towards the path. "I am
not a patient." She said insistently.
"I think the doctor would disagree," Liam said wryly.
"I'm his patient, not yours," she stated factually.
"You're my responsibility, making me your caretaker,
so… kinda you are."
Emma rolled her eyes.
"That seems like a far stretch."
Lindsey went and stood by her older brother.
"She's right, Liam."
Liam turned to her, his lips thin, his eyes dancing.
"This isn't your sparring match, Lindsey, is it now?" He
asked with a hum at the end. She pinched him in the arm.
"Seriously, why do you both even have the same habits. I
think my bicep will be permanently bruised."
Emma giggled. Liam's head snapped in her direction.
"Was that a giggle I heard?" He asked teasingly. She
schooled her expression.
"Most definitely not." She spoke.
"We wouldn't want that now, would we?" He said with a
smile.
Violently, she shook her head.
"No, then we would have to adm-" Her gaze caught on
something reflective.
Water!
A small lake full of beautiful, glistening water sat before
her for her eyes to enjoy. Her soul soared.
"Admit what?" Liam asked. She shook her
             head.
"Forget that! There's a lake! Why did no one tell me?"
 She cringed inwardly at the question but brushed it off.
There was a lake! Suddenly her body felt a whole lot less sore.
"Probably because you've been unconscious and too sore
to walk," Liam answered drolly. She slapped him on the arm.
"Stop being such a smart ass with me!" she
exclaimed, her excitement bubbling up into giddiness. Liam
chuckled.
"Then all my joy would be stripped away," he retorted,
but she barely heard him. She ached to jump feet first into the
lake. She looked at it a moment longer before looking directly at
Liam.
"I dare you to jump further than me!"
He looked at her as though she was crazy.
"Are you crazy?" He asked. She smirked.
"Yes, thank you for noticing."
Liam let how out a huff in apparent exasperation. He
looked to Lindsey, but she just stood there grinning. She would be
no help. He stepped towards her.
"Then, I will speak very slowly so you will
understand me, okay?" He grabbed her by the shoulders, his touch
sending a rush of warmth through her.
"You. Are. Hurt." His words were patronizingly slow.
The excitement was so great within her she could not
even muster annoyance at his behavior. She even laughed.
"I don't see a problem. I feel fine." She looked down at
herself. "I'm not wearing any white. You're just being a pansy."
She smirked as his face clouded in frustration.
"I'm not doing it, and neither are you."
She was already ripping off her shoes and stockings.
"Watch me!" she stated with a tone that rivaled a
rebellious teen. She raced on burning legs to the lake, happiness
 flooding her in a tidal wave. She jumped at the edge, bracing if it
was shallow.
"Emma!" She heard Liam holler as she flew in the air, her
lungs sucking in precious air, her legs curling into her chest before
hitting the surface of the water. The world slowed as she shut her
eyes and revealed in the coolness of the water how it soaked every
bit of her, muffled the chaos of the world, and for a split second,
she was at peace.
The water. The only thing Emma knew that could give
her peace. With a grin, she broke through the surface, her legs and
arms treading. She saw Liam standing at the edge, a fierce scowl
on his rugged features. It caused him to look like the fierce warrior
he was. The frown only made her laugh.
"Emma Ambrose! Get out!" He roared. "You could hurt
yourself more!"
"Water is a healing agent!" She called, breathless at the
cold water. He growled, and she laughed again.
"For the life of me, get out of that lake!"
She smirked, and like a defiant tike, she hollered. "I dare
you to make me!"
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                           
Chapter 15
 
 
 
Lindsey Mather Shalom rubbed her growing belly as she
watched her older brother in all of his sternness chase after the
spitfire that was Emma Ambrose. She smiled in profound
gratefulness that made tears begin to well in her bright blue eyes.
Only Jesus.
Only Jesus could save a wretch like her and lead her to
this beautiful life she now stood so fully in; this baby was a
constant reminder of that. The bright eyes of Luther and his
squeals of laughter were a wonderful reminder of the goodness of
God.
She sucked in a breath as she watched Emma fly into the
water and Liam holler. The grin was full fledge now as she saw
the scowl on her brother’s face. Emma did not understand, she
could not understand, how much of an effect she had on Liam.
Liam, the steady eddy of the family all about responsibility and
rules. She wouldn’t know that she brought out a side of Liam that
people rarely saw, besides his family. She wouldn’t understand
how much hope that gave Lindsey. Her brother deserved every
happiness the Lord gave him. She smiled at the thought that she
had mocked him countless times as children for his moralistic
personality.
“You ain’t a saint Liam,”
She cringed at the distinct memory of her yelling at her
brother right before their mother passed. Silently, she praised God
that He had taken that horrible bitterness from her, carrying her
heavy yoke just like He promised He would.
“You are a great God.” She murmured under her breath
before walking up to the two arguing parties. With a hint of
mischief that never died, she walked up behind Liam and pushed
him into the lake with a 
splash! 
Emma squealed in delight, and
Lindsey laughed as she watched her burly brother fall with flailing
limbs. Spluttering, he made his way to the surface. Emma swam
toward him.

“I won.” She stated with a smile.
Liam splashed her with a slap of his hands to the water’s surface
while she squeaked and swam away. Lindsey could not help but
laugh, the sound echoing through the pine trees towering
overhead.
Only Jesus!
 
 
 
A slight frown marred Emma’s lips as she stared down at
her toes that were covered in thick, well-fitting boots.
“Are you okay?” The baritone was laced with concern.
Her head rose as she looked to Liam whose expressions
highlighted the scar running down his face. Lost in thought, she
stared at his face for a second.
That scar.
He had received it with the noblest of rescues if he was
telling the truth, which she was inclined to believe.
He is worth much, much more than me. Much more than I
could give him.
The thought slightly devasted her.
“Em?” His voice rising. She shook herself from her
thoughts.
 “You once said that you had never hurt anything more
alive than a hay bale, but your scar…” she let the sentence die.
Liam’s lips tightened around the corners; his eyes became haunted
with a dark memory.
“I failed.” His voice was clipped. It was what Emma had
heard it referred to as “icy.” Nervously, Emma bit her lip.
“I’m sure you couldn’t have fai-”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He snapped.
Emma flinched; she had never seen him so tense. Liam
wasn’t always sunshine, but he looked like a tsunami with his
brows pulled low. She reached across the table to touch his hand.
Her finger wrapped around his strong, calloused one.
“Liam, I’m sure you tried your best.”
He looked at her then right in the eyes, so haunted with
the memory. She could not understand it. He would not let her in.
His lips tipped up, trying to lighten how heavy the mood became.
“I always do.” His tone was empty, but emotion poured
from the rest of him. She wanted to walk to the other side of the
table and wrap him in a hug. She would not, though. That would
be stupid.
Remember:
He is worth much, much more than me. Much
more than I could give him.
Clearing her throat, Emma changed the subject.
“We should get back on the road tomorrow,” she stated, a
wet strand of hair falling into her eyes.
Liam looked disturbed, probably for a different reason
now.
“I swear, I don’t think you understand the concept of
injuries.” He rubbed a hand down his face. Emma smiled and
rolled her eyes.
 “Trust me, I do, perfectly, but I feel fine.” She grinned.
“Especially after that swim.”
Liam’s scowl darkened, and she chuckled.
“Come on, Liam, you have to break the rules
occasionally,” she teased.
“Why?” His tone was dark.
Okay, he’s obviously all teased out today,
she thought as
she schooled her features.
“Because life needs to be put in place. It needs to be
shown that it doesn’t rule; we have some control.”
Liam sat back, considering her statement.
“I don’t believe you. Breaking rules takes even more
control out of the situation.”
She waved her hand in the air nonchalantly.
“It doesn’t really matter.” Her tone was airy.
“But that’s where your wrong. My job is to keep the
rules, and people following the rules makes it a whole lot easier.”
“Wow, you’re really intense tonight.” She mumbled. She
heard Liam growl, like some animal.
“You keep pushing your limits, Emma. You are going to
get yourself killed!” he yelled.
Emma lifted her chin in the air defiantly.
“I’m capable of taking care of myself.” Her confidence
was all bluff.
Liar,
her mind snapped back.
“You almost died.” Liam rose and began pacing. “And
then, like some irresponsible child, you run into a lake.” She saw
the heavy tension between his shoulder blades, the crease in his
brows, and the deep concern and panic in his eyes. Emma rose
from her chair, cringing at the pain that greeted her legs.
 “I didn’t get hurt,” she stated, trying to defend her
actions.
“No, you didn’t, but you keep testing fate. Your fall must
have been harder than I thought because your brain seems to have
stopped working.” His words were harsh with anger.
Emma’s mouth hung open in stunned fury. She did not
even know Liam was capable of such anger.
“Sorry, I’m not such a stiff, tight-laced prick who doesn’t
know how to let go and let loose. Sorry, I know how to have fun!”
“Fun doesn’t have to be stupid,” he snapped.
“I wasn’t being stupid.” Her voice had lost some of its
gumption at his rebuttal.
He turned to look at her.
“You almost died. If I hadn’t come when I did those bird
would have pecked you to death and I don’t need to mention what
would have happened after! I was the one who had to stare at your
pale face as you lay in my arms. You are not okay, and yet you run
off into a lake that has Lord only knows what. For what? ‘To let
loose!’”
“I am okay,” she gritted out.
“You moan every time you walk,” he chided. Heat rushed
to her cheeks.
“I’m sore. That’s it. So, you can lose all your self-
righteous anger.” She waved her hands dismissively in the air.
Liam stormed around the table.
“You need to chill, Tsunami,” Emma didn’t know how
too deal with the intensity he was showing. And if she were honest
with herself, it scared her. His anger meant that he disliked her,
even if one for that moment. And if he didn’t like her, he would
leave. After all, it’s what happened when her mother was angry
with her.
 He could not leave her. Not at this point in the journey.
She would be lost entirely, having no idea where she was going,
no idea where she was. A slight shiver overtook her as Liam stood
in front of her.
“I can’t,” Liam gritted out.
“Well, that’s a problem,” Emma mumbled. Suddenly,
Liam gripped her shoulders, and Emma winced at the pressure.
“You’re not okay.” The pain in his voice struck her. The
pain was heavy. All indignation left her, and she lowered her head
and mumbled.
“I’m sorry for worrying you.”
His finger came under her chin, and he lifted her chin to
look him straight in the eye.
“Ducking your head is a sign of submissiveness. I know
you; you’re not submitting, so why is your head ducked?” She
looked him straight in the eye.
“But I am. I’m saying I’m sorry. I am submitting that I
was wrong.”
Liam’s lips pursed.
“I always taught my sisters to look someone in the eye
because you still have a will even if you feel remorse.” The
statement was so contradictory to everything her father had ever
taught her.
“If you ever want mercy in this world, you must submit.
Bow your head, and they may have greater mercy upon you.”
Emma started shaking at the deep anger her father would
have after she did something wrong. His face would turn red as
though he was going to explode in a fury over her mistake. Surely
Liam wouldn’t do the same. The memories rushed to her.
Crud.
 She had been having a good evening; she had control for
the better part of it.
“Em, are you okay?” Emma’s eyes focused again on the
man before her; his dark eyes had lost their touch of fury. She
swallowed and tried to take a step back. His fingers let go, and
their distance grew.
“Perfectly,” she lied.
“You’re shaking,” he stated.
“I’m just cold.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Liam sighed.
“Okay. You better head up to bed then,” he suggested, his
head tilting toward the staircase. She nodded.
“We’re leaving tomorrow.” Her voice full of stubborn
determination. He nodded sternly.
“I waste my breath with you,” he stated with
disappointment. Emma just shrugged before turning on her heels
and heading to the door. She stopped in the door frame.
“Good night, Liam,” She stated coolly, all emotion absent
from her voice.
When her mother left, she had rushed away with tears.
She would not make the same mistake twice. Gracefully, she made
her way to back to her lonely room.
Her father’s words haunted her.
“If you ever want mercy in this world, you
must submit. Bow your head, and they may have
greater mercy upon you.”
Yet Liam disliked it when she submitted when she bowed
her head and asked for mercy. She had her own mind with Liam,
and it was unraveling all the rules she’d had to keep herself in her
father’s good graces.
Questions brings answers and answers bring pain.

The bruise that had lined her
mother’s jaw flashed through her mind. Her father had always
silenced her thoughts about her mother, and with a flinch, she
broke another rule. She asked the haunting question that she’s
shoved down for over a decade, and it caused tears to break free
and fall down her freckled cheeks.
What happened to my mother?
 
 
 
He plopped his heavy body in the wing-back chair of the
drawing-room. His thoughts noise enough to break through the
silence.
He had scared Emma.
Had that been the point?
He
sighed as he grabbed the sword, he had gone back to his room to
get. Slowly he unsheathed it and started to drag it across his
sharpener. The motion was weirdly soothing as he brooded over
what had happened.
He had snapped. His anger over Emma’s stubborn will to
do whatever she pleased erased his good sense and control. The
question remained.
Had he meant to scare Emma?
 No, not really. Liam had wanted her to admit that it was a
stupid choice to go running into a lake only a week after a severe
injury. Then his sister had gone and pushed him in after her like it
was some great game. His gut clenched with anxiety as he thought
of what could have happened to her.
She was so reckless. Liam had known that when he had
taken the job, but it had finally gotten to him tonight.
Shame rose at the memory of her shivering frame as she
walked from the room. Liam swallowed hard and scowled as he
continued to run his sword painstakingly over the sharpener.
Footsteps began to rattle the floors, and his pixie of a sister
stepped into the drawing-room.
“How’s Luther?” he asked, barely looking up.
“Good, good. Daddy is cuddling him. He seems to like
that.” He could hear the slight smile in her voice.
“I carried and birthed that boy, and he likes daddy more.
It’s sick, really.”
Liam smiled; love for his nephew swelled in his chest.
“Don’t take it personally, Lindsey. Two-year-
olds are incredibly finicky.”
Lindsey huffed at his statement. “Thanks, that makes me feel so
much better.”
Liam chuckled. The movement slightly eased the tension
so thick within him this evening. The room went silent beside the
scrapping of his sword.
“Can we talk, Liam?” He looked up and saw how her
hands rubbed together. He’d grown to know that was her nervous
tick. Liam leaned and grabbed his sheath and swiftly put away the
sword.
“You know we can, Lindsey. Is anything wrong? Are you
okay? Is the babe okay?” he asked, his tone low with concern. A
soft smile spread across his sister’s face as her hands instinctively
went to her growing belly. The knot in his gut loosened at the
motion.
“No, no, all is good in that department.” The smile still
sat on her pretty lips as she looked at him. He nodded grimly,
waiting for the blow that was bound to come. It always did when
someone wanted “to talk.”
“I just…” she cleared her throat. Trying to find the right
words, she adjusted her position on the edge of the settee across
from Liam. “I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for all the
years of just being there. I,” she sighed, her hand still placed on
her belly, “I never realized how much of a sacrifice parenting was,
especially since we weren’t your kids.” She let out a bark of
sardonic laughter. “We weren’t even your full siblings, but it does
mean a lot for all the years you were there when I was sick, when I
got into a scrape, and you bandaged it. I wouldn’t be the person I
am without you… and I love you, Liam. I love you.”
Liam just stared at his sister for a moment, his throat
thick with emotion. Pride and immense love filled his chest at the
beautiful woman before him. He pursed his lips, trying to restrain
tears but failing miserably. The tiny droplets fell down his cheeks.
He cleared his throat as he clumsily pushed himself from the chair,
not looking at all like the trained warrior he was supposed to be.
Hoarsely he managed. “Come here.”
With tears of her own, Lindsey hugged him. Their
embrace was tight and withstanding, just like their relationship.
Their childhood had been a piece of hell, but even when the days
couldn’t seem to get any darker, they had each other. The two
oldest trying to keep their ragtag family together. He buried his
face in her hair.
“Lindsey, I’m sorry.” he croaked. She hugged him tighter.
 “No need.” Her muffled voice wandered back to his ears.
He swallowed hard because his heart was heavy with shame and
gratitude.
Shame because Natasha would never hold the same level
of gratefulness Lindsey managed. He had failed Natasha worst of
all. She’d made her final, bitter proclamation and declared her
unforgiveness when she’d run away. He’d let a piece of his only
family go and had shattered the fragile glass family he held.
God is good.
In His incredible mercy, He had sought, and found, the
innocent girl beneath the bitterness of a rough life and brought
Lindsey back to him.
He had saved her.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Chapter 16
       

 
 
 
The horses snickered as Liam stood clutching his sister to
his chest for the second time in twenty-four hours. The morning
wind was cold and damp with the promise of rain, Liam prayed it
would hold out until Emma and he were out of the area.
“Thank you for everything, Lindsey,” he mumbled. He let
go, and her grinning face met him.
 “Of course, it’s the least I could do.” She leaned in close.
“I hope everything goes smoothly. I’ll be praying for you.” Her
eyes were soft, and Liam nodded.
“That would be wonderful, thanks.” He smiled lightly
before stepping back, allowing Lindsey to say her goodbyes to
Emma.
Two peas in a pod.
He thought wryly.
Expect the bags underneath Emma’s eyes were nothing
like the sparkle that shone from Lindsey.
What had happened once she had gone to bed? It looked
as though she had wrestled with the devil; maybe she had.
Jacob came up to him and thumped him on the back.
“It was nice seeing you.” Liam grinned.
“It sure was. I hope you get to the capital safely! Do you
mind if we pray before you go?” he asked, his voice low with the
question. Liam nodded.
“That would be wonderful; I need to get as many prayers
as I can get.”
Jacob chuckled. “God will see you through. I’m the
testament of that.”
Once the laughter had quieted, Jacob placed a hand on
Liam’s shoulder. The two men bowed their heads: praying before
God for safety.
“Dear Lord, we thank you for keeping these two
wonderful people safe so far, and I plead for that same hedge of
protection as they continue this trip you have sent them on. In
Your great name, we ask this of You. In Christ’s name. Amen.”
The prayer, while short and sweet, was poignant in its
honesty. Liam cleared his throat and looked at Jacob.
“My sister better treat you well. If she doesn’t, I swear.”
 The man chuckled and walked over to his wife, hugging
her by the shoulders.
“She does. Don’t do?” He asked with a teasing grin.
Lindsey looked up at him.
“Do what?” She asked, confused. He gave her a burning
look.
“Love me well.” He said before giving her a firm kiss on
the lips. When he lifted his head, Liam was pleased to discover
Lindsey was blushing. His cocksure sister was blushing.
“You have no grinning rights, mister,” she sniped.
“And why is that?” he asked innocently.
With a slight smirk, she retorted.
“Because you’ve never loved in a way to know why I’m
blushing.” The jab hit its mark, and Liam’s smile died. He cleared
his throat.
“Fair enough.” He turned to Emma who was watching
the whole exchange with a small, amused smile resting on her
tired face. He walked over to her and leaned down.
“You alright?”
Her clear blue eyes looked at him before her smile turned
into a solid line.
“Perfectly.”
The same answer she had given the night before. Liam
inwardly sighed. Should he push? Should he believe her?
Hopefully, if something indeed was wrong, she would tell him?
He soothed himself with that last fact. He smiled at her.
“Good because we have to get going.” He left out that
she was probably sore and in pain from her deal with the birds.
Bruises and cuts still lined her pretty face. A perfectly straight
pink scratch marred her normally olive cheek. He ached to reach
out and caress it, soothe the pain.
 Get yourself together; you can’t touch her.
He spun around.
“Thank you both again for letting us crash here while,”
he jabbed a thumb behind him to Emma, “she healed.”
Emma walked up to his side.
“Wow, throw me under the bus.” She teased with a roll of
her pretty eyes.
Liam snorted.
“Yeah, it’s my fault.”
“Always is.” She retorted.
Liam’s heart lifted at her jest.
“No, I think it’s the other way around.” He retorted. Emma
snickered in jest, but her eyes still looked deflated. He swallowed
hard. The guilt began creeping up his throat; those dark circles
were his fault.
“Liam are you there?” a voice hollered, breaking through
his wall of guilt.
Just add another layer; it can’t hurt.
He thought
sarcastically as he shook himself.
“Present!” he blurted.
Emma snorted.
“Yeah, I can tell.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be mounting?” he asked,
obviously changing the subject.
“Supposed to, but you seem to like the gravel. A lot!”
Rashly, stupidly, Liam gripped Emma by the waist and
hauled her up onto her horse, but not before she hollered in pain.
The sound sucker-punched him.
Why did she cause him to lose all rationality?
He never lost his senses. They almost were too close for comfort
some days, poking and prodding him to be logical and “tight-
laced.”
“I’m so sorry! I was-” He snapped his lips shut as
Lindsey hurried over.
“Oh goodness, are you alright?” She threw him a worried
look; she knew something was up. He never made such senseless
mistakes. Emma let out a strong puff of air before shakily nodding
her head.
“I think it surprised me more than it hurt.” She was lying;
he could see in the way she held her side.
He was such a fool. Liam ran a hand through his hair.
“Really, I’m sorry.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I can be difficult.”
He scowled.
“I’m fine, Liam, really! We all make rash decisions.
Three days ago, you would have done that, and I probably would
have laughed.” She rambled.
Liam raised his eyebrows. “Three days ago? You would
have socked me in the face.” She looked at him a moment.
“Well, okay, maybe not three days ago, but you get what
I’m saying!” she exclaimed.
Did he, though? Did previous circumstances excuse bad
behavior in the current moment? He didn’t think so. It could be
explanatory, but it didn’t justify it. A mistake was a mistake, and
sometimes that meant pulling on the big boy pants no matter how
guilty those big boy pants made him feel.
“I really am sorry!” Before she could spout off another of
her lame excuses, he rushed for his horse and mounted. His mind
was on only one thought.
Get her safely to the capital.
Even if it meant being overbearing, he couldn’t allow for
another horrible mistake to add to his growing list. Emma may not
 like it, but he couldn’t risk failing. Not now. Not ever.
A crack of thunder rumbled behind them as the landscape
changed. Liam prayed that it stayed far away. They didn’t need a
downpour of rain to further slow them and possibly hurt Emma
more.
 
 
“Liam, I think snails are going faster than we are!” Emma
whined from behind him. He resisted the urge
                to snort at her apparent dramatics.
“No, the turtles are. The snails can’t beat our epic speed!”
He could practically feel the eye roll behind him. Nettling her was
just so fun; he couldn’t seem to resist.
“You know, now that I know Lindsey, you really should
be playing it safe.”
“I’ve survived this long.” There was a beat of silence
before he continued. He turned to look at her with her proper
riding posture. Liam couldn’t imagine how her muscles were
screaming under the constant need to sit up straight.
“Are you good?” he asked.
“I think you asked that five times already!” She groused.
“I’m just concerned. You need to be careful.”
“I’m just tired; I-I didn’t sleep well.”
Which meant she barely slept, if at all. Liam knew the
quality of her sleep. His mind raced back to the tent with tea and
her honesty, which she covered too frequently behind jokes and
fake spunk. He didn’t blame her. He did the same thing; he just hid
behind logic and rules.
“Liam,” Suddenly, her voice sounds quiet and timid.
“Um?”
 “I lied, well, not really. I didn’t sleep well, but that’s not
the full truth. I had ano-,”
“I know.” He stated, not needing to hear the nervous,
rambling nature of her sentence. He ached for her to feel
comfortable around him. She shouldn’t feel nervous admitting that
she had a panic attack.
“Good,”
“Do feel like you’re about to have another panic attack. Is
that why you’re telling me?”
There was a moment’s pause.
“No, it’s the weirdest thing. Whenever I am with you, i-
it’s like they wouldn’t dare to bother me. You bring me peace, I
can’t explain it.”
The statement squeezed all air out of his lungs, he pulled
his horse to a stop. He needed to correct this. The lie Emma told
herself was as blatant as the sun at noon. He heard her horse come
to a stop and her mumble.
“I think you have a soft spot for snails.”
He dismounted and walked over to her horse.
“If you don’t mind?” He reached up. She gave him a
perplexed expression but didn’t say anything. He heard her suck in
a breath, bracing for the pain that she was about to experience as
she leaned down. Carefully, he lifted her body from the horse. For
a split second, he didn’t want to let go. Her soft, feminine curves
drawing him in. It made him want to hug her close and bury his
head in her untamable hair.
Luckily, the split-second wasn’t a second. Otherwise, his
willpower would have crumbled.
Immediately, he let go, maybe too quickly because the
woman began to topple, her balance unsteady after hours on a
horse. He gripped her by the arms and helped her gain her balance.
Once steady, she stepped back, her face pained.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked. She looked at
him.
“Perfectly.”
And we’re back to that.
“Sit, please.”
She looked at him askance.
“I was sitting on my horse. You got me off my horse.
Now you want me to sit? Again?”
“Don’t try to understand my masterful genius.” He joked.
Emma snorted.
“I couldn’t even if I tried.” She slowly lowered herself to
the ground. He came and stood behind her.
“Close your eyes.” he commanded.
“Liam.” She sounded weary but did as he said.
“It isn’t my peace you feel.”
He saw her open her mouth to protest.
“No, listen.” Her pert lips closed, and he smiled. “As I
was saying. It isn’t my peace, you feel. Listen.” His voice lowered
to a whisper.
“Listen to the wind. See the trees and the flowers?”
“You made me close my eyes.”
“Emma, if I weren’t such a gentleman, I would smack
you for that comment.”
She snorted, and he saw her open her eyes.
“Now, please pay attention. I’m being serious. In all of
this, there is a Master. He controls all of it, even your precious
sea.” He heard her breath hitch at the mention. “It is His peace you
feel when you’re around me. I have no peace, but He does. It is
that peace you feel.” He heard her breathing go ragged as she
stared at the things around her, the wildflowers that tried to strain
their way out of the gravel, the trees towering overhead ruffling in
the wind. Her body grew tense as though she were straining for
the peace, straining for what he felt. Was her mind so filled with
turmoil? His heart grew heavy for the woman before him. She
knew nothing of God. She knew nothing of His goodness, of His
unending mercy.
Liam swallowed.

His faith always seemed insufficient,
but God met him where he was at. He supposed that was the basic
premise. If you repented, God met you where you were, no matter
how dark and horrible that place may be.
The overwhelming gratitude for that grace from God
started to choke him.
 
 
 
The wind swirled around, playing with the leaves, her
hair, and everything around her. She tried to find the peace Liam
was talking about. She leaned forward as though the wind might
provide answers to her like it did to Summer Eyes. Suddenly, the
wind halted its gentle whistle. Now there was nothing but silence.
Straining silence just like she was straining.
Desperate.
Unworthy.
Piece of-.
 The voice in her head cackled. Emma was not worthy of
that peace, of those answers her soul yearned for.
She was stupid.
This was stupid.
Liam was stupid.
She shot to her feet, ignoring the sourish pain screaming
throughout her body.
“This is stupid.” She spit out. As she swiveled, she saw
Liam’s surprised glance, and his pity.
Splendid, just splendid. He also thought her worthless,
need of fixing.
Join the club.
Icily, she marched back to her horse and gritted.
“Help me up. We’re leaving. Please.”
The sour expression on his face highlighted the dead skin
of his scar, making him look his nickname, Big, Tough and Scary.
Impressive, yet maddening. Why couldn’t he be a pig? That would
make this so much easier. She could write him off as selfish. Tell
herself that he liked to see her in distress. But even the coldest
parts of her knew that wasn’t true.
“What’s wrong?” He asked the gentleness that should be
frustration evident in his tone. Her teeth ground together, the only
thing keeping her from screaming.
Anger was so much easier.
“This is stupid!”
“Why?” he asked.  
He seemed so genuinely confused she could have
laughed at him.  He wasn’t broken like she was.  His mind didn’t
go into dark holes and play with horrible memories, preying on his
own self-doubt.  
 Of course he would believe in his God.  His God loved
him!  His God played favorites with men like him.  She’s heard
some of the Holy Writ when her farther would force her to go to
service and she knew, even then, that that God had favorites and
she was not one of them. 
That David guy, he was stupid too. That man could’ve
been a mass tyrant and God would still have loved him, whereas
she was hated from the day she was born.
“There are just flowers and trees nothing special. This
was stupid. You’re stupid for thinking it would help.”
“No, this wasn’t stupid. You know you have it wrong, but
for some reason, you want it to be wrong. So be it, just don’t
blame me.”
There.
There was the anger. Emma needed the anger; she
couldn’t deal with his pity. She couldn’t deal with his kindness.
For her sake, he needed to be a pig.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
  
 

Chapter 17
     

 
 
 
The silence was cold, icy. The stubborn woman sat like
some princess on her horse as she rode. Her horse’s tail swished,
practically whipping his horse’s face. Frustration bubbled up in
him. Why wouldn’t she listen to him? Why did she insist on being
stubborn?
He sighed.
 Those were unfair questions; he 
knew 
why she did it,
but it didn’t make him any less frustrated. He’d seen the behavior
before in Natasha and even some in Lindsey. She was scared,
maybe of herself and so she didn’t listen reason. She was so set on
protecting something that couldn’t be seen.
The air was stale and becoming thin as they started
climbing. Luckily, the overpass came before the climbing became
too steep or narrow. Worry began to fiddle inside his gut,
overwhelming his frustration. Even if Emma was maddening, she
was injured, and he cared about her. Cursedly, he cared more
about her than an escort should.
The horses continued to clomp, and even Liam’s back
began to ache from all the sitting straight.
He had opened up the slightest bit of Emma’s soul, and
somehow, he’d managed to slam it shut once again. That was the
problem with him; he never did, never said the right things it
always seemed too late. He swallowed hard and forced himself to
focus on the matter at hand.
“We should be entering a pass in a few miles, be careful;
the pass can be filled with Rusalka, and well, it’s narrow.”
Nothing. Just more silence that stretched out between
them in a deafening symphony. Liam battled between righteous
frustration and guilt. He had pushed her, but didn’t people
sometimes need to be tested?
He shook his head. Women were confusing. He ignored
the fact that he
may
react the same way if roles were reversed.
The day edged on, the air growing thinner as the altitude
increased. And with every step, his mind continued to ponder. He
didn’t understand. One moment Emma seemed to be favoring
what he said, and the next, she was mumbling about how stupid it
all was.
 Righteous indignation rose within him.
It wasn’t stupid,
he thought.
He was about to mention the need to find the pass when
the brush that covered most of the mountain rustled, and a man
jumped out. Emma’s horse was blessedly well trained; it only
scurried back. Liam tightened his grip on the reins as he fought for
control of his horse.
“What do you want?” The man growled; his tone harsh
while his body language implied civil behavior. Hopefully his
body language was more accurate than his tone. Liam could tell
the thick accent of the Rusalka. Their tongue was heavy and
forceful, just like they were. Had this man been a part of the
massacre on Aiyana all those years ago? Or had he been a child
unable to control what happened? Liam’s innate reaction was fear,
disgust and mistrust even though Liam didn’t know this man’s
history.
Liam sat straighter, but the man was looking at Emma,
not him.
Silently he cursed. Emma didn’t know how to deal with
brutes such as this man. He saw Emma straighten also; he saw the
dignified air she’d used when Liam had first met her, and in
earnest, he prayed she wouldn’t put on airs and start insulting the
man as she did with him.
The repercussions would be much worse. The Rusalka
weren’t below possessing their enemy with Spirits like those that
had consumed the Bandit.
“To pass,” she said, as though it were the
most obvious thing in the world.
                 The man’s black eyes looked at her, his pure ash lips
tilting into a wicked grin that revealed his mouth the color of
blood. Darkness seemed to embrace him and while the man wasn’t
overcome by a Spirits presence their magic seemed to reek off
him.
“Is that all?” He practically sang, his voice strong and
lovely sounding. Liam noticed Emma grip her reins in discomfort.
Rightfully, the man was a frightful sight of all muscles and pure
white skin like the snow of the Plains.
“I know the mountains are your people’s place, but we
aren’t here to intrude on that. We only want passage.”
Surprise spread through Liam. In that moment, he
thought Summer Eyes had pegged her wrong. She was not all rash
naivete. She could be dignified.
“Where are you traveling to?” The man asked.
Emma stiffened. “That is our business to know. We didn’t
ask where you came from, even though you did jump out of the
trees like some big bad villain.” The woman snapped her lips shut
like if she didn’t force them to close, she would keep spouting
more half-sensical nonsense.
Liam’s insides cringed, it was bold, honest, and brash.
Liam took special notice of the man’s double-swords strapped to
his back. Slyly he moved his own hand to his sword prepared to
protect their lives.
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” he asked,
his wicked smile dimming into only slight amusement.
                 Emma nodded and jabbed a thumb at him, “Just ask
him; he’ll tell you all about it.”
The man’s black eyes snapped to him as if he had just
noticed Liam’s presence. He tilted his head, his amusement
turning to disdain.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Liam attempted a cordial expression, but he had a feeling
he was failing miserably at it. He was never one for theatrics.
 “I am her bodyguard,” he answered honestly. Emma
twisted to look at him; understanding and support shone through
her eyes. He sat up a little bit straighter.
“Hmmm, the rich crossing my border? Well,” the man
stated with apparent glee, “I must, sadly, request, no, demand your
horse.” His sadness was as fake as the peace Summer Eyes
showed.
Liam resisted the urge to curse. If he took Emma’s horse,
they would only be left with one and it would slow them
significantly, and Quartervois began in a week. They didn’t have
much time. He could see Emma wanting to swing down from her
horse, but her injuries prevented it. Better off, Liam didn’t want
her at such a disadvantage with such an evil man so close. It was
safer for whoever this man was to
continue believing her some rich man’s daughter.
The irony was no lost on him. He had assumed just that
about her at their first meeting due to her arrogant confidence.
That false confidence gave the impression that she must have
grown up in a position of privilege. Even as he got to know her
better, and got glimpses of her true naivety, it was still hard to
believe she ever lacked her boldness.
Quickly, Liam swung down from the horse. He went to
untie the packs which held all their sleeping supplies.
“OCTaHOBKA!” The man yelled, his tone firm and
warning. Liam’s muscles tensed as he forced himself to step away
from the packs.
“Leave the horse, and I will deal with the packs.” The
man’s accent became clearer. Liam looked at him straight in his
black eyes before he nodded his head and stepped away from the
animal. Swiftly, he walked up to Emma’s horse.
 “May I join you, milady?” He added for emphasis. She
nodded with a tight smile, but the worry was evident in her eyes.
The ground was hard enough with the blankets and skins for her
sore body, let alone with nothing.
Liam’s mind reeled. They would have to risk inns, the
filthy places they were. He quickly got himself situated behind
Emma and tenderly wrapped his arms around her waist to not
touch a bruise.
With an exaggerated bow, the pale man let them pass.
“Have a good trip.” His words were taunting.
What was he getting at? Liam ground his teeth, wishing
to spit at the man or do something to regain control, but he
couldn’t. The horse wasn’t worth risking a fight that
ultimately was bigger than him.
“Lord, keep me calm.” He prayed. Minutes passed in
silence as the horse at a defeatedly clomped away.
“I can’t believe the bastard. That’s thieving! Not trading
passage. Straight up thieving from a lady of all people! What a
sick excuse of a man!” he exclaimed.
Emma chuckled, and he glowered at her hair. How could
she laugh at a time like this?
“Do you disagree? Do you think that he should take our
only source of transportation? That horse won’t do him half good,
and any fool knows that!” Liam tried restraining his voice.
“I agree with you.” She placed a hand on his, making him
all too aware of how close they were sitting, how the hair he
wanted to bury himself in that morning was right under his nose.
Of course he didn’t, but still, it was right there, tempting him.
“I just, I,” she snickered.
“What?” He snapped.
 She burst out laughing. After a minute of trying to
compose herself, she finally managed.
“Maybe you don’t
always
talk like a fifty-year-old.”
“Wow, what a mighty fine compliment.” The sarcasm
was coming out thick.
“See, that’s the side I’ve been trying to get out you, but
it’s always under lock and key. Guess I just needed to take your
horse.”
Liam’s lips turned up along with an idiotic idea, but
surely it wouldn’t hurt her. He wiggled his fingers, starting to
tickle her. Emma gasped before a bark of laughter filled the air.
“William Mather!” She screeched, and he couldn’t help
but laugh.
“That was your punishment.”

Her giggles faded and silence
settled in, but it was comfortable. Something they hadn’t felt with
each other in a few days.
 
 
 
The mountain was arid, dryer than Emma imagined. She
was sure that the inside of her nostrils were a dessert. She said as
much to Liam, who had calmly stated that it wasn’t dry, just thin,
 but Emma couldn’t tell the difference. Liam seemed to be
breathing heavy, but it could be fact he was so close she felt every
breath. Emma hadn’t been aware of how large Liam’s body mass
was until they sat together on a horse.
Critically, as to not dwell on the fact that they had no
sleepwear, she thought about how weird it was to be in Liam’s
arms. She tried not to think about how solid, he was or that his
arms practically caressed her sides. Desperately, Emma tried not
to think of that.
“Liam, do you ever think about how sometimes we shove
ourselves into places where we don’t belong?” She cursed herself
for the question, but it burst from within her.
“The curious cat, uh?” His voice was laced with humor
and something else, confusion perhaps.
“You know me always asking questions.” She gritted
              out sarcastically.
Liam let out a bark of laughter.
“Yep, that’s Em, the questionnaire.”
“Just answer me!”
She hated snapping at him, but his comments were hitting
a little too close to home.  He didn’t need to know how
uncomfortable it made her to even ask the simplest question.  He
already thought she was a handful; if he knew that too, he would
think she was crazy.  Or at least think of her as less than the equal
she wanted to be.  She knew she wasn’t there.  Could probably
never get there.  But she didn’t need him thinking she wasn’t
worth protecting due to her own insecurities.  She needed him for
this trip.  And if she was being honest with herself, she was
already emotionally attached because, to be frank, she was very,
very stupid. 
She could feel Liam readjust himself, and he grunted.
 “Well, seeing as though you were so kind in the asking, I
guess I can’t refuse.” He blew out a breath that ruffled some of the
wild hair on her head. Biting her lips, she resolved to be kinder.
“I’m sorry, Liam, that was harsh.” She apologized. Liam
shifted again.
“All is forgiven,” he stated. “Now, onto your question,
which was?”
“How do we put ourselves in places where we don’t
belong?”
He hummed as he thought. The pleasure over the fact that
he thought the question worth pondering snaked through her. Her
father had always brushed her off. Not rudely, but in a way that
parents do when their children say foolish things. To sense Liam
considering her question made it feel a lot less dangerous, which
should send warning bells throughout her. But, strangely, it didn’t.
“I suppose everyone does now and again. I mean, I don’t
think it’s always purposeful. You are forced there because you
have no other option. Sometimes, we want to fit in because we
idolize whatever that is. Sometimes, we think we should fit in
every circle, in every place; but we aren’t that bendable.”
Emma lowered her eyes to the horse’s mane. It was
strange. She hadn’t felt genuine curiosity for quite a long time, but
the need, the ever-aching need for answers, rose within her. The
question, unbidden, rose to her tongue and escaped.
“But what if you don’t fit anywhere?”
“Em, at the end of the day, it doesn’t truly matter how we
fit because this isn’t our eternal home.”
“Stop.” She said, “Stop with that nonsense. I want a real
answer, not some religious crap.” Fear pounded at her heart and
she didn’t understand why his words bugged her. They shouldn’t.
Everyone could believe whatever they wanted; she didn’t care.
 Liam sighed a long, soul-weary sigh.
“I can’t give you any other answer. You are looking for a
specific answer. An answer I don’t seem to know.”
Annoyance replaced the fear.
“Oh, great wise one, that answer would be….” The
sentence hung there taunting.
“You want me to say something like ‘You fit, you
completely fit, you just haven’t found your crowd yet,’ or some
other piece of garbage.”
His words grated on her, probably because of their
accuracy. That’s what a kind, considerate person would say. No
matter her self-loathing, that’s what a kind person would say. She
knew she was being irrational, but everything inside wanted to
scream. Everything felt so out of control to her, and she didn’t
know how to cope.
Liam shifted for the third time.
“Why do you keep moving?” Stupid questions seemed to
just keep coming. The man grunted before gripping the reigns
from her hands and steering the horse toward a cope of trees.
“Liam!” she screeched, petrified at how
quickly he took control. He pulled the horse to a stop right before
a trail.
“Emma, I understand you’re probably in a lot of pain,
and seemingly torn up about something, so I’m going to excuse
your comment. But before we continue, I must warn you that we
will have to stay at an inn tonight. The inns on this side of the
country….” he sucked in a breath, “are a lot different than what
you’re used to.”
Suddenly, against all better judgment, there were tears in
her eyes like she was some hormonal teenage girl. To hide her
complete irrationality, she solely nodded her head.
 She was so tired. Everything hurt; the thought of having
to deal with something less than pleasant to sleep, on a bed that
could also be less than pleasant, made her want to curl up in a ball
and cry. Wearily she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. At
least the snot from her tears moisturized her desserts for nostrils.
“Emma, are you crying?” Liam’s voice tender, like
always.
“I’m just tired.”
She could feel Liam’s head bob. She couldn’t imagine
what he thought of her, and for some reason, his opinion mattered
to her. She wanted him to respect her, but she couldn’t believe
how he possibly could; she was such a mess. She sniffled again.
“We’re almost there,” he whispered to her hair.
It was her turn to nod.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to act like such a weepy baby.”
“Emotions don’t make you weak, Em. They just make
you human.” The sentence seemed rehearsed.
“You’ve said that to your sisters.” It wasn’t a question.
Since they met, she was treated like one of his little
sisters, like she needed to be protected at all costs. The thought
warmed her and punched her at the same time.
“How did you know?” Liam chuckled.
She lifted her hand and patted his forearm.
“Because I seem to be the fourth sister that was just lost.”
The raw honesty stung, but she couldn’t deny it. It made
perfect sense for a guy like Liam to think of her as a sister. It was
respectable, noble, and everything else Liam was. Sucking in a
breath, she tried to shove her feelings away and deal with their
present reality.
“Soooo,” she drew the word out, “you said these inns
were different.” She felt Liam’s head bob.
 “Yeah, they are more umm….” The man shifted again.
“Liam, you seem uncomfortable.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“That’s like your tenth time shifting!”
“Tenth?”
“Close enough.” She waved a hand dismissively.
“I’m not uncomfortable. Anyways, that’s not what we
were talking about.” His voice held another layer of gruff.
Emma chuckled.
“The inns are more like,” he blew out a
breath. “They are more like taverns, to put it nicely.”
           She could feel his body tense. Emma bit her lip, not sure
what to think of that description. She had never been to a tavern,
but she’d grown up around sailors. Granted, not even drunk did
they try anything silly with her. She didn’t want to know the
penalty if they had. Eddy popped into her mind; she had not
thought of him since she left with his grizzly features and tender
heart. She smiled; she missed the old goon. A smile spread across
her lips.
“Well, it can’t be any worse than drunken sailors!” She
exclaimed with false optimism. Liam grunted. She saw his hands
go white as they rode toward the inn.
“Also, another thing, I don’t trust anyone-,”
“No, really?” The mocking nature burst out of her—
another grunt. Emma just smirked to herself.
“As I was saying, I don’t trust anyone in these inns,
which means we are getting one room.”  
If it were any other man under any other circumstance,
she would argue most hardily. Still, Liam, for some weird reason,
she trusted. As foolhardy as that seemed, she trusted him, plus he
saw her as a sister. No worries there, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had
 the opportunity before. Summer Eyes had made him her only
escort. She must know exactly what she was doing, making that
choice.
The lane they went down started opening up into a clear
path, and at the precarious end sat a tavern with sturdy bricks and
a door that sat cracked open. A servant boy ran up and offered to
take their horse. Liam gladly accepted. She could hear the
weariness in his tone, not that he would ever say anything. She
respected him for it but also was envious of his control. Liam
dismounted and offered to help her down, but a sudden rise of
stubborn will rose within her, as though defiant to the minor
meltdown she had earlier. She knew he thought her a naïve child,
but she wasn’t a child. Possibly naïve, but not a child.
“I can get down, thank you, though.” She lifted her chin
and began moving her impossibly sore body. Her muscles didn’t
want to cooperate when she swung her leg over to get off. She
overcompensated, practically swinging herself off the horse. She
ducked lower to the horse mane as to not fall off, but it meant she
was sliding, not so gracefully, off the beast. She felt Liam’s hand
go out
            to help her.
“I’ve got it,” she gritted out. The hands left but not
without a mumble or two. Finally, she was steady on the ground.
“What happened to the ‘a truly independent woman
knows when to let a man help’?” Liam asked. Emma stood
straight, looking him in the eyes.
“I feel bad that I’ve caused so many problems for you. I
can at least make myself stand.”
His grumpy face softened to concern.
“That’s silly, and I don’t care. Plus,” Liam leaned close to
her face, “it’s kind of my job.”
 “To be my escort, not my nursemaid,” she retorted.
“Truly, Em, it’s unnecessary to worry I enjoy taki-,” he
cleared his throat, “cleaning up your messes.” Awkwardly, he
ruffled her hair as though she were some twelve-year-old boy.
Emma looked at him strangely before saying.
“Mather, you need to stop being such a gentleman. I need
to carry my weight.”
Liam scoffed.
“That’s a load of bullcrap. Why can’t women understand
that sometimes men just want to do
something out of the kindness of their hearts!”
“Why can’t men understand that women don’t like
feeling incompetent children, and sometimes that’s exactly what
your ‘helping’ does!”
Whew!
 Liam cringed outwardly from that.
She knew she was in a mood, but it was hitting her in full-blown
intensity.
“We better go in.” His voice intense and his face blank of
all emotion. He was back to hiding behind his genial wall.
She sighed.
“Yes, we better.” They never managed to keep the peace
very long. As they approached the door, the noise started to reach
them. Rough, rambly music met her ears along with many
swaying and slurring voices that did not sound very sober.
Everything within Emma cringed in anticipation for the worst.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

      
     
                             
Chapter 18
 
 
 
Liam pushed the door open. A packed room met them. A
room filled with women and men alike, bent over the bar or
swaying precariously off a seat, or on their feet. None of them
looked sober, which didn’t seem possible. She leaned into Liam.
“It’s not even that late,” she mumbled.
“Yeah, like I said, these places aren’t normal.”
 Emma scanned the room again, her heartbeat
intensifying. Instinctively, she reached for Liam’s arm as though
to announce to all the eyes blearily watching them, “I’m with this
big, intense, mildly frightening, man.” Hopefully, it would keep
hands at bay.
“I think they put something in the brew,” he whispered as
they walked to a door at the back of the bar. Her grip tightened on
his arm.
“Liam.” Her voice was tight with nerves.
             “The respectable part of the business is through here,” he
said calmly.
               The second door led to a quiet room with only a desk
and a large man sitting behind it. Quite snuggly from the looks of
it.
“What do you want?” The big man groused.
Emma didn’t want to think about what kind of people he
dealt with on the daily. Part of her shivered just thinking about it.
Liam was right about her naivete. Shame at how little she seemed
to know poured through her. She was nineteen years old; she
should know more of the ways of the world.
“My sister and I would like a room, please. Two beds if
plausible,” Liam stated in a charming tone that wasn’t him.
“What kind of luxury resort do you think this is?” The
words were harsh and patronizing.
“Right, my mistake,” Liam said. “One bed will be fine.”
The man grunted before scribbling
something down in the book that lay open across the table.
“Here’s your key. The second room on the
right. Watch out for roaches.”
              Emma wanted to believe it was a joke, but this man didn’t
seem like one to make jokes. She took a deep breath. Emma dealt
with much worse than bugs. A creepy bug was okay, as long it
stayed off her face while she slept. Her face was where she drew
the line for creatures such as roaches.
“Thank you, sir.” Liam nodded his head and spun with
her still on his arm. He bowed his head and whispered as they
walked toward the stairs.
“He seemed like a real peach.”
Emma snickered at the comment. They reached the stairs.
“I still can’t believe they were all drunk, at least from the
looks of it.”
“I can, to some degree,” he mumbled. She looked up at
him. “Lindsey wasn’t always on the straight and narrow like she is
now.”
“She told me about your mother.” Her voice was barely
above a whisper. She didn’t know what drove her to tell him she
knew who his mother was. Liam stopped as though the news glued
him to the floor. He looked down at her.
“She told you.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
His eyes looked haunted, so hurt. She couldn’t imagine the pain a
mother like that would impress on her children.
“I once drank to escape from my mother.”
The confession seemed weighty for him to admit, as
though that wasn’t a pretty average response. In all honesty, it
surprised and impressed Emma how noble and well-rounded Liam
and all his siblings had turned out.
She patted his arm. “I respect you that you had the
strength not to rely on it.”
Liam let a sad smile escape. “Don’t think of me too
highly. I drank and ended up in the medic tent for a week.”
 Emma raised her eyebrows at the confession.
“I’m allergic.”
“Allergic to alcohol?” Her voice was stunned. She had
never heard of that before.
“Highly allergic. I took two sips, and my lungs seized up
in revolt.” The sardonic smile he wore testified to the irony of the
situation.
           He started walking once again, she followed.
“Sadly, the same time I tried drinking, so did Lindsey,
except she didn’t have the same adverse reaction.” There was
slight devastation in his tone as though somehow, he’d failed
her. Emma swallowed hard. The situation they had been in was
terrible, fraught with so much degradation. She couldn’t judge him
or his sisters. Wholeheartedly, she knew she wouldn’t have
survived if she’d grown up in that kind of situation.
They turned the corner and took a couple more steps
before they were at their room. The door looked as though with
too strong a knock it would come falling off. Emma wasn’t
surprised.
“They really should improve inns on this side of the
country.”
“And lose all the business of the drunkards? I think not.”
Liam’s tone was sarcastic. Emma rolled her eyes and let go of his
arm as he stepped forward and unlocked the door.
“At least it locks,” he groused.
“Think positively, Liam,” she retorted.
He chuckled. “It will solve all the mind’s problems.”
It was her turn to laugh.
“Tell that to my anxiety.”
“How is that doing anyway?” He asked; genuine concern
edged his voice.
 “Fine,” She stated.
The door creaked open, and a small, perfectly square
room sat in simple but rugged cleanliness. Emma walked in first,
her shoes clicking against the worn wooden floors. The
bed sat in the corner with a long table beside it that was
supposed to hold any bags. They only had a satchel filled with
the bare minimum. Her stomach roiled at the memory of how they
lost the rest of their good. She tried shoving the thought aside.
“Quaint,” she managed.
“You have a bed,” he replied.
She raised her eyebrows and nodded. She had a bed that
did look mighty comfy at the moment as her muscles ached.
“I’ll have the floor,” he said mostly to himself. Emma’s
chest tightened in sympathy.
“I can have the floor,” she suddenly proclaimed.
Liam’s head snapped to her, surprise flittered across his
features.
“Emma, that isn’t even an argument. Your muscles are
still recovering.” He waved his hand dismissively.
“I said I needed to carry my weight.”
“You fell off the horse from exhaustion.” Liam’s tone
was none too pleasant.
“I was stiff.”
“You were tired.” His gaze dared her to argue. Finally,
she bit her lip and gave up. Her muscles and wounds did hurt.
“We don’t have any blankets for you to sleep on,” she
reminded him.
He went to the closet door, across the room and pulled it
open. Inside sat a neatly packaged quilt that had a mountain of
dust piled on top.
“You’re going to have an allergy attack.”
 “I’m only allergic to alcohol, not some dust.” His voice
sounded mildly offended.
“My mistake, men aren’t allergic to something as silly as
dust.”
“Emma, that mouth is going to get you into some serious
trouble one day.”
“It already has!” she said with a laugh. She didn’t
mention how, but she knew her quick tongue was one of her many
flaws. She talked too much, didn’t listen enough, didn’t accept life
as it was enough.
Always wanted, needed more, more, more.
She offhandedly said, “You still need a pillow.”
She turned the covers back, finding only one sad pillow
there.
Liam hummed as he looked over the room.
“You could ask downstairs.” She suggested.
“Somehow, I don’t think they will be much help.” He
mumbled. A slight frown marred Emma’s face.
“I’m sorry.” She said she did feel responsible for the loss
of their horse and supplies.
“You can’t help that these places are sh-,” he cut himself
off midsentence, “dumps.”
She rolled her eyes as she hugged the pillow to her chest
as she watched him wander the room.
“You and your holy mouth.”
Liam just smirked.
            “I haven’t sworn in a few days. You should be proud of
me.”
The statement was made in jest, but she couldn’t help but feel a
little lost with that statement. Liam’s influence did weird things to
her.
 “Em, you do realize I don’t hold you to the same standard
as I do myself?” He asked the question
earnestly.
She nodded.
“I suppose yes, even though with an effort I could be as
good as you,” she retorted.
She sounded like some desperate child trying to win a
parent’s affection;
how silly
. She hugged the pillow tighter.
“You’re missing the point. I don’t hold you to the same
level because it would be unfair. I know my rules seem
overbearing, but they are what kept me alive, and I realize not
everyone needs them.”
“Not swearing kept you alive?” she asked wryly.
“C’mon Em. It’s not about swearing; it never was.” His
voice held mild exasperation. Finally, he picked up the satchel.
       “That’ll have to do!” He exclaimed and started making his
bed. “You know, I only said the things I did because you perplexed
me.  I knew that you hadn’t dealt with the world firsthand, maybe
vicariously through your father, but not by yourself, and you were
coming in acting like you knew things.”
A smile rested on his lips as though he found it amusing.
“I couldn’t do anything else. Summer Eyes
and my father didn’t leave me with much of a choice.” She
resisted punching the pillow. The smile left his face.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he sighed.
“That doesn’t mean it was any less confusing. At first, I thought
you did it to sound bigger, more mature ‘I’m not scared of you’
mentality. But now I know you better. I realize that it was more an
act of rebellion than anything else.”
 The words were so accurate it scared her. Liam knew so
much it was freaky. He should not read her as he did. She bit her
lip, contemplating what he said.
             “You’re partly right. My father never let me say anything
out of turn for a proper young lady. It was rather freeing to say
everything I wanted to over the years; it was just me being a spiteful
teenager. The other half, at least with you and Summer
Eyes, definitely was because I was intimidated. She held my fate in
her hands of course. Still does as long as my father’s blood stains
that paper. I was going to put up a bluster around myself. You’ve
been really kind to a slave, a debtor.” It was the most truthful thing
she’d ever said, and to William Mather no less.
She shook herself. This man brought out a completely
different side of her, a more honest one. Liam said nothing
because he knew what she was, and he knew he could be much
worse. He had every right to bind her hands and gag her until they
arrived in the capital instead, he treated like a friend, a sister. So
much kindness from a man she’d accused of being a mercenary.
              Fear and anxiety bubbled through her. The more she told
Liam about herself, the harder it was going to be when he left. She
clapped her hands together.
“So, how about dinner!” She exclaimed; her stomach
rumbled and ached in hunger.
Liam nodded his head firmly.
“We will want to eat somewhere else unless you want to
eat in the bar, which I don’t support if you wanted my opinion.”
She threw the pillow down and stood up. The world
began to spin at how quickly she’d jumped up from the bed.
“I can be a bumbling fool.” She muttered. Liam rushed
over as she reached for a bedpost that did not exist. “Surely it
can’t take this long to heal from some bird pecks.”
 “Need I remind you that those birds nearly killed you?”
Liam retorted as he gently grasped her arms.
“And you say I’m dramatic,” she mumbled as she held
her head, and the world slowly stopped spinning.
“It would also help if you had stayed at Lindsey’s a day
or two more,” he chided.
“You know we didn’t have time for such nonsense.”
Liam growled, knowing the truth of the statement. She
wrapped her arm through his once she had regained balance and
her bones stopped aching so furiously.
“What do you want to eat?” Liam asked.
“My only request is that there aren’t any ruffians,” she
said.
“You know, some might consider me a ruffian for this
scar.” He pointed to his face.
“No,” she said firmly, “anyone with ounce of reason
would soon see that you’re a perfect gentleman, even with your
scar.”
Liam shook his head in disbelief, but he pulled her along
toward the door.
“Emma Ambrose, you are full of surprises.”
Flirty, she turned her head, her thoughts still on his
kindness, and smiled a wide, sassy smile and said,
“I know.”
 
 
 

 
         Chapter 19
 
 
 
That night as he lay on the solid floor, Liam’s eyes
dropped heavy. Sleep called his name in gentle whispers, but then
he remembered that he needed to tell Emma something.
“Emma,” he said into the darkness.
“Humm?” Her voice was thick with sleepy expectation.
“We will be in the Forest tomorrow,” he stated.
“Oh, that’s wonderful-,” a yawn cut her words short.
“Goodnight, Liam.” she mumbled. Her back was turned to the
wall; he could see her outline even in the distant moonlight.
“Goodnight,” he said back. His memories jarred him
from sleepiness. The Forest was tomorrow, his old home, the place
he’d escaped from all those years ago. Here he was entering it
again with someone new to protect.
Dear God,
he prayed. His soul was desperate for the
comfort that the future would be bright, but the Lord made no
such assurances, and that’s what worried him. Could he handle it
if he failed again? His chest seized. There were so many ways to
fail Emma. Slowly, wearily, his body drifted off to sleep, but as
with many anxious souls, peace didn’t greet Liam in his dreams.
            He stared into their faces full of fear and pain. Why could
he never be good enough for them? Why could he never provide
enough?
Liam growled, spun around, and cursed. He knew he wasn’t acting
how he should. He should be comforting them, telling them it was
okay, that he would protect them, but he was only 15. He cursed
again and again and again. Hoping that speaking out would relax
his muscles so he could deal with the reality.
Why could they never escape? Why did that life haunt
them like a bad dream? His sisters silently sobbed behind him.
Suddenly, he felt something tug on his leg. He looked
down to find Charlene with tears pooled in her eyes. She didn’t
understand, she couldn’t. Thankfully, the pig had enough decency
to not touch a two-year-old, but that wasn’t saying much. Liam
reached down for his baby sister, holding her like a lifeline. His
emotional dam broke and he was sobbing too.
How had he trusted the man? How had he been so blind?
Was he still that naive?
His chest shook from the overwhelming, suffocating pain
he felt. He fell to knees stilling holding Charlene close. She also
started crying, her little wails reverberating through him. He was
young, and he felt every inch the small child. He didn’t have the
time or luxury to be that, but maybe for a few minutes he would
allow himself to cry. After few minutes he put Charlene down and
moved to where Natasha and Lindsey sat holding each other.
Except that is where events differed. He went to hug his sisters, but
Lindsey’s hand came up to greet his cheek in a firm THWACK!
Before she screamed, “Get away! Get away!” in mortal terror as
she scurried back. Natasha wailed louder and squealed.
“You failed us, Liam. How could we love you, trust you?”
It was her turn to smack him. Even Charlene eyed him with
distrust. Liam sat on the floor, tears pouring down his thin,
freckled cheeks.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” It was all he could say. He did
not have any excuses. Lindsey rose and came to stand over him.
Fury was evident in her flashing blue eyes.
“We could never forgive you!” She whacked him again,
and again and again.
“You deserve hell! How could you fail three little girls!”
“I didn’t mean to; it-it was a mistake.” His voice was
halting as the tears streamed faster.
“That’s not good enough!” Lindsey yelled. Natasha was
also now standing.
“You failed.”
“You failed.”
“You failed.”
“You failed.”
Liam’s sobs grew louder and louder.
 
Liam sat up, sweat pouring from his brow, chest heaving.
He swiped at his cheek.
Actual tears.
He drank in the oxygen and told himself he was okay;
Natasha and Lindsey had forgiven him. They didn’t blame him.
 They didn’t blame him.
They should.
The dark thought
immediately retorted.
Liam blew out a breath as he and his racing heart lay
down.
“Liam?” A voice croaked from the bed, and he saw
Emma sit up. She lay in an oversized shirt, and he tried not to
think how little fabric stood between…
That was a horrible thought. Self-loathing rose in his
throat.
“Liam are you okay?” she asked, her voice heavily
concerned. He cringed as he sat up once more. Now she knew how
weak he was. He was a warrior, supposed to protect many, and he
had nightmares like a child.
“I’m fine. It was just a dream.”
“You were crying.” She was off the bed, kneeling. He
saw her hand reach out, and selfishly he wanted to lean into it but
he leaned away.
“It was just a dream.”
Emma placed her hand in her lap. She sat for a second
before curling her legs up to her chest.
“I have nightmares, too. I despise them. They’re horrible.
Make you think some demented reality is real, even if only for a
few seconds. It’s enough to scare the living tar out of a person.”
He related to that. The fear he’d felt when Lindsey
scurried away as though she would be burned if he touched her.
“I-,” he shook himself. What was it he was going to say?
“I’m fine.” He wouldn’t break in front of her. He would never
break in front of her.
“Liam, it’s okay to have fears.”
“I know,” he whispered. He did know; he
was okay with his fears; he just didn’t want a single
soul to know them.
“We better get back to sleep. Tomorrow or I suppose
today, is a big day,” he said.
“Right,” she whispered before turning and crawling back
up to the bed. “I hope you have peaceful dreams,”
Too late for that.
Liam
 
thought.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
Chapter 20

 
 
The following morning Liam was up with the sun. The
rest of the night had been him resisting the dreams that wanted to
override his control and sanity. It was a horrendous cycle, and he
prayed it wouldn’t repeat the whole extent of their stay in the
Forest. He yawned and folded the blankets from the floor.
“How did you sleep?” he asked Emma. She was packing
the few items they had taken from their only saddlebag.
“Quite well. My body feels a lot better; I guess a bed will
do that for a person,” she joked.
 Thankful she didn’t bring up the nightmare, he snorted,
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
They packed up the rest of the way in silence
             before making their way downstairs.
Mr. Peachy Face was behind his desk, so Liam left their
key and the allotted amount on the table. The front room sat empty
of drunken people. Liam breathed easier knowing it was empty.
Finally, they made it out to the stables, where they requested their
only horse. Liam’s blood pressure rose with the memory of the
other horse pretty much being walked to the slaughter. Especially
with how finely bred he had been, he’d be useless in the deeper
parts of the mountains. A gangly boy that reminded Liam of his
younger self led out their fine stallion Summer Eyes had loaned
them. He would have to write her and tell her about the capture.
He thanked the boy loaded the satchel into the saddlebags.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked Emma.
She was studying something in the sky. She jumped.
“Um? Yeah, I’m ready.”
Liam smiled and shook his head. Always one for
daydreams. He never asked of what, but she wandered off in her
head quite a bit.
“You know, I could try to mount by myself
today. I did say I was feeling quite a bit better!” She mused aloud.
         Liam grunted in disapproval; he shook his head vehemently.
She rolled her eyes and charged for the horse as though
determined to do it before he could help her.
Foolish woman.
She gripped the horse’s mane, a small foot in the stirrup.
The horse looked huge in comparison.
“You think you can get up on him?”
 “When my father wasn’t looking, which-,” she grunted as
she tried pulling herself up, “wasn’t often, I would climb the rigs.
The men-,” she pushed off her leg still planted firmly on the
ground, “thought it a great game that the Clan Leaders daughter
knew how to climb rigs.” She smiled as though presenting herself
with the situation to break her neck was a fond memory.
She gripped the horse with all her might until she was
practically standing in the stirrup.
“Ah!” she said in victory. Liam shook his head in
disbelief, thanking God the horse wasn’t spooked easily by
shadows. Quickly she threw her leg over the horse.
Liam held his tongue and quickly mounted behind her.
“Hopefully, we should be in the Forest by noon, Lord
willing.” He reported. Emma nodded.
“I’m so happy we are almost there. Traveling is quite
exhausting.” she huffed.
“That it is,” he snorted.
Emma seemed to wander off in her head again, and Liam
was perfectly fine with the girl being a tad more quiet than usual.
He watched the road as they gently padded down the path,
thankful to be out of that place, grateful Emma never asked
questions. Emma never asked why he knew about such off-the-
trail place, how he knew it was shady at best.
As the road drifted on, he thought of all the people he
needed to write to when he arrived a Quartervois. He worried for
Charlene. How were her studies? Did she have any more incidents
since they left? Was she careful? Something could have gone
wrong, and he wasn’t there to protect her. His chest was restricted
in worry.
Have faith.
Have faith.
 Have faith.
Maybe if he said it enough, he would believe it. He
clenched his fists tighter around the reins as the horse clomped on.
“Liam,” Emma’s voice rose to meet his ears.
“Yes?”
“I want you to know that I can help you as much as you
help me,” she stated, her voice wavered as though unconfident in
what she was saying.
It was sweet, if not a tad naïve, that she thought she could
help.
“There’s nothing to help with, Em. I’m perfectly okay,”
he said, hoping he sounded convincing.
Emma remained silent for a while before speaking up.
“You were sobbing in your sleep; people who are
‘perfectly okay’ don’t sob in their sleep while saying how sorry
they are.” Her voice sounded so utterly concerned and almost
heartbroken for him that for the slightest second, he wanted to tell
her the whole story even if only to show her she couldn’t help
him. It was foolish because if he told her, she would not want to
help him; she would probably not look at him with the admiration
he saw growing in her eyes daily. She would probably send a letter
asking for a replacement escort. Who wanted a protector who
couldn’t even protect? She’d said it herself back in the tent on that
dark, secret night.
“No one wants a leader that can’t protect their own
people.”
He ground his teeth as not to say anything stupid. Finally,
he thought of a response.
“It was a dream from my childhood. It wasn’t pleasant,
but it’s fine, it happened, I can’t change it.”
 That seemed to nullify her. She could just assume it
involved Liam’s mother. That was safe.
Sometimes he thought how sick his life was for his
prostitute of a mother to be the safe part of his childhood. The not
quite so shocking part of his childhood. The less seedy part. Old
bitterness that he’d thought died years before rose within him at
the injustice of his life. Surprisingly, a twang of hate was aimed at
Emma and her perfect, naïve head; the head that believed
swearing a great rebellion. She covered herself well enough that at
first glance, you thought she was worth her bluster. But as you dug
around and started seeing her as her, you saw the scared little kid
that lay beneath.
His heart constricted with guilt. He shouldn’t be bitter,
especially not at Emma. Her father was in prison, for crying out
loud, and her mother was gone. He supposed her life wasn’t as
perfect as he wanted to believe. It just seemed to pale in
comparison. He shook himself; how selfish to think his past
problems so much worse than her current. What a jerk he was!
“How old were you when your mother left?” he asked
suddenly. Emma sighed.
“I think I was five, or around there. I was young,
extremely young.” Her shoulders slumped. What a pair they were
him with harlot for a mother and her without one at all.
“Would you mind telling me of that time?”
“Only if you tell me your dream,” she challenged.
He wanted to groan; he should have seen that coming. He
let the subject drop. Emma shook his arm.
“Come on, Liam.”
He ignored her plea. He would never share his secret
with anyone. He wouldn’t allow them to see how incredibly
fallible he was. She sighed.
 “You are so…” She didn’t finish the thought; Liam could
hear the annoyance in her voice. He didn’t care. If she knew, she
would understand why he didn’t say anything.
They rode on until finally they saw people in the
distance. Liam’s backside was aching and numb simultaneously.
He shifted, trying to get a mite more blood flow. The horse
continued to plod, and the sounds and sights grew louder, and yet
still the city was out of reach. As they approached, Liam’s heart
sped, and his mind wandered back to thirteen years ago. He
remembered running through the streets they were about to ride
through. He sucked in a breath, unsure how he was going to
handle the memories he had expertly tucked away. It didn’t matter
that he’d been here in previous years; the memories still taunted
his sanity.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Chapter 21
      

 
 
The morning drew on until they were upon the great city
of Cupala. Liam breathed the sweet scents of food mingling
together. He could feel Emma’s awe radiating from her.
“Never been to a big city?” he asked.
“Too many ruffians.”
He guessed the honesty and jest in her voice. He’d met
Water Breaker only a few times. He’d surmised that he was a hard
man, but Liam never figured that he would be so protective of his
daughter, even though he had a mighty special daughter. Liam
shook himself; he’d never thought something like that before. It
surprised him more than scared him. Emma grasped at his hands
that held the reins. He was pulled from his reverie.
 “Liam, we cannot just ride! Look, that man is selling
animal-shaped soaps; look at how cute they are!”
The excitement was so palpable Liam was tempted to be
excited about animal-shaped soaps just to make her happy.
Reluctantly, he let her off the horse, but before he let her go, he
whispered, “Stay by me, the city, while exciting is
              dangerous.”
She nodded and he turned around to handle the horse.
When he turned back around, she was gone. He hissed through his
teeth.
Fool-
“Liam, look, they have it shaped like a duck! It’s so
cute!” In the last syllable, her voice raised to a decimal his voice
could only imagine reaching. He smiled and nodded his head; he
couldn’t stay angry at that. She was a kid at a candy store. For all
his bluff, he could never be like Emma’s father, so overprotecting
it suffocated the joy out of someone’s life. Emma adored her
father, but Liam was slowly leaning into distrust. How could the
man take away that? Emma was practically bouncing as she
looked over all the soaps, the fresh fruits cart, and then the flower
cart. She purchased a little flower crown before hurrying off to
another cart. He couldn’t keep up even if he wanted to. The little
lady selling flowers leaned over her cart with an endearing smile.
“Your wife is so precious; you got a good one, sir.”
“Oh,” his face brightened at her assumption. “She’s not
my-”
“Liam! They have monkeys!” she giggled.
The stout woman chuckled before giving him a wink and
waddling off to attend to another customer. He wandered over to
where Emma stood petting a monkey that sat perched on the metal
bar provided for the animal.
 “Isn’t he sweet?” she cooed as she continued petting.
Liam nodded uncommittedly. His mind still lay at the woman’s
assumption. He guessed it was easy to make; Emma was tugging
him along like some women did a husband or significant other. He
stood and just watched Emma for a second with the flower crown
slightly askew on top of her wavy mane; her eyes sparkled, and
her face was scrunched into a grin.
She was happy, and stunning. Liam had noticed Emma’s
beauty before, sure. Still, he could never see past the naivete that
he’d seen to her detriment until this moment. Part of him wished
for the childlike wonder she held as she bounced around the
market. Still, that part of him had been squashed, if he’d ever had
it to begin with; some part of him doubted he’d ever been as
innocent and full of wonder as Emma managed. Her eyes looked
over at him.
“Pet him,” she said.
Liam shook his head, “Last time I pet a monkey, I was
bitten.” He stated mildly.
Emma blanched before ruffling the fur on the animal’s
head.
“Surely, a sweet little thing like this wouldn’t bite.” Her
voice lowered into another coo, enamored by the weird, stinky
animal. Liam smiled,
put his hands behind his back and shook his head.
“The most definitely do.” The bite had been small and
not dangerous, thankfully, but it had hurt like the dickens.
Having had its fill of pets, the monkey scampered to the
top of the cart where it sat, studying the crowd a millisecond
before scurrying back down.
Liam leaned down into Emma’s ear.
 “We should move on. We need to get to the castle before
dinner.”
Emma eyed before looking back at the monkey and
nodded.
“Bye, monkey,” she called as she turned away from
               the cart.
“Come on,” he said as he helped get back on the horse.
“I’m not a child.” She rolled her eyes as Liam grunted
and lifted her into the saddle.
“I’m a gentleman, remember?” he joked.
“Oh yes, but remember you need to be a pig,” she
retorted.
“Sorry ma’am, no can do.”
Emma shook her head.
“How very disappointing.”
Liam chuckled before mounting and riding through the
first batch of vendors. The sporadic market stalls faded into
houses crammed together in bunches. It had been years since Liam
had seen an actual home, not a tent. Emma made an “oh” sound in
wonder.
“You’ve never seen a house, have you?” He shouldn’t be
surprised. He was starting to think she hadn’t left the sea and ships
since, well, ever.
“Well, no I’ve seen things close to it, but it’s always been
tents or a variation of it. I saw the inn, which was structured
similarly.” He nodded as though she could see him.
“I’m guessing by your unimpressed tone; you’ve been
here before.”
She had guessed correctly.
“I grew up here,” he let out.
 “Oh,” the surprise evident in her tone. “Well, then this
must be a little boring for you, and here I a-”
Before she could finish, Liam interrupted her.
“I wish I had your enthusiasm about the city, and I think
it wonderful that you see such beauty.”
“Well then.” She sounded supremely uncomfortable. She
settled into silence until they reached the next batch of market
vendors; these sold scarves, sandals, and other clothing items.
“Liam.” Her voice was full of giddy anticipation.
“You can get off,” he sighed.
She quickly dismounted and went over by the scarves.
Her content smile warmed Liam’s heart, and he decided to stay on
the horse. He could better watch for any seedy characters. He
surveyed the scene, but he didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary. It
was strange to be back in the bustling atmosphere of the city.
Bubbling with the need to get to the next place, the next life event.
It much different from the ambling, relatively quiet of the
Mountain people to which he’d grown accustomed. His eyes
drifted back to Emma, who didn’t seem to mind the people’s
bumping and shoving. She had her eyes glued to a beautiful blue
scarf with a pattern Liam could not make out. The vendor came
around and was rambling off something to Emma while she
nodded her head with a smile. She giggled at something the man
said before the man got a little too close for Liam’s comfort, but
he quickly backed off. Liam realized his shoulders had tensed.
Overreaction?
He thought sarcastically.
Only mildly.
His stomach clenched at the thought of a man touching
and popping Emma’s perfect little bubble. She had been so
excited; he couldn’t take that from her. He reminded himself,
hoping to ease the overprotective urge within him to scoop her up
and not let her go until they were safely inside the castle.
It was silly, he knew, but he hadn’t realized how
incredibly infectious her naivete and excitement were. Two
women had started a conversation, and she was happily chatting
with perfect strangers. Liam’s grip tightened.
Give me strength, Lord. Allow me-
A man who didn’t look thoroughly together started
strutting towards Emma and the other women. He looked young
enough to be one of the two women’s sons. Liam quickly saw how
they were both repulsed as he came close. Slyly, he reached
behind Emma, who had turned back to peruse the scarves, and
wrapped his filthy arm over her shoulders. He could see her jump,
and for a split second, he could see fear linger in her eyes. Liam
jumped off his horse.
Why the filthy-
As he neared, he heard the two women trying to convince
the man to leave.
“Dwight, really, leave,” said one, her voice stern and
commanding. The man didn’t even flinch. Right before he stepped
in, he saw Emma drawback her elbow and jab him firmly in the
ribs.
Good girl,
he thought as the man cursed profusely. Liam
grabbed the man by one of his biceps and twisted it around until
he was sure it pained him.
“What the-”
“You keep your hands off of women, you pig.” he
growled. Everything within him was repulsed and furious. His
vision blurred. Logically, he knew he should cool off, the man
hadn’t done anything too terrible, but Liam didn’t know what he’d
said to Emma, and the thought of this man calling her-
 “You understand me?” he barked.
“It was a joke! Come on!” the man whined
             like a spineless baby.
“It’s always a joke with you swine.” Liam
sneered before pushing the man forward. When the man stumbled,
Liam gripped him. He got up in the man’s face, hoping to be in the
man’s sorry excuse for a face would help him understand not to go
around putting his filthy hands where they firmly didn’t belong.
“You don’t touch women.” His voice was low and
intense.
“Is she your girlfriend? I’m sorry!” He held his hands up.
“It doesn’t matter what she is! You don’t fling your arms
around a woman’s shoulder!” He realized it was a worthless battle,
the man wouldn’t get it. He was too thick-headed and stupid to get
it. Liam shoved him back.
“Scram before I decided I’m not feeling so noble.” With
a look of fear, the man scrambled back and ambled off. Liam
prayed not to harass another woman.
He turned back to see Emma clutching a scarf in her hand
and a scowl mixed with fear on her face.
“Get back to the horse,” he snapped.
His heart still raced; his blood was still at dangerous
levels. He couldn’t look at her. She didn’t say a word, just placed
the scarf back where it belonged and made a beeline for the
gelding. He took deep breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists.
The amount of self-control it took not to punch the bastard in the
face was immense.
Slowly as the soul-enraging fury drained out of him,
putrid fear replaced it, along with age-old insecurities.
You can’t protect her!
The voice from the inside of his
mind hissed.
You’re always too slow when it matters.
 Liam turned on his toe and began his way back to the
horse. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself back into the saddle
behind Emma. Her face was stony; no excitement was left on her
pretty face. His heart cracked.
People’s innocence dies in your hands.
Not caring what it looked like, he rested his head on the
top of her hair.
“I’m so sorry, Emma,” he mumbled.
That’s when he felt her shaking, and her voice quivered
as she spoke.
“He-,” She cleared her throat, “he asked me if I was a
pretty little-” She shook her head. “I can’t say it.” Liam pursed his
lips as the fury encroached on him again. He gritted his teeth
harder. Liam wanted to hurt the man so severely he was shaking
himself. He gripped the reins, and Emma placed a hand over his.
“I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.” She sounded
genuinely remorseful. Liam shook his head.
“Never be sorry for someone else’s wrong.”
He saw her nod her head. Silence fell, yet she still shook.
He couldn’t blame her, would never blame her—naïve little
Emma. Sickness roiled in his stomach as unchristian-like hatred
boiled for the man who dared whisper awful names into such an
innocent ear. He cleared his throat, feeling the need to say the
following words, but also uncomfortable.
“You can relax…if you want? I mean, I complete-” The
woman released a shaky sigh as her shoulders relaxed, and she fell
back against his chest; he wrapped his arms, as best could, more
tightly around her.
“You’re safe now. Don’t believe anything that man told
you.” His tongue got caught on the roof of
            his mouth as he debated his next words.
 “You’re beautiful and pure and everything-,” He heard a
small sob escape.
Good job, Will.
He thought sarcastically, using the nicknamed Natasha
had used before she run away.
You made her cry.
“Emma, I didn’t mean-,” She shook her head as he
stumbled for an apology.
“No, no, I like your words.” Her voice was snotty and
broken.
He smiled.
“Do you want me to continue?” He asked, and she
nodded her head. He prayed for divine inspiration.
“And everything innocent and wonderous. This whole
trip, you’ve been awed by things I have taken for granted.”
Her shaking slowly subsided.
“You’re beautiful, you’re pure, no matter what that-” he
cut himself off before he could say anything to upset her again.
“You’re a really good friend, Liam, the best.” She
mumbled. The affirmation stung and warmed him all at the same
time.
He had never really had a friend before. Always by his
lonesome trying to protect the things he couldn’t control.
“Thank you.” He croaked. The horse continued to
meander through the streets, passing more market booths that
seemed to have lost their shine, for they rode past them in sad
silence.
 
 
 
 
 
 

        
Chapter 22
 
 
Thankfully, the silence was soon eclipsed by the fantastic
view of the castle. It sat embedded in an old cliff, its glory rising
unto the sky. Awe and panic intermingled in her stomach. Emma
wished it was only awe because panic ruined everything.
It ruined the beauty of the spires as they reached for the
sky. Or if she were a little bit more macabre, they warned you not
to get too close because they would stab you.
 She was going to stick with the first analogy.
As they continued to sway on their weary horse, the
streets became more crowded, almost as though they were shoving
each other to get there. All problems, they believed, would be
fixed if only they could get to the king.
Sympathy rose in Emma's breast from their desperation.
She saw sun-worn faces and clothes that had seen better days. She
saw women with screaming babes on their hips. But Emma knew
a secret. A secret she wished to scream, but nobody would believe
her because by the hard-worn desperation on their faces, this was
their last hope. She'd seen what happened when she would sit in
on her fathers' duties, she saw the poor, the sick, the homeless
come asking for a reprieve from the powerful Clan Leader, but he
couldn't do anything.
That was the secret; he couldn't pick them up and place
them from they where they had fallen. Occasionally, if the case
was bad enough, he would give them a meal and maybe an
appointment, free of charge, from his medic. Still, there wasn't
anything he could do besides that. If he had space open enough, he
would give them a job, but that was few and far between. His
power didn't extend to their circumstances. Maybe these people
reasoned the king could solve their woes simply because it was the
king, but that was a lie. She didn't know all these people's
problems, but she knew he couldn't do much. He could give a pair
of shoes, but the reprieve would be short with how they walked.
Emma also knew poverty was a hole, and nearly
impossible to climb out of. She'd seen it when the same people her
father had helped the first time came back and then came back
again. Eventually, her father would have to warn them that his
help was only for the truly desperate. He'd tell them they couldn't
keep coming back; otherwise, they wouldn't get the same attention
 as they did the first time. Eventually, it pained Emma to know that
they would be denied; eventually, she found it cruel, but her father
explained.
"If I keep helping them, some of these people don't have
the pride to help themselves unless I stop." He said it so
emphatically she had initially believed him, but now she wasn't so
sure. She couldn't believe that some had no pride. Hopefully, they
were trying to create a better life for themselves. Even if they
didn't have pride, wouldn't it be
               better for them to eat than starve?
"Liam."
"Yes?" he answered. She hoped he would have an answer.
He always seemed to.
"These people, I know what they want, I know most of
them won't get it, but…." She swallowed, “but they were so
hopeful every time and somehow my father could deny some. My
heart couldn’t take it, I would have to step out. How-”
Emotion caught in her throat as she inwardly cringed
over her question.
"You're wondering how the poor can be denied?" he
asked. She nodded.
"Yes. My father used to say that it was because some
didn't have enough pride to stand on their feet, but surely that's not
right." She bit her lip. Her stomach was almost sick from her
thoughts; lack of food and money was devasting. You couldn't turn
someone away; it was heartless. Liam didn't say anything for a
while, almost to the point Emma thought he wasn't going to
answer.
"I think your father is accurate, to a degree. Most people,
the majority of people, aren't like that. Just like how some people
say the poor are poor simply because they're lazy, which may be
true for a select few. My family was dirt poor for most of my
childhood, not because I didn't work or that my mother didn't,
simply because the jobs didn't pay well. In my family's case, my
mother spent most of the money on the illusion that she had
money." He sighed. "I don't think you can categorize poverty like
your father is doing; maybe he was only talking about the select
few. Now, about turning people away. That is a problem that can
never be fixed; to put it simply, the world is just too broken. We've
tried fixing it over and over again, but I don't think it's possible.
I'm all for having better systems, but…." his voice drifted off, "but
there will never be enough for everyone. That's just the basic
principle of economics."
"That's heartless!" She burst. Even Liam didn't seem to
feel that same pain about this as she did.
"Yes, it is," he answered, his voice tight. "Emma, your
father saved you from a lot of the pain of this world. This world is
heartless, but you can't do much about it. You try your best, you
give what you can, and that's it. You can't save everyone."
"Surely, there's something better," she mumbled. It was
so bleak if it were a canvas with paint, it would be pure black
smeared across the ivory.
"There is," he said, "but it's not of this world. That's why
people believe in heaven because the darkness can sometimes be
suffocating."
Emma swallowed. Death scared her, and the mention of
heaven made it worse.
"I don't want to talk about heaven."
Liam sighed.
"Emma, you need to stop running from it."
"I'm not running. You just keep bringing it up."
 "I bring it up because I know that it will bring you the
peace that you want."
Emma wanted to spit, say something so awful that he
wouldn't dare talk to her about it ever again.
"My mother believed in your God," she said hoarsely.
"She thought that He was some kind, good God that protected His
children." She let out a humorless laugh. "You can't believe in
Him after what we just talked about."
"He doesn't promise there won't be hardship or tribulation
in this world, Emma; He guarantees it."
"That's just to save His behind," she sniped.
Liam went silent. Of course, he didn't have an answer to
that one; no one did. It was a sorry excuse, but some just chose to
ignore it. Chose to be blinded by the pretty promises of salvation
and heaven, but she knew the truth. It was all smoke mirrors, just
like her mother. They say one thing but do another. God might say
He's kind, but He let pain ravage everything. A reasonable person
didn't let that happen. They didn't sit back and let pain and
darkness and fear kill beauty. He sounded mighty cruel to her.
She was taken back by the bitterness overwhelming her,
the pain eclipsing her soul. She'd tried to believe in God, tried to
be good, wanted to follow Him, but every time she did, it was like
following a brick wall. She never felt anything different when she
tried. It felt… constricting. Like she was hiding a part of her, the
less than perfect part of her. Suddenly, a question struck her soul,
but she couldn't bring herself to care. The need to know rose so
strong within her it was practically restricting her of air.
"Is that why you act so perfect?" she asked Liam; it
would make sense if that was why.
Liam scoffed. "No," he answered without hesitation.
The answer greatly confused Emma.
 "I don't understand." She said, her brow furrowing.
As she stated this, the gates came into sight. Guards
roamed; their faces pensive.
"I need Jesus because my flaws are so many." His voice
was thick with unspoken emotion. Immediately her hands went
over his as he continued to hold the reins. She knew something
haunted him; she saw it in his eyes. She had seen it the other night.
She swallowed hard.
She'd never seen Liam so raw, so fearful. Naively, she
thought nothing bugged him; he was always so controlled. She'd
been the one to pace when his sister had been in a fire, not him;
he'd stood at attention like the soldier he was. Perfect posture,
passive face, muscles perfectly taut. It still bugged her to a degree.
"You don't need Him. You're already so perfectly
controlled. I mean, come on, Liam; I think you're only flaw is not
having any." As much as his tight-laced personality rubbed her
sometimes, she saw its benefits. She saw why he had his rules,
even
               if she didn't always agree with them.
"You have the wrong view of me."
"Well, I don't get to see any other side of you." The truth
of her statement stung a little bit; he'd seen her repeatedly at some
of her weakest points. Still, she'd only had one brief moment when
his perfectly composed self wasn't so perfectly composed. He
cleared his throat before they approached the gate.
"We'll continue this conversation some other-"
"Declare yourself!" A tall, lean guard called out. Liam's
hand went to the sword that he wore. Emma constantly tried to
ignore it. It frightened her with its large size and deadly nature.
"This is Emma Beatrix Ambrose on the call of Summer
Eyes Clan Leader of the Mountains of Aiyana, currently displaced
in the Plains!" Liam announced. The guard grunted and motioned
them left.
"Enter through the left gate, and you will see a woman at
a table waiting to help you get all signed in," he called back.
Liam pulled the reins to the left, and they
followed four other, much bigger arrangements toward the left
gate. People mingled all around, strolling through three different
entrances. After they filed through the gate, a line greeted them
where they waited anxiously.
"You know my middle name," she said once they were
settled into the line. Liam chuckled.
"Why did they decide that was a good option?" She
turned and gave him a dirty look. She straightened her back and
lifted her chin.
"I rather like my middle name, thank you very much,"
she said dignifiedly. Liam snorted and then spurred the horse to
amble up a few steps as the line moved forward.
"Makes you sound like a priss."
"I take offense."
"Isn't that kinda the point?" he asked with a chuckle.
She didn't have a rebuttal, so instead, she said, "You
should tell me yours."
"Ezra."
She felt embarrassed. Unlike her, Liam had quite a nice
middle name.
"William Ezra Mather," she mumbled. She blew out a
breath. "No wonder you judge my name; yours sounds like some
great, noble king." She shook her head. "That's just not right."
He chuckled.
"My mother may not have been any form of noble, but
she knew how to make us sound the part," he said with a dark
 humor Emma couldn't quite grasp. They started forward
              again.
After thirty more minutes of conversation about nothing,
they made it to the front of the line. A young woman with dark
hair that was swept back, along with a freshly starched dress and a
perfectly white apron, greeted them with a deep curtsy.
"Hello, is the rest of the party lagging?" She asked.
Liam chuckled.
"No, I'm afraid this is it."
The woman's eyes went wide.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Sir Mather. I didn't mean to imply-"
"We travel light." His tone was easy, jovial, even
charming. Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes, not wanting the
woman to think it was directed at her. She seemed polite; she
supposed that was her job, though. Emma jumped down with a
pep in her step until her muscles protested.
"I forgot, muscles like to move." She exclaimed and
arched backward, trying to convince her back and legs that it was
okay. Afterward, she stepped toward the woman and held out her
hand.
"I'm Emma Beatrix, apparently, Ambrose." She placed a
hand on her stomach as she shook the stunned woman's hand. Her
nerves were starting to remember what this trip was all about.
Liam was off the horse in a moment, standing beside her.
"I'm Diana Bellows." Her surprise melted into an easy,
amiable smile that spread her dark cheeks wide, revealing straight
teeth that gleamed. Emma returned the smile; it always appeased
her when people were made happy
              for some reason or another. Liam leaned down.
"You're not supposed to get off the horse milady. For
security."
 She blushed.
"Oh," She mumbled.
Miss Bellows had overhead and chuckled.
"Summer Eyes is trying a different tactic this time, Sir
Mather." Her eyes were full of amusement.
At the mention of Summer Eyes, Emma's stomach
tightened, and her heart started to pick up its pace; Emma tried to
ignore it. Shove it aside. It was a completely innocent mention.
Liam gave the woman a wry glance; a silent knowing passed
between them.
"You two know each other." Emma said in a matter-of-
fact tone. Liam looked at her and nodded.
"Sir Mather has been on guard when Summer Eyes has
been here, on the plea of her case, in past years," Miss Bellows
explained.
The sickening disappointment came back up her throat at
the mention. There had been a sense of pride when she’d believed
she was witnessing Liam’s first venture into the Forest. It’d been
terribly disappointing to learn this wasn’t his first time, and now
this. Emma bit the inside of her lip.
"Miss Bellows has always served Clan Leader Summer
Eyes," Liam continued to explain. Miss Bellows nodded her head.
Emma tried to breathe, but the panic was setting in faster and
faster, further reminding her why this was such a bad idea. This
woman was even on Summer Eye's side. As much of a friend
Liam was, a wonderful friend she had grown, foolishly, to care for
the last few weeks, he didn't even believe her father was innocent.
If she ever wanted her father's debts to be paid, she had to prove
that he was innocent. Dread set in.
"My lady,"
 Oh, why did he have to call her that here? She knew why,
but how she longed to be back, wandering through the woods
where he called her Emma and jabbed her about stupid things. She
forced herself to smile and answer.
"Sorry, this all just so new and exciting," she managed.
Liam gave her a disbelieving look, but even if Miss Bellows had
noticed, she didn't say anything. She clapped her hands together
and motioned them to a dry, boring stone structure situated on the
lawn. Emma figured everything looked painfully dull next to the
grandeur and beauty in front of them.
"This is where we check in all guests and Quartervois
participants." She opened a sturdy-looking wooden door. It
creaked, rather like ship doors did when they started to rust from
too much water leaking to the bottom quarters, but Emma doubted
these hinges creaked because of seawater. Emma noticed other
finely dressed individuals seated in cushioned chairs, people
similarly dressed to Miss Bellows, scribbling on sheets of paper
and flipping through weary-looking books. Miss Bellows led them
to the back of the room, where she then rounded the little desk and
opened one of the side drawers.
"I do believe your paperwork is in here… somewhere."
She laughed nervously as she
             continued to dig.
"Give me one moment." She stood up and walked over to
a crisply dressed older gentleman with a drooping mustache. The
man looked at Miss Bellows darkly. Emma snapped her head
forward, figuring Miss Bellows wouldn't want her looking on if,
or when, she got reprimanded by her boss. At least Emma
assumed it was her boss. She heard footsteps before the man
stepped in front of them.
"Are you Miss Ambrose?" he asked. Emma stood.
 "Yes sir, I don-" He held up a hand, halting Emma,
effectively mid-sentence.
"We, seemingly, don't have the paperwork that your
sponsor sent in; it isn't a cause for concern. We will simply start
from the beginning."
She heard Liam stand behind her.
"Sir, surely it was just misplaced," he protested.
The man sighed before rubbing a hand
              over his face.
"Hello, Sir Mather."
Emma resisted a snicker. Obviously, this man and Liam
had a past, and she wanted to know what.
"With all due respect, Sir Mather, I don't have time to
argue with you about time and such, so I bid you much ado." And
without another glance, he spun on his heel and walked away. She
glanced at Miss Bellows, who was already reseated at the desk,
pulling out papers and ink.
"Please be seated," the polite woman stated. Liam
grumbled something as he tucked himself back in the chair. Emma
curbed a grin. Over the next, what felt like forever, Miss Bellows
read and stuck papers in front of Emma to sign and fill out.
Throughout the time, Miss Bellows made sure she understood the
rules and proper conduct of a person at Quartervois, asked her
birthday like seven times, wandered, and finally prodded about the
most random stuff, half of which Emma couldn't remember
distinctly.
Finally, after Emma's butt had gone
thoroughly numb, Miss Bellows rose from her place behind the
desk.
"Thank you for all your time and patience, Miss
Ambrose. I assure you all of this is necessary. We can't just let
anyone into the same building as the king without proper
regulations."
Emma nodded.
"I understand, Miss Bellows."
"Wonderful; I'm also happy to announce I will be your
maid the entirety of your stay here." The maid honestly looked
pleased with her declaration. Emma's insides did a weird tumble.
She'd never had a maid. Sealife required a lot less finery, so the
extra help of the maid had been unnecessary.
"That's wonderful." Emma forced a smile.
"I will lead you to your room. Your trunks arrived a few
days ago." The woman exclaimed.
The tiniest sliver of relief shivered through Emma at the
news. It would be wonderful to have clean clothes and not have to
worry about lessening supplies. The woman bustled toward the
other end of the room. Liam offered her his arm, and Emma took
it, grasping it like a lifeline in this crazy new world she didn't fully
understand the rules of. She could feel the stares of people as she
left. She swallowed and touched her dirt-encrusted tunic.
"You look fine," Liam murmured.
Her cheeks heated at her obvious distress.
"Look at how nicely dressed they are," she replied.
"You arrived on a single horse; I can assure none of these
people did. It doesn't matter how we got here, anyway. We are
here." She nodded and firmed her lips. She wasn't one to be self-
conscious, but it was hard not to be when people wearing silks and
perfect coiffures stared at you.
"You'll look like them soon enough," he told her.
Emma soothed herself with that fact. Now that she saw
just a sample of the others, she completely understood why
Summer Eyes had forced her to get new dresses. Emma never
needed anything fancy before. Now she would.
Finally, they were out of the boring stone office and in
the fresh air again. Emma sucked in gulps hoping to calm her
nerves as she and Liam followed Miss Bellows toward a grand
door at the side of the castle.
"Through here is the guest quarters; they are
split into three parts: men, ladies, and couples." She rattled off the
information as she pushed the door open, revealing a beautiful hall
lined with patterned paper plastered to the walls. It went halfway
to the ceiling, tapered off, and revealed gold trim around a marble
ceiling. Emma halted and stared.
"Oh." She awed. Liam chuckled behind her, and Miss
Bellows smiled.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" the woman said.
Emma nodded vigorously.
"It's the most wondrous thing I've ever seen."
"Whose daughter are you?" the woman titled her head in
interest. Emma's cheeks burned as she considered the lie about to
roll from her tongue. She and Liam had discussed this, with much
refute from her, but no one knew who she was, and it would be
safer if it stayed that way. She swallowed. She waved her hand
dismissively.
"No one of import. Clan Leader Summer Eyes thought if
they heard from someone…" she swallowed her pride which was a
hard, painful gulp that caused her chest to ache. "of the lesser
station, they may have pity or some such nonsense." The woman
nodded slowly at Emma's lie. Her stomach squeezed as though it
was going to revolt. Gradually, the woman regained her senses
after she processed this information.
 "Well, your bedroom should be right this way, Lady
Ambrose." She marched toward one of the three doors that were
scattered through the
            grand hall. She stopped behind a door painted with roses
swirled amongst white paint. "Ladies" was inscribed on a wooden
plaque above the door.
"All the lady's rooms are through here, and I hate to say
it, but the rules are the rules, Sir Mather." She motioned him back,
Liam stepped back while clucking his tongue.
"Such a shame. Here I thought you would forget for once
Miss Bellows."
"Oh, never," she retorted, and she motioned Emma
forward.
"Right this way, Lady Ambrose." The door swung open.
No creaking there. She frowned and looked back at Liam.
"Why can't he come with us?" she asked aloud before
cringing. She was asking way too many questions lately. She
wanted to shake some sense into herself.
Miss Bellows chuckled. "Why I thought it was quite
obvious. Sir Mather is a man."
The answer wasn't exactly what Emma was looking for,
but it would have to suit.
"So, since I'm a woman, I can't go across the way to the
man's quarters?"
"Why, of course not. But Sir Mather won't be sleeping
there anyway."
"He won't!" she exclaimed; her voice too high, too
panicky. Miss Bellows looked back with concern before softening
into pity. Oh, she was acting like a child! She'd traveled to the
Plains by herself; she didn't need him. Never mind that her heart
raced thinking about being all alone in this big building with
 people that held far more class and dignity than she did. Even if
the lie protected her from the hate of being the daughter of a
supposed murderer, it didn't save her from being the outcast, for
word would spread of her fib, and they would think her below
them. She didn't know which was worse; she supposed the first
since she'd gone with the second.
"It will be just down the way in the barracks. I can show
you where they are if you like," the kind
             woman said.
                         Emma shook her head.
"No, no, it's fine! I can find them on my own, if
necessary. Which I doubt it will be. Necessary that is." She
rambled before clamping her nervous, flappy lips shut.
The woman acquiesced with a tight smile and nodded
before stopping once more at the door. The handle was clear like
crystal. She twisted it, and the door slid open to reveal the most
elegant room Emma had ever witnessed. The floor was filled with
soft matting; she wasn't quite sure what the name was. The walls
were painted a pretty pale pink and gold trimmed. The contrast
was gorgeous. In the direct center was a four-poster bed with silks
draped over the top and along the edges. Emma stepped inside. As
the rest of the door fell away, she was able to see her trunks neatly
stacked in the corner.
"Is there anything you need, Lady Ambrose?" Miss
Bellows asked.
Emma waved her hand.
"No, no, I'm alright." She wasn't quite sure what a maid's
duties were. She looked over to the pretty woman, who pursed her
lips in what looked like an attempt to curb her grin.
"I'm sorry, I must look like a dumbstruck fool." Emma
rested a hand on her forehead in embarrassment.
 "No, you look fine. I was just wondering if you knew that
I'm supposed to unpack for you after I show you the room. It's just
proper protocol," the
            woman explained.
"Oh!" Emma's face burned feverishly red. She really was
a fool without Liam. This was the point he would have whispered
in her ear, telling her the proper thing to do.
Silently, she cursed her overly sheltered upbringing. It
was simply stupid how ignorant she was about other people's
customs, thoroughly, utterly stupid. Miss Bellows placed a hand
on her shoulder.
"Lady Ambrose, no need to be embarrassed. Actually, it’s
quite refreshing to have someone of your unassuming nature."
"Yeah, unassuming," Emma said unenthusiastically with
a dry lilt to her words.
Miss Bellows chuckled and patted her shoulder before
moving over to the trunks.
"I could help," Emma offered.
The maid looked back and shook her head.
"Sorry, milady."
Emma puckered her lips in the thought of something to
do but couldn't find anything, so she wandered the room and
reveled in its beauty as the maid unpacked. She'd never seen
anything so stunning; a crystal chandelier hung over the bed while
the ceiling created a dome. A light wood vanity sat off the side.
Emma wandered over and ran her hand over all its delicate
carvings. She opened the tiny drawers and looked at herself in the
mirror.
Oh, I look rough.
She thought as she tried smoothing the
frizzy waves that just had gotten worse since entering the dense
humidity of the Forest. Miss Bellows came up behind her, and she
seemed to study Emma's hair for a second.
"You would have some pretty curls if you styled it right."
The woman lifted a strand of hair. Emma's face was twisted.
"I tried styling it once with some whale oil my father
gave me after a successful fishing year, and it just turned into a
slick, greasy mess that took three washes to get out."
That sent the woman into a tailspin. She laughed and
laughed until Emma laughed with her even though she didn't
know what was funny about her hair failure.
"I don't think your father meant for you to
use it on your hair." Miss Bellows finally said after she'd
contained her laughter. Emma chuckled.
"I know that now." She commented wryly. Miss Bellows
shook her head.
"Your trunks are all unpacked, Miss
Ambrose. I will be up in an hour to help you prep for dinner at the
main castle." The maid curtsied before letting herself out.
              Finally, alone, Emma laid back on the new bed and let
herself just breathe and think. Let her thoughts run wild, let the
fears overwhelm her because she was barely keeping them back.
Her heart started to pound, and she sucked in a deep breath.
She gripped the letter in her pocket, it was terribly worn,
beaten, and was muddied in some places, but it was a reminder of
what she was here to avoid. She'd read it so many times by this
point she had it memorized, the haunting words of her father.
 
"I absolve you from investigating any further. It's against
all judgment you have that idea; leave it in the dust. If you go
against my orders, I will not fight for you to be my heir. You have
no magic anyways, but I know this is a null issue because you are
 the most obedient, loyal girl. Remember, questions bring answers,
and answers bring pain."
 
You are the most obedient, loyal girl.
The words seemed
different these days. Before, she preened under the compliment,
but now they appeared controlling somehow. She was obedient
and loyal so she wouldn't ever disappoint her father; she wanted to
be those things. Emma strove for those things. So, why did they
feel so wrong? Why did she have this ache in her chest to not
care?
If she let her bluster define her, she would make stupid
mistakes. She lifted the letter out from her pocket, held it close to
her chest, and rolled over onto her side, curling into a ball.
Tears began to slither down her face as confusion and
anxiety fought for dominance. How she longed for Liam. He'd
become her comfort in the last weeks. This was the first panic
attack she'd had since the night of her accident. The tears streamed
faster. She was such a fool to have grown so reliant on Big, Tough,
and Scary. She needed to focus on her goal; even if that meant
sacrificing the friendship to which she had secretly grown
attached.
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
  
 
 

 
 
 

Chapter 23
     

 
 
 
As promised, an hour later. Miss Bellows bustled back
into the room. Emma had stopped her silly tears and gone about
placing items where she needed them. She didn’t have much of
home, nearly nothing, but she had a pretty hairpin her father had
given her for her sixteenth birthday. Emma placed it on the
dresser.
After a nice bath, Miss Bellows sat calmly and applied
creams and oils to her hair. After a minute or two of using the
product, she picked up a brush. Emma almost protested, worried
this woman would leave her with a mountain of frizz. She simply
picked up a clump of wet hair and proceeded to wrap the hair
around the end, encouraging shape. Emma sat in utter awe.
“That’s brilliant!” Emma exclaimed.
Miss Bellows chuckled.
“I have a couple of friends with hair like yours. It works
wonders on their hair.”
“You don’t do it to yours,” Emma stated.
“Oh no, mines has too much coil for a brush.”
Emma was confused; it was then she realized she hadn’t
seen the maid’s hair. She saw the edges.
“Thank you, Miss Bellows,” she said as three perfect
curls fell into place.
A while later, Emma scampered from the room, feeling
gorgeous in a fitted middy-length dress, with a dark navy skirt, her
hair all finely done, and her dress fine and freshly starched. A
princess, for sure. She smiled at the thought as she placed a
nervous hand on her stomach. Liam was supposed to meet her at
the end of the hall. She was happy to see him again even if she’d
resolved to put some distance between them. Emma pulled open
the door to the Ladies’ quarters. He stood talking with another
gentleman who she noticed leaned heavily on a cane. He’d
changed, but not into dinner clothes; he wore thick leather
breeches with a similarly made vest, leaving raw muscle exposed.
Emma tried not to stare at his well-muscled forearms, wanting to
remind herself that Liam was off-limits in every sense.
ALL WRONG!
She screamed in her head. She hoped it
would convince these silly, impertinent feelings to disappear.
Sheaths filled with daggers and other weapons rested on his
biceps. Emma was educated enough on the military to know that
this was proper military garb, though more for show than
protection. To wear pure leather only into a battle would be a
death sentence.
The rambling thoughts served their purpose, and Emma
walked up to Liam with a smile, determined to let her stupid
feelings die of neglect. The other man glanced up. His piercing
blue eyes assessed her before his lips curled into a smile that
reminded her of a cat, sly and mischievous but hinting that at the
slightest provocation it would attack. Weariness coiled up through
Emma, as she forced a smile.
“Sir Mather, you didn’t mention that you’d changed
charges.” The man’s smile bordered on flirtatious. Liam glanced at
Emma and his eyes went wide. She hoped that was a hint of
pleasure she saw in his eyes. Her smile became considerably less
forced when he held out a hand and welcomed her. Something was
terribly wrong with her. She was supposed to be creating barriers
between them, not wanting affection.
“Sorry, Mr. Bellows, it must’ve slipped my mind. May I
introduce Emma Ambrose.”
Emma wanted to snark, “No Beatrix this time,” but she
withheld. Instead, she lightly curtsied, and the man bowed over his
cane.
“A pleasure. The name is Mill Bellows.”
Bellows! 
Her mind screeched. 
No, possibly not. 
Her
eyes flicked over the man; he looked considerably older than
Diana or Miss Bellows, for indeed, this man wasn’t her husband.
The man’s mouth tipped into a smirk.
“Is my Diana your maid, Miss Ambrose?” His question
was so astute Emma lowered her head in embarrassment.
“Yes,” she answered.
The man chuckled.
“Judging by the look of horror that just crossed your face,
I will assuage your fears. I’m Miss Bellows father, not her
husband.”
             Relief pooled through her. She’d seen enough mixed
children to not question it. The name similarity was enough for
her. She smiled.
“That’s wonderful! Your daughter is amazing, sir,” she
said with confidence. The young woman had done a quick job
winning her over with her patience, wit, and, if Emma was to be a
tad vain, her ability to style hair. Mr. Bellows’s smile turned soft
and almost trustworthy.
“Thank you, she is that.”
Emma could appreciate a man who loved his daughter as
much as Mill Bellows appeared to love his. Emma’s lungs
constricted; she’d slipped the letter in the fancy tie-on pockets of
her new dress. Her forefinger and thumb rubbed the corner. An
unbidden question arose in her mind.
Does my father look like that when he talks of me?
She
wandered; it was a dangerous thought.
Questions bring answers, and answers bring pain.
She
quickly reprimanded.
It didn’t matter, did it. She knew her father loved her; she
shouldn’t be questioning it. All this time away from him was
messing with her head. She wished to shake herself, but that
wouldn’t be proper with people around.
 The door behind them opened, and a flood of girls exited.
Emma spun around as chatter filled her ears. She’d never seen so
many young women who looked reasonably around her age. A
silent thrill, along with a pang of terror, coursed throughout her
bones. She’d never had friends. How she hoped these girls would
be her friends. Loneliness wedged into her throat along with a
trace of bitterness for her father’s position that had isolated her all
her life. Isolation stung like a bitter wind, leaving you cold and
hollow. She hated feeling hollow.
That was something else to ponder later.
Emma brushed the thought away as she continued to
watch the gaggle of girls walk forward. A silent pull tugged at her.
She just wanted friends, and now was her chance, but she
didn’t move. Perfectly still, she stood with her hand tucked into
Liam’s arm. Bitterness creeped in as the hatred for the truth
simmered in her belly. Hated that she had to push Liam away.
Hated that she knew he would agree with her. Smartly, Emma
knew she didn’t want a scandal following her name; there could be
no rumors about
           her and Liam, none, whatsoever.
“Lead me to dinner…. Sir Mather.” She commanded.
For the slightest second, she indulged herself in the
craziest fantasy; she promised herself it was her only and final
fantasy about the man standing before her. She dreamed that Liam
wasn’t her escort dressed in military leather, but a suitor who
kissed her under the moonlight and wore the most dashing clothes.
It was stupid, silly, and precisely what Emma needed. The smile
turned real and slightly devilish. Liam offered her his arm as they
walked, rather slowly because they were caught behind the
giggling, chattering group of girls.
 A tense silence fell between them as they stepped closer
and closer to the main castle. Emma tried to distract herself with
the grounds filled with beautiful gardens, secret coves, and
fountains. She bit her lip from making a joke about nude statues
prevalent in art and scattered about the grounds. Secretly, her heart
began to crack that her and Liam’s easy banter was going to have
to die; she missed the comradery already. He’d been her only
friend.
Wow, I’m pathetic!
She thought as she plopped one foot
in front of the other. They turned around a corner a few minutes
later. An elegant gentleman stood, his posture perfection and his
smile gleamed as he welcomed the newly arrived guests inside.
“Thank you for joining us here at the castle for
Quartervois. I hope it will be to your liking. Dinner is just down
the hall.”
Emma nodded her head at the man and mumbled a
“thank you” as they walked past.
“Thanks, Eugene,” Liam stated with an easy smile. The
man’s perfect smile hitched into a
            less perfect, crooked grin.
“William Mather!” the man exclaimed. They halted as
the two men exchanged pleasantries.
“You’ve been practicing those sword skills I labored to
teach you?” Liam asked jovially with the other man.
Eugene chuckled. “Every chance I get.”
“So, never?” Liam teased. They laughed together. A deep
ache settled into Emma’s chest as the exclusion began to choke at
her.
She didn’t fit.
She didn’t fit.
She didn’t fit.
 She had only been here for an hour and some minutes,
and that thought was prevalent. She didn’t fit with those girls. And
even with her only friend, she didn’t fit in.
“Well, it was great seeing you, but we both got jobs, and I
have to get this pretty girl to escort to dinner.”
She should’ve been ecstatic that he’d called her pretty,
but he patted her hand and smiled in such a way that made him
seem fifty and her fifteen. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
The other man patted Liam on the shoulder before
                saying, “It was great seeing you!”
They were off again. Emma cloaked her emotions with a
completely blank expression. She’d gotten good at the face when
she thought of her mother and didn’t want her father to read her.
She got good at it when the loneliness would gag her, but she
didn’t want to seem ungrateful to her father.
The hall they entered was grand and
glorious; even more so than the sleeping chambers. The walls
were ivory and white with beautiful designs crawling up the sides,
the walls sprawled up into elegant staircases carved out of what
looked pure marble. Emma tried not to gasp like she’d done in the
sleeping hall, but she supposed she failed because Liam chuckled.
“I don’t think it ever gets old,” he said.
She licked her lips and forced herself to focus, forced
herself to look at the floor and not crane her neck to see the
beautiful moldings and pillars soaring above her as if they wanted
to touch the sky.
“My brain can’t seem to comprehend such….” The
correct word eluded her.
“Opulence,” he supplied.
“Yeah,” she breathed. Opulence. The word screamed
glitter and sparkles, and while not glittery or sparkly this castle
seemed to fit the description.
Butterflies clamored in her stomach as though she could
open her mouth and they would flutter out. The thought was
slightly more on the disturbing side, and she squeezed her eyes
shut to block out the idea. They followed the chattering women
down another hallway before they halted before a vaulted, yellow
door. Liam released her and bowed before her.
“It’s been a pleasure, Lady Ambrose.”
Emma smiled and gave a slight curtsy.
“The pleasure’s been all mine.”
He stood gave her a charming grin that she was
unaccustomed to.
“I’ll see you after dinner, milady.”
That was that. She didn’t know where he would be which
caused the butterflies to morph into vipers hissing and rumbling.
Emma turned toward the bright yellow door and breathed deeply.
She looked over her shoulder to make sure there wasn’t anyone
behind her before taking another breath and telling herself it was
fine, she was fine.
These people would be polite; they were practically
dictated by social etiquette to be nice. She nodded her head; she
would survive. With that, she pushed the door open, and a server
rushed to her side.
“Name, milady?” His voice sounded professional and
concerned. She could see the sweat on the poor man’s brow. His
hands were clasped together in what appeared to be a nervous
habit.
“Lady Emma Ambrose.” She’d pondered adding Beatrix
for the fun of it, but this poor gentleman looked flustered enough.
His face visibly relaxed when she said her name.
“This way, milady, I’ll show you to your seat.”
 The room she’d entered was much grander than she had
imagined. They had managed to shove three long feast tables
together and make it look elegant. Emma resisted a smile at the
table full of people smiling and talking. A small dose of glee
replaced her earlier nerves.
She was good with people.
They walked past what appeared to be the first of half
of the table before the man sat her between two women. Both
women looked utterly comfortable and relaxed in the opulence
and elegant situation. Well, Emma would learn to be. She firmed
her chin as the server pulled the seat back for her. Emma lowered
herself down into the chair; he pushed the chair closer to the table
with a muted screech. She surveyed her surroundings, watching
how people talked, ate, and just held themselves. It perplexed her
at the defined way everyone talked and moved. They seemed to be
so comfortable in their skin as though they knew where they
belonged, and this was precisely it. Emma envied them in their
relaxed confidence. A realization struck as she accepted a fine-
looking bowl of soup. These were people that supposedly moved
around in the same world she lived in, one of nobility, gentility,
whatever the name, and she was supposed to know them. They
seemed to know each other, but she didn’t know one. Emma
licked her lips as she studied the spoons in front of her. She
glanced at the girl beside her and chose the same spoon.
Determinedly, she began to eat, occasionally blowing when steam
rolled from her spoon.
“I think it’s silly they want to change out the
garb for something new, pointless, and wasteful. What do you
think?” The woman beside her suddenly turned in Emma’s
direction and finally got a good look at the woman’s face and
realized the stunning beauty that sat beside her. She had a fair
complexion, so creamy it almost looked like snow. The woman’s
cheeks were high and proud, her eyes prominent and blinked
violet at you. Emma tried not to be startled by her beauty. She
thought to her question.
“I don’t have an opinion.” She shrugged her shoulders.
The woman pursed her lips for a second, considering
Emma and her answer. She gave a man across from them a polite
smile before clearing her throat and looking back to Emma. It
seemed strained and awkward; Emma resisted blushing. She had
stated the truth. She didn’t have an opinion; she didn’t know
enough about the issue to even really know what they were talking
about. She hadn’t been listening.
“Well, a lady should always answer promptly and
politely.”
The statement confused the wits out of Emma. She knew
she wasn’t the most elegant person in the room. Still, she thought
shrugging the shoulders while not supremely elegant, was not
distasteful.
Emma turned to consider the woman, and in a spark of
uncontrolled irritation at the whole situation far beyond this
woman and her sharp tongue, she retorted, “A lady isn’t supposed
to reprimand a fellow lady in public; I haven’t read much but
enough to know that. There’s a saying I think, ‘Don’t tell a queen
her crown is crooked just help her fix it’ or some such nonsense.”
Emma waved her hand before looking down at her soup.
After collecting herself she glanced up and saw shocked faces
from all around her. It was then Emma processed how sharp and
slightly rude it sounded. The woman beside her had sucked her
cheeks in, making her look like some pretty, exotic fish. The man
she’d given that restrained smile to was the one to break the weird
silence that lay at their part of the table; he burst out laughing. The
 woman’s face went from pale to bright red, and Emma’s stomach
dropped. She wanted friends, and here was acting like a complete
asshole. She turned to apologize, but the woman was backing out
of her seat, mumbling something about the facilities. Once the
man stopped laughing, he turned to her.
“You’ve got a smart tongue, sharp as a whip, I’d say.”
She didn’t know how to reply, so she just gave a wobbly
smile. The woman on the other side of her also chuckled.
“Serves Lady Byronic right, fawning over you
like that.” She proceeded to roll her eyes and look
           down at her food.
“She knows I’m beautiful.” The man then began to bat
his eyelashes in a way that Emma had previously thought only
silly young girls could accomplish. Emma sputtered a laugh at the
man, and the woman sitting beside her guffawed.
“She knows you’re stupid and easily influenced.” The
retort hung in the air as the man scrambled for a quip. Emma
decided to add her two cents.
“God isn’t that kind.”
The man’s face turned into a slight scowl, and the woman
chuckled to herself. Emma stirred her soup.
“What’s your name?” the other woman asked.
“Lady Emma Ambrose,” she supplied.
The woman smiled before motioning, “Lady June
Ceridwen and Lord Xayn Adikia.”
“A pleasure, truly.” Emma smiled a genuine, honest
smile. The man’s face smoothed, and he leaned forward.
“So, Lady Ambrose, you truly don’t have an opinion,” he
spoke.
Emma smiled sheepishly and shrugged.
 “I didn’t know what you both were talking about, not
really anyhow.” That caused the man to shake his head in
amusement.
“Witty and honest. I think we’ve found ourselves a
keeper.” Lord Adikia leaned back and rested his hands on his
middle in a motion of contentment.
The woman beamed.
“I think we have.”
 
Dinner finished easily as she continued to talk amiably
with Lord Adikia and Lady Ceridwen. Still, it ended, and Emma
left the dining room by herself. They offered drinks to anyone who
wished to have one, Emma had never been fond of alcohol and the
behavior it inspired. As she stepped out of the room, she
remembered the bar that was the entrance to the inn she and Liam
had stayed at. She remembered the swaying bodies that laughed
and yelled, some hollering at another maybe not kindly.
“Lady Ambrose,” the confident baritone rang out. She
stopped and looked over to see Liam. She smiled and waited as he
walked over and secured her arm in his.
“How was dinner?” he asked.
“It was good; I met some people, for better or worse.”
She pursed her lips, resisting the urge to spill her guts about her
encounter with Lady Bryonic, who’d never returned. Emma felt so
guilty for embarrassing her; she wanted to apologize but didn’t
know where to find her.
People chattered all around them as Liam led her away
from the crowd toward the door and the fresh air. She breathed the
cool night in; it had turned dark since she had last been outside.
Emma turned to see Liam’s face. Even in the dark, he seemed
 tired, his posture wasn’t as straight, and she could see the way his
steps dragged slightly.
They made their way to the sleeping chambers. The
castle looked different at night, the coves seemed eerie, the statues
shadowed figures that watched her every step. Liam held the
sleeping halls door open for her. She nodded her head and walked
inside. Hundreds of candles glowed, lighting the hall in a warm,
sleepy ambiance. She turned to Liam.
“Well, I guess this is goodnight.” She smiled
sadly. It seemed much more like goodbye, but she would never
say that out loud. Liam didn’t seem to have the reservations.
“Can I hug you?” he asked.
Emma stared at him before starting to say.
“There too many-”
She began to look around and saw that the hall was
empty, and no footsteps echoed. She swallowed before nodding
her head, opening her arms slightly, and letting him hug her
tightly. His strong arms encircled her, causing rushes of warmth,
pleasure, and nerves to surge. She tried to not melt into his
embrace as she hugged him back. They stood there like that for
longer than friends should, but then Liam, with all his willpower,
stepped back. He smiled at her before
           bowing properly.
“Goodbye, Emma. I’ll see you, Lady Ambrose, in the
morning to escort you to breakfast.”
She nodded her head again, speechless, before curtsying
as quickly as was possible and rushing to the door. It was a race
between her tears and her composure, which would last longer?
The entrance to the single lady’s hall closed behind her, but it
wasn’t enough. She raced to her room. Once inside, she shut the
door and leaned back against it. Memories began to suffocate her.
 That hug was too similar to the one back in the Plains. That night
had ended with friendship, but tonight, she looked around her
room as the tears began to drip for the second time that day;
tonight, ended in loneliness.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

Chapter 24
 
 
 
Emma's breath rested in her lungs, desperate for the
awkwardness rushing around her to disappear.
She didn't fit.
She didn't fit.
She didn't fit.
People milled and talked, smiling and familiar with each
other. Emma stood back like the outcast; her heart crashed around
in her chest. Liam had disappeared to wherever the escorts went;
she swallowed hard and rubbed her hands on her dress. Focusing,
she pursed her lips and tried distracting herself with her
surroundings.
Her night had been restless, but she’d risen with the sun
that now shone, dressing the pretty gardens in fresh beauty. They
had been herded into a clear patch, filled with lovely tables and
delicate garden chairs that Emma found adorable if not slightly
silly.
"Oh, Lady Ambrose! Is that you?"
Emma spun to find the rushing, flushing Lady Ceridwen.
Her tall willowy figure was fully accentuated by her flowing gown
that sparkled in the sunlight. Emma smiled upon the sight.
Hopefully, Lady Ceridwen would help banish the perpetual
awkwardness Emma felt in this situation. The Lady was all smiles
and excitement; it felt palpable. Emma waved.
"Lady Ceridwen, I'm so glad to see you! I thought I
might just vanish from the lack of notice."
"You're much too interesting to vanish," the Lady snorted
and waved her hand in the air. The woman stated it so easily as if
that's just what you said to someone.
"You're too nice."
"I am." Lady Ceridwen grinned; Emma rolled her eyes.
"Well, Lady Ambrose; I'm also way too funny, this not
knowing anyone problem. It's hindering my ability to talk to you.
I'd rather just say something and not have to explain everything."
She grasped Emma's arm, but before she could drag her up to
people, Emma pulled herself free. Lady Ceridwen looked at her,
slightly confused.
"Lady Ceridwen, I can walk." She winked and
wrapped her arm around the other woman's. The Lady chuckled.
"I suppose you can." Casually, they walked around the
garden party as Lady Ceridwen politely introduced Emma to
multiple people. As they progressed, she told Emma stories of
years past.
"There was one year where everyone thought Lord
Adikia and I were dating. Can you imagine?!" the woman sounded
appalled.
Emma laughed even though the two did seem incredibly
close. Soon they had made a complete circle. Emma only
remembered half the people Lady Ceridwen introduced her to.
"Thank you so much, Lady Ceridwen; I never would
have had the opportunity to meet so many people without you."
"You're very welcome! I remember being the new person
around here; it sucks!" She surveyed the area before a wide grin
broke out on her face.
"There's Lord Adikia or the ultimate dork."
"No offense, Lady Ceridwen, but calling him
'Ultimate Dork' doesn't help your case of not dating him," Emma
said.
              Lady Ceridwen laughed at that. "I will concede that."
              She led the way over to the lean young man with spiky
blue hair. It slightly mesmerized Emma. Many people at Vois
looked different, folks with other colored hair, beautiful designs
on their skin, stark, almost inhuman features. Helplessly, she
wished she could write or draw beautiful things to capture the
whimsy. Sadly, she couldn’t, so she tried to remember as many
details as possible. They walked over, and Lord Adikia had a
severe expression on his face as he greeted them.
"What's the glum about?" Lady Ceridwen asked. The
Lord motioned his head off to some people mingling.
"They were just talking about the murder of Clan Leader
Lion's Paw." A frown and a scowl rested on his face.
 "Oh," was the only response from Lady Ceridwen.
Emma's stomach dropped to her toes while her mind should be
grasping for information. Emma couldn't believe they were talking
about the murder.
The murder my father DIDN'T commit.
She reassured
herself.
"What prompted this conversation?" the Lady asked.
Lord Adikia shrugged.
"I think they noticed Clan Leader Water Breaker missing,
even though they knew he'd been arrested months ago."
"Two months," Emma croaked. It had been two months.
She resisted rubbing the letter in her pocket.
"Um?" the Lord looked at her.
She shook her head.
"It's been two months since h-he was arrested," she
explained, desperately trying to sound normal.
The Lord cocked his head to the side.
"You think he's guilty?"
Emma's whole body flushed, and she wanted to scream.
"NO! NO! NO!" but she couldn't do that.              
She answered. "I don't know."
Lord Adikia pushed off the little garden table he'd been
leaning on and clapped his hands together before smiling.
"Enough of such talk."
He languidly strode to Emma's other side.
"May I?" he asked with a sickeningly sweet smile. Emma
gave a mocking smile back.
"I can't resist when the sugar from your smile is
practically dripping onto my arm."
His smile changed into amusement.
"I remember why I liked you."
 Emma propped out her arm.
"Milord."
He grunted and wrapped her hand through his arm.
"Where to, June?" he drawled. He leaned closer to her
ear, "June's always the leader of these social gatherings; she's
rather bossy." He raised his voice at the last point.
"I heard you!" Lady Ceridwen called.
"That was the point," he retorted.
Emma giggled before declaring, “I recede my last
statement, Lady Ceridwen, you both bicker like siblings."
Lord Adikia leaned forward and raised an eyebrow at
Lady Ceridwen. Emma thought she saw the slightest blush on the
woman's dark cheeks. Emma smirked.
"Don't blush like that, milady, or I'll have to retract
another statement."
Lord Adikia chuckled a deep, rumbling sound.
"You didn't tell her, June?" he asked with a coy smile.
The Lady seemed uncomfortable, and she stammered a no.
Emma watched them curiously. The man patted Emma's
arm.
"Our dear friend has forgotten to mention that I don't like
women like that."
It dawned on Emma, and it was her turn to blush. She'd
never met anyone who wasn't straight, but she knew her father
would disapprove. Somehow, though she couldn't seem to care.
She'd met so many people her father would disapprove of it
seemed impossible to meet someone he would support. It didn't
seem harmful to anyone.
"I think we got more than we bargained for."
Emma looked to Lady Ceridwen, who seemed
speechless, but a smile rested on her painted red lips. After a
moment, the Lady spoke.

"Well then, enough of my
embarrassment, we have a party to enjoy."
Lord Adikia and Emma laughed.
 
 
 
 
His feet probably had made a permanent dent in the grass
from how long he'd been standing just watching, watching her
laugh and talk with people he didn't know. One was a young man
with impressively blue hair and damper-looking clothes and
movements. The overprotective part of Liam wanted to rush up
and intrude, insisting Emma untangle her arm from his and put her
pretty, feminine hands on his arm. Insist that she was his, but she
was not.
He swallowed hard and put his hands behind his back.
He was her escort, and that was it, that was all it could
be, ever. She was already at risk of people finding out who she
was and who her father was. She didn't need rumors of an affair
with her escort. It didn't matter that jealousy was swirling around
his gut; it didn't matter that his arms ached to hug her again. He
cared too much to risk her welfare.
 Liam wasn't a stranger to personal sacrifice for the good
of those he cared for. His thoughts drew to Natasha, Lindsey, and
Charlene. He smiled. His girls were worth every sacrifice he'd
made for them. A hollow ache settled in his chest as he
            thought of how much he'd missed them.
His eyes couldn't seem to leave Emma as she laughed at
something the Lady to her other side said.
An animalistic growl rose. Liam shoved it down; he
didn't give in to those stupid urges. She was just talking. He
needn't be so overtly jealous, but to be completely honest, he'd
missed talking with her last evening. He'd missed her weird sense
of humor and witty tongue, how her eyes lit when she laughed.
He'd missed her, and there she stood, laughing as though
not giving him a second thought. He was being a jerk, even to
himself.
Inwardly, he shook himself as a woman who he
recognized as Lady Byronic sidled up next to him. He
remembered her as a notorious flirt who would flirt with a tree if
she thought it beneficial. He turned towards her and bowed.
"Good day, milady."
She smiled coyly at him before curtsying.
"Good day, Sir Mather I see you are back, but I don't see
Clan Leader Summer Eyes. Are you here for personal reasons?"
She placed a hand on his arm as though she genuinely cared.
Liam cleared his throat even as he tried not to grin at how
overt the statement was.
"I'm here escorting a personal spokesperson for Clan
Leader Summers Eyes."
Emma would be impressed,
he thought caustically.
The woman nodded her head and puckered her lips
highlighting her elegant high cheekbones. He'd give the woman
points; she was beautiful, and she knew how to harness it. He
glanced toward Emma, who glanced his way, and a flicker of
surprise along with dismay passed through her features as she saw
Lady Byronic.
Did they know each other? No, Emma would have told
him; she didn't have reservations talking about her encounters. He
placed a hand on the Lady's shoulder, which genuinely surprised
and flattered her before he said. "If you'll excuse me, milady, I'm
needed."

He wasn't, but enough was enough.
He needed to talk to Emma. The woman seemed to deflate at his
statement, but he didn't have time to see if she replied, for he spun
on his heel and walked over to where she stood with her two new
friends.
 
 
 
Surprise coursed through Emma as she caught sight of
Liam and the fact that his impressive figure was walking toward
her and her new friends. Unnecessary excitement coiled
throughout her. She tried to convince herself that he might only be
coming over to escort her to some other event.
She stepped away to greet him, "I-,"
 "You gave me quite the look," he said with a devious
smile.
               Emma pursed her lips for a second, resisting the urge to
tell him why. They weren't sharing their souls anymore, just
pleasantries. She chuckled.
"You're quite the ladies' man with that comment."
His easy smile that he'd worn a moment before dropped.
His shoulders tensed, and his brow puckered.
"I'm not," he gritted out.
Emma wanted to heave a big old sigh and tell
him everything. To say to him that secretly she thought him the
most fantastic person she'd ever met, but he would leave if she
ever did that. He would go if Emma wasn't careful. Liam had
enough willpower for three people, and well, she rather liked him
too much to have him exchanged with another escort.
"Liam, it was a joke." Her voice came out exasperated.
He only gave a small, cold smile. A smile she'd never
seen, even when she'd rushed up and demanded things, he couldn't
give her. That had been patronizing, and maybe a little amused.
But this? This was just plain cold.
He leaned down. "It wasn't funny. Oh, and also, do
yourself a favor and ask a question." He rose, his figure towering
over her. "It would get you a lot further than those silly smiles."
Shock, along with a stab of pain, coursed through her.
She only flashed him a smile and gripped him by his bicep.
"I'm going to pinch you for that." That was all she said
before moving on. She did pinch him, though, rather hard; he
deserved it. Liam didn't even wince.
"Lady Ceridwen, I would like you to meet my escort, Sir
William Mather."
 The Lady made her usual fawning, Lord Adikia held his
usual slow smile, and when she looked at Liam, she saw the cold
smirk resting on his lips. It was then she remembered what Liam
had said the night before.
"Goodbye Emma, I'll see you, Lady Ambrose, in the
morning to escort you to breakfast."
She was officially Lady Ambrose.
 
 
 
 

 
 
 

    
Chapter 25
  
 
 
Her blue eyes stared back at her from the mirror, her
eyelashes languidly closed before snapping back open. Emma
couldn’t place what she saw; all she knew was she was petrified.
Nightmares had plagued her all night, and dark, moody circles had
come to live under eyes.
Today, she’d make her first plea. The first week at
Quartervois had flown by in a scurry of parties, meetings, and late
nights. It was the first official council for all adjourning parties,
and Emma was expected to be there.
A soft knock rapped on the door.
“Milady?” Miss Bellows’s sweet voice echoed through
the room.
“Come in.” Emma’s voice sounded weak even to herself.
The door slid open, and Emma could hear the soft tap of her
maids’ slippers. It still felt wrong to think of such a fine woman as
Miss Bellows as a maid, but that was the term everyone used.
“Miss Bellows.”
Emma turned to see the woman brushing out a dress.
“Yes?” the woman replied.
“You-,” She shook herself; her mind was such a
scramble, “You are very good at what you do; I thank you.”
There
, that sounded polite and put together.
Miss Bellows was silent for a moment.
“Lady Ambrose.”
“Yes?”
“Who are you?”
The question caused Emma to stagger for a moment; she
felt her face pale. Quickly, she pulled herself back toward the
 mirror, licking her lips; she tried to act natural.
“Miss Bellows, I’m a sheltered sailor’s daughter who
knows nothing of this world and all its fine things.” That was
honest enough, raw enough, but still protected her.
Her father had never indulged her in the fine things that
his job supposedly offered. Her father never kept fine things. He
was a rough man and expected everyone to enjoy the saltwater
spray that stained silks, the ropes that calloused hands, and
splintered wood that that ate at your heels.
The woman hummed for a second.
“I can see as much, but there’s something about you.”
Emma choked.
“I assure you, I’m normal.”
“I know that, but” she looked at her with a slight smile, “I
can tell when a person is lying.”
Emma laughed.
“No one can tell such things unless they’re God.” She
tried waving off the woman’s peculiar statements.
Miss Bellows finished laying out the dress.
“Well, the dress is now prepared. Let’s get you ready for
your big meeting.”
Emma was going to vomit; she was sure of it. She tried to
take some deep breaths. It was only a week in, and the edges were
already getting frayed. Miss Bellows already suspected things: her
anxiety ate away at her sanity like a pick.
She laid a hand on her rumbling stomach. Dazed, she laid
her head on the pretty vanity. A moment later, she felt a steady
hand on her
            shoulder.
“You will be fine, milady. Come, let’s get you dressed.”
 Rousing every drop of courage, she peeled herself from
the vanity.
“I’m sorry, Miss Bellows, I must look like such a sissy.”
The woman helped her stand.
“How old are you?” she asked Emma.
“19.” she croaked as her head spun.
Yup, she was going to vomit.
After a moment of retching, her stomach contents were
on her slippers and a pretty nightgown Summer Eyes had bought.
A weary moan slipped out as she plopped back down on the stool
of the vanity.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled. Her head still spun, and her
heart raced.
“I’ll be right back, Lady Ambrose.”
After the door shut, Emma, on wobbly legs, stood and
stripped off the puke-covered nightdress. She sat breathing hard,
resisting tears in her undergarments.
Piece of trash,
a crackling voice commented.
Emma’s chest heaved as she struggled for air.
“Oh, darling,” Miss Bellows voice cooed as she rushed
back in with a rag and bag.
She knelt before heaving, tear-stricken Emma and started,
with a tenderness that should only belong to a mother, wiping her
cheeks and lips.
“It’s okay,” she continued to mumble sweetly.
Eventually, Miss Bellows was able to walk her off the
preverbal ledge.
“Thanks, Miss Bellows,” she said as the woman backed
away and began the messy job of picking up Emma’s dirty dress
and slippers. “You’re a saint.”
The woman chuckled.
 “I think you can call me Diana.”
That made Emma smile as she stood, wiping her eyes and
deep breathing.
“Call me Emma, ‘lady’ makes me uncomfortable.”
“Will do, Emma,” the woman winked. “I’m going to take
these down to the laundry. I’ll be back in a moment to help.”
Once the woman left, Emma put the clean dress on,
leaving the buttons she couldn’t reach undone before she untied
her hair and let fall. Clumps of curls fell around her shoulders.
Diana rushed back in and immediately started finishing buttoning
the dress.
“Well, we won’t have time for anything
fancy, but you’re still pretty as can be,” she said with a gracious
smile.
Relief poured through Emma that there was no further
comment on her less ladylike behavior. Her stomach had fully
emptied itself and now sat hallow. A slight ache pulsed behind her
eyes, but otherwise, the high had left.
Emma raced out of her room twenty minutes later, hoping
she reached the council room on time.
Pushing out of her the single ladies’ hall, she reached the
main foyer. Luckily, Liam stood in all his co0nfident glory. He
looked towards her and offered a smile before it fell moments
later. Once she reached him, asked.
“Are you okay?” She nodded her head. “Perfectly.”
He looked at her intensely.
“You’re never fine when you say ‘perfectly,’” He raised
his eyebrows.
Emma just shrugged her shoulder and gave him a smirk.
“We’ll never know, I guess.”
 He harrumphed but held out his arm and guided her out
of the sleeping hall. They made their way to a different part of the
castle, the piece she hadn’t been in at all her first week.
“This is the business wing,” Liam explained as they
reached the main doors, where multiple guards and servants
buzzed.
“Right this way, right this way,” they all motioned.
People crowded together into a large mass as they pushed
to get to the council room before the bells went off. At least, that’s
what she’d been told by Lady Ceridwen.
“You will sit in Clan Leaders Summers spot,” Liam said
as he led up some steps into a seat overlooking the room.
“This is a box seat, and all-important members of the
Halycon council get one.”
“No pressure, she’s only all-important,” Emma mumbled.
“You’ll be fine.” He chuckled.
“Easy for you say, you’re all rippling confidence and
manly assurance!”
He looked at her with a confused expression
              as he opened the box seat’s little door.
“First off, rippling? Really! And second, isn’t confidence
and assurance the same thing?”
She waved him off.
“Pfft, you got my point.”
The dramatics were distracting her from all the self-
important-looking people coming into the room. Distracting her
that everyone looked considerably older and more experienced
than she.
With a bluster she didn’t feel, she sat and lifted her chin,
determined to look as though she belonged even somewhat. Liam
 settled in beside her; his looming presence made her feel safe, as
though all the scary politicians couldn’t hurt if he was there.
You’re such a silly child.
She wanted to roll her eyes at herself. Liam didn’t change
anything; he was simply the escort, nothing else. Minutes drawled
on as they sat, watching people scramble around for seats, and
then loud, ear-splitting bells began to bong. A pleasant enough
looking woman stood on an elevated platform before she
announced.
“All rise. Now begins the honorable precession of Kings,
Queens, and their heirs.”   
Beautifully carved doors at the back of the room opened
with the help of two servant boys. There stood a regal man and a
stunning woman. From them began a list of names and titles. Awe
and panic intermingling caused Emma to miss most of what was
being said until the gentle music playing in the background
stopped, and the woman moved to a higher-level platform. The
crowd’s excitement collectively grew,
             causing Emma’s interest to pique.
“And now, we excitedly introduce our own King: His
Majesty Aalam Donovan Delroy!”
Unlike the quiet respect and slight awe of the previous
royalty, the crowds started cheering as a rather young-looking man
stepped into the room. He was alone, no wife, no heir, just him.
He waved and a wide grin split across his features. The people
continued to cheer as he walked his way to a brown cubicle in the
center of the council hall.
“He’s young,” she stated. She expected words to be lost
in the cheers, but Liam heard her.
“Not even 30.”
The statement struck her at a loss.
 Not even thirty.
Their kingdom was being ruled by, what
most would consider, a young man. Awe washed over Emma and
guilt at how she’d reacted that morning. Here was a man not much
older than her ruling a kingdom. And she was vomiting on her
slippers at the thought of giving a plea.
She shook the thoughts away. It did not
            Matter, what happened had happened.
Once the king was settled, the crowd quieted, and the
king spoke. He had a rich voice that ebbed and flowed through the
room.
“Good day, thank you for being here. I know we all
would much rather be doing something else, but people rely on us.
With that reminder, I beg you to be compassionate, wise, and
thoughtful as you consider all that is put before us. In case you’ve
forgotten, proceedings will run until lunch. First, we deal with
foreign issues and then domestic. First thing on the agenda….”
Panic began to overwhelm her again as she watched the
young, handsome king talk.
“Good and loyal girl….”
Her father’s words began to claw up her
throat and close her airway. She was disobeying him by being
here.
She closed her eyes. She didn’t have a choice, but the
fear of losing her father’s love caused her heart to thrash in her
chest.
Time wore on, and it didn’t get better, only worse as the
politician doled out arguments that probably wouldn’t get
anywhere today. Nervous energy began to build, and she resisted
the urge to bounce her knee, settling for twiddling her thumbs as
she waited. Occasionally, she would glance at Liam, whose
expression was a mixture between interest and boredom.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they moved on to
domestic affairs. Emma knew her plea would be somewhere at the
top, being from a Clan Leader. He called a rotund, red-faced man
to the plea seat; the man had a breathy voice and seemed to
struggle to make his plea and point. After the man had made his
way back to his seat, the king declared.
“On behalf of Clan Leader Summer Eyes, I
call Lady Emma Beatrix Ambrose as spokesperson to the plea
seat.”
Anxiety rumbled through her stomach, and her limbs felt
hot; energy pulsed as she stood and began walking toward the plea
seat. Blood rushed to her ears, causing a rushing sound. In a daze,
she walked to the chair and sat when a servant pulled the seatback.
Numbly she thanked them and looked toward the king who was
studying her. Up close, you could see more of his imperfections.
The kings’ nose was more prominent than initially thought, and
his features could only be described as intense. His eyes were
powerful. Emma clenched her nails into her hands to keep herself
from fidgeting.
Only weak-minded people squirm!
The voice of her
father echoed from days past.
“Declare yourself,” the king said. The only kind thing on
his face was his lips; they always seemed to be in some sort of
smile. It made him only an ounce less intimidating, but Emma
held onto it.
“I’m the spokesperson for Clan Leader Summer Eyes.
My name: Emma Ambrose,” she said in a voice just above a
whisper.
“Explain why she sent you instead of gracing
us with her presence,” the king stated drolly.
The comment brought a quirk to Emma’s lips.
“May I be utterly honest, your majesty?” she asked with
a sudden boost of confidence.
“I prefer it.”
She sucked in a breath.
“She knows I’m young, pretty, perhaps, and passionate. I
think she wanted someone new that might ply a fresh decision out
of you.” She left out the real reason. These high-bred dignitaries
wouldn’t take kindly to the idea of her being a debtor.
The statement caused the king to let out a laugh.
“That sounds like her.” He started rubbing his temple
with his hand as he looked down at his papers. “Lady Ambrose,
what plea does Clan Leader Summer Eyes wish to make?” he
asked simply. He leaned forward, clasping her hands together.
Perspiration began to break out on Emma’s forehead.
“A good, loyal girl...,”
taunted as she swallowed.
“She asks for the funds and supplies necessary to drive
out the Rusalka from the mountains.”
“And what do these funds include?”
She closed her eyes for a split second.
“Soldiers, spears, bows, armor, among other
things.” She deliberated.
              The king hummed before looking straight at her.
“Thank you, nothing else for the moment. You may go
milady.” The king rested his head on his hands.
She nodded, mumbled her pleasantries, and stepped from
the box.
Good, loyal girl…
She clamped her eyes shut.
 I had no choice,
she argued in her head. It didn’t do
anything. The walls began to close in, her heartbeat rose, and her
head began to spin with a thousand different words of
disappointment her father would spew.
With a single-minded determination, she rushed for the
back doors, praying no one thought her a coward. But then again,
no one knew what this cost her. No one knew she was risking the
only person who’d ever truly loved her for a bloody piece of
paper.
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
         Chapter 26
 
 
 
Her mind was a blur as she raced across the empty
courtyard. Her feet thwacked against stones, her limbs flailed, but
Emma couldn’t comprehend any of it. Her mind was racing,
spiraling.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Her mind wouldn’t stop playing the awful scene of her
father’s disappointment; it wouldn’t stop replaying.
A good, loyal girl.
Tears streamed fast as she scurried. In a panic, she threw
open the sleeping hall doors and practically threw herself toward
the single lady’s hall; she knew Liam would be coming after her.
Still, she couldn’t look at him in the eye. Emma couldn’t bear to
see the distance. She couldn’t bear to see other people. She pushed
away all for-
Emma choked.
It was all Summer Eye’s fault and the stupid debts. A
sob escaped as she accidentally slammed her door shut behind her.
She was safe.
She was safe.
She was safe.
Forcing herself to calm down, she breathed in a fast-
sucking motion as her limbs gave out from beneath her. She buried
her head in her hands, and a sob racked her body as her heart sped
and her mind raced to keep up. Emma hated herself. She hated her
mind and how weak and betraying it was.
It exposed her weaknesses over and over again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
STOP!
She practically screamed to herself. She
scrambled up and made her way to the mirror. She looked at
herself, saw how her hair fell in chunks around her cheeks due to
her clawing hands and the tears streaks highlighting the crazy
gleam radiating from her eyes.
Disgusted, she spun away and started to pace.
She wasn’t okay.
She wasn’t okay.
She wasn’t okay.
She bit her nails before clamping her hands into her skirts
to halt the habit; with it, her feet stopped.
She was never going to make it through all the pleas if
this was how she reacted.
Her head fell.
Two major attacks in one day, you weak-minded, stupid
fool!
Anger began to course through her, driving her forward
toward pieces of paper and a quill.
Opening drawers, she pulled out and slapped the
equipment on the table before sitting down.
She would make it!
She didn’t have a choice; she’d have to figure it out.
She quickly scribbled out a letter to the Clan Leader. Her
mind was still racing, and her heart still thwacked against her
chest. She’d probably have to rewrite the letter, but it distracted
her. It was easier to pour out her blame on the Clan Leader.

Anger was easier.
Anger was always easier.
 
 
 
Liam sat in one of the many lounge chairs in the foyer of
the sleeping hall, worriedly waiting for Emma to exit the lady’s
sleeping hall. She hadn’t left since she’d raced away after the plea.
Worry mingled with frustration at the situation. Logically,
it was reasonable to push Emma away. They didn’t even have to
discuss it. They both mutually agreed it was for the best as to not
start any false rumors. Still, at the moment, it felt incredibly
stupid.
He knew what was happening. Emma had a panic attack,
and here he sat sipping on a tea while she probably clawed for her
sanity. It felt wrong, but he knew she wouldn’t come running for
him, and that bothered. A part of him wanted her to come running
to him when she felt like this. He wanted to hug her and reassure
her it was alright, to hold her hands so they wouldn’t wander to
her face and start scratching. But there was a part of him that sat
shaking at letting her in. Quaked in her learning to ask questions
because then she would aim those large blue eyes at him and ask
things he could never answer. The shame would swallow him
whole, and she would never be able to feel safe around him again.
It would be too much, and he knew he wasn’t strong
enough to bear it alone.
A guard walked in, and Liam looked up from his lap,
having had wandered off into his thoughts.
“Sir Mather,” the guard bowed. Liam stood and
reciprocated the action.
“Yes.”
“His majesty requests your presence in the great hall.”
He almost choked at the request.
“He requests me?” He asked, disbelief coloring his voice.
The man quirked his lips.
“That’s what he said.”
Liam nodded.
“Lead the way, good sir.” He looked to the lady’s
sleeping hall. He felt like a cad leaving, but he couldn’t deny a
request from the king. The guard spun and started for the door;
Liam ambled after him. They made their way across yards toward
the great hall. Minutes passed as they walked toward the king.
What did he want?
The thought wandered around,
bothering Liam as he walked toward the hall. Eventually, they
made it. The guard motioned for him to wait while he slipped in
and announced Liam’s presence. Liam placed his hands behind his
back and bounced on his heels as he waited. Slowly, one of the
doors opened, and Liam walked in. The hall was extravagantly
filled with elegant, slightly over-the-top décor. At the back of the
room sat a large throne, gilded with fancy stones, emeralds, rubies,
and other eye-catchers. But the impressive seat sat empty, void of
the king. Liam stood in the center of the room, waiting for the man
to make an appearance.
 “Sir Mather, thank you for joining me here.”
The voice came from behind him, and Liam looked
around until he spotted the man leaning against a wall closer to the
back corner. It was a tactical move Liam could appreciate. He
surveyed the king. He wasn’t a tall man; Liam was quite a few
inches taller than him. He was considered young, older than Liam,
but practically a child for a king. Standing behind and throwing
his guest off put him in a position of power he might not have had
otherwise, even being the king. Liam bowed his head in respect
before bowing deeply.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
The king hummed and stood up straight.
“You are normally the escort for Summer
Eyes, correct?” he asked coolly, his voice relatively flat.
                Liam looked up. “Yes, your majesty.”
               The man studied Liam for a moment; he seemed to be
reading Liam as though he could tell his honor and character
within the span of minutes. Liam tried to appear entirely at ease,
not nervous, not put off.
“This year she sent a spokesperson who seems,” he
seemed to think for a second, “quite young and not apt at
negotiating.”
“Clan Leader Summer Eyes ways are often mysterious,
even to the best.”
The king chuckled at that.
“That they are.”
The room fell into a heavy silence.
“What does she really want?” the man asked,
as though he might get a different answer than he
had that morning.
 “The same thing she always wants,” he answered coolly,
not willing to let his own opinion affect his statement.
The king heaved a sigh.
“That’s what I was worried about. I’m not willing to add
to the violence that already exists. That’s my goal. Surely Summer
Eyes can respect that having such a firm goal herself.”
“To be completely honest, your majesty, that
            might be the problem; she’s so set on it.”
The king ambled toward a great window on the other side
of the room.
“Yes, I suppose you could be right. Thank you, Sir
Mathers, that’s all.”
Liam bowed, but before stepping out, he said.
“One more thing, Your Majesty.”
The king turned and looked at him.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Lady Ambrose is young, but don’t underestimate her.”
The man smiled.
“Trust me, Sir Mather, I’ve learned that
lesson quite well.”
The statement reminded Liam to whom he was speaking.
“Of course.” He bowed again and walked out.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter 27
      
  
 
 
It was the first official dinner party of Vois. The voices all
clamored for a place in Liam’s mind, even though all he wanted
was to hear one voice explain how she was, but currently, that was
an impossibility.
Liam resisted the urge to lean his head against his hand
on the table; that would probably scandalize a few people.
Wearily, he sat straight as a board even though boredom slithered
its way around his being. Tonight, the escorts could sit in with
everyone else instead of eating in the barracks. Liam wiggled
slightly in his seat. Being an escort was a funny thing to be, the
guests accepted you, but then the next day treated you like a
servant. It had bothered him the first year he held the role, but
he’d grown accustomed to the politics of the event. That is what it
was, politics. It made the nobility feel good that they were
“inclusive” and kept their pride intact. Liam always wanted to roll
his eyes at the reasoning but like with a lot, he resisted.
Forcing his mind off politics, he listened to what Emma
and Lord Adikia were saying.
“I can’t believe you were able to get in,” Emma said with
exaggerated disbelief.
“It’s my secret charm,” the man winked at Emma. Liam’s
jaw tensed at the motion. He gripped his fork harder and tried
simply focusing on his food.
“Adikia, you have fingers in too many pies; everyone
knows it’s not the spray-on charm.” Lady Ceridwen’s voice was
dripping with fake gaiety.
What did she mean by 
too many pies? 
The Adikia
family was incredibly wealthy; was that what she meant? Too
 many deals? He cursed himself for not listening sooner.
“I don’t care for your insinuation,” Lord Adikia scoffed.
His mock outrage sent Emma in a fit of giggles. When she leaned
back, he leaned over.
“You know a question wouldn’t hurt.” He chided.
Emma stopped laughing and looked at him.
             Her eyes were cold and distant.
“It’s none of my business.”
He raised his eyebrows at the rebuttal. None of Emma’s
business? Liam grunted and settled back in his chair; the woman
was stubborn. It irritated him to some degree, soothed him in
others.
Servants scurried as they cleared away the dishes as they
prepared for the next course.
Restlessness settled in as he watched. The conversation
flowed, and he managed to stay out of it. There was a distance;
there had been for years. This time it seemed more extensive,
more expansive. Maybe because Emma talked to people, where
Summer Eyes had always been the calm, collected diplomat. She
had always been distant, content with her mind and her riddles; it
had almost seemed necessary to stay distant when she was around,
but now, he didn’t know.
As the dinner wore on, he grew impossibly restless until
he almost burst. Finally, when the last course was cleared, he
jumped from his seat and offered his arm to Emma.
“Lady Ambrose, I do believe it’s time to go,” he stated.
Emma glanced up at him with a peculiar look. She didn’t say
anything to him, just lifted
herself from the chair and said her goodbyes. As
they walked away from the crowd.
She mumbled, “You’ve got mice in your trousers.”
 Liam had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the
unexpected sentence. After a minute of collecting himself, he
finally said. “Something like that.”
He wouldn’t tell her there was a war inside him, and she
was the one who’d started the battle. She, with her quick mind and
even sharper tongue. No, he would never say that. That would be
utter foolishness, and Liam prided himself on being completely
logical. They walked in silence for a few minutes as they made
their way to the courtyard, where stars glimmered up in the sky.
Faint moonlight lit the way.
“You know, questions bring answers, and answers bring
pain,” Emma finally said, breaking the peaceful silence.
He mulled the answer for a moment before answering,
“But what if the pain is necessary for the truth?”
She stopped and looked at him; even in the
dim light, he saw the anger that sat on her
pretty face.
“It’s never worth it.”
“I didn’t say ‘worth it,’ I said necessary.”
Her face was pensive.
“No, it isn’t. Truth is just subjective anyway; what’s the
purpose of finding it.” The statement seemed rehearsed like she’d
chanted it repeatedly to convince herself of its absurdity.
“The truth of the matter is that the sky is blue. That’s the
truth. Is that subjective?”
She tugged on his arm and sighed.
“Liam, I’m tired.” Her face had lost all its anger and in its
place was a weariness Liam had felt before.
God, please reveal yourself.
It was all he could manage
as his mind scrambled. This woman had unexpected demons that
didn’t seem evident at first.
 “I’ll leave it alone, for now.”
She patted his arm and smiled.
“How good of you.”
They continued to walk back to the sleeping hall.
“Emma?”
Emma just hummed in answer.
“What happened after the plea?”
She released herself from him and looked up at him for a
moment. A sadness he could not name radiated from her eyes. It
practically pleaded for him to give her the biggest hug he could
manage and do anything he could to make it go away.
Luckily, before the irrational thought could take hold, she
said, “It isn’t your information to know, Sir Mather.”
And with that sentence, she spun away and was gone. As
the door shut behind her, Liam stood like some big, dumb giant
who’d just been slapped from a child, and it’d hurt. With a hard
swallow, he tempered back the pain. After a moment of staring at
the firmly shut door, he heard voices and footsteps, and forced
himself to unglue his eyes. He forced his feet to move toward his
barracks, forced himself to accept the wall between them.
You big idiot,
he thought as he wandered through the
darkness.
You broke your most important rule.
Tears threatened the back of Liam’s eyes like
he was some big wuss. He usually let himself cry; he normally
didn’t care about his sentimentality when it crept upon him, but
tonight he withheld the tears. He’d known this was going to
happen; that’s why when he’d first walked out of her tent the night
after their long conversation, he’d told himself to not get attached.
It was a rule he kept all these years, but in the last few weeks, he’d
let his guard down, and he’d broken it.
He’d gotten attached, and now he was paying for it.
  
The next four days wore on like the sticky molasses his
mother had used in the occasional cake she had made if she
remembered a birthday. He would take Emma to her events, and in
between, he would amuse himself with either a book or training.
Sometimes he stayed for the event, but that mainly consisted of
him standing in the corner until some poor lady tried to flirt with
him. It surprised him how few feared the scar. If he was accurate
in his assumption, some thought it mysterious and impossibly
romantic, or at least that’s what he’d heard from one group of
girls. He’d seriously wanted to walk up to them and tell them the
story point-blank, but that would’ve been rude, so he’d withheld.
He didn’t know what was more stupid: people fearing it or people
finding it romantic. In his mind, both were equally dumb.
His foot tapped on the elegant carpet spread through the
sitting hall as he waited the hours in between events. Suddenly, a
guard opened the doors to the hall; he was stoic and proper.
“His Majesty wishes to see Sir Mather.” The man was
even more proper than the last man. Liam stood from his seat,
leaving his half-chilled tea on the side table, and bowed before the
man.
“Thank you, my good sir, lead the way!” He
smiled cordially; the man only nodded before stiffly spinning and
walking off.
Anticipation swirled in Liam’s middle, along with dread.
The king had never asked for Liam’s opinion when Summer Eyes
was here.
Obviously
, he chided himself. Summer Eyes was the
official diplomat.
Heavy guilt spread throughout his middle as he thought
of the lack of trust the king showed Emma. The hypocrisy was
 thick because had he not thought so disdainfully of her naivete but
a few weeks prior. Swallowing hard, he pushed the emotions back
as the guard led him down a new set of hallways and turns to a
much more private section of the castle, a section that looked, dare
he even think it, cozy. Warm-toned rugs and dark wood-lined the
areas, low-turned lamps lined the hallways for where the sun
wasn’t. It added an extra ambiance that was severely lacking in the
rest of the castle. Personally, Liam rather liked it. The guard
turned stoutly before a firm oak door before rapping promptly
three times. A soft but firm “Come in” sounded from the other
side. The guard
             opened the door and stepped inside.
“Your majesty, I present Sir Mather.”
Liam could see the king seated in informal clothes at a
desk piled with papers from over the man’s shoulder. Liam
inwardly winced.
Poor fellow.
He was sure the paperwork was a punishment in itself.
The king stood and waved the guard away.
“Lewis, really? Such formality isn’t necessary; you’ve
known me for the last ten years.” The guard stood, seemingly
offended, “But Your Majesty, it’s the respect you deserve.”
The king just hummed the comment away before turning
to Liam and smiled. That friendliness had been sorely lacking
from his face the last meeting. Now, he greeted Liam as though
they were long-lost friends.
“Do come in, Sir Mather! I’ve been meaning to have
another chat with you.”
The guard, Lewis, moved off to the side, a scowl resting
on his face. Liam resisted a smile at the guards over attentiveness
as he stepped inside the rather cozy study with bookshelves lining
every possible wall. Two large windows sat at the back of the
young king; Liam bowed deeply as he entered.
“Good to meet you again, Your Majesty.”
“Please, call me Donovan.”
Liam could hear Lewis’s gasp from his corner, and the
man across from him sighed.
“Lewis, this is a private meeting, is it not? I don’t think
the gossip mongers will bash me over the head for something they
will know nothing of.”
The king’s smile was persuasive, and the man solely
grunted. The king just chuckled and turned his attention back to
Liam.
“Your m-,”
“No. Call me Donovan, I insist.” The man held up a hand
that brooked no argument. Liam grinned crookedly.
“Well then, Donovan,” he thought he heard Lewis
whimper in the background, “if I may ask, what do you need?”
The king walked to the corner of his desk and tapped it
lightly while staring down at his fingers.
“Two things,” he looked at Liam.
“The attacks on the Rusalka are growing more volatile.
Every day I get a new report of bloodshed and heartache.” The
man’s face contorted into a pensive scowl that Liam could relate
to.
He tried shoving his emotions back. Long ago, he learned
he couldn’t fix all the problems politics presented and letting
himself get heated only made things worse. Liam clenched his
fists and forced himself to think clearly.
The king continued to speak.
“I’ve been resisting a straight-out war because that would
send the country into massive turmoil,” he cut himself off and
sighed as he rubbed his temple. “I’ve been resisting Summer Eyes
for years on this topic; but the Rusalka are growing restless in the
mountains.” The statement was world-weary and tired. Liam
understood the sentiment.
“What do you want from me, sir, if I’m to be so blunt?”
The man looked at him before giving him a wry smile.
“Simply asking for your opinion. You’re held among
high esteem in the guards, among others.”
Liam cleared his throat while trying to resist
a blush: he put his arms behind his back and blundered out, “Th-
thank you,”
The man nodded, and Liam considered what the man
wanted from him. Thought what he wanted to hear and what he
needed to hear. They were vastly different. King Aalam Donovan
was obviously pacifist; he’d supported peace his entire reign. He
held a deep understanding of the havoc and desperation war
caused. Liam understood those things. On the other side, did the
king understand the consequences of being stepped on, beat up
until you were nothing, so weak and bleeding the bully could just
walk in without resistance? Liam studied the man.
“Are you a believer, sir?” he asked.
The man nodded; his expression grim.
“Wonderful,” Liam smiled. That would make his answer
considerably easier.
“That is a question you must ask of your Creator. My
opinion is probably faulty, but I think you should create a line in
your mind, make it a strong one and make it known, make sure it’s
in every paper, on every lip, make sure they hear about it. If they
cross it, you know what they want, but if the Rusalka skip around
it, you know where they are at.”
The man nodded.
 “Yes, I suppose,” he studied his feet for a moment. “But
couldn’t that possibly start an unnecessary war?”
“What do you consider unnecessary?”
The king licked his lips and looked troubled. He stood
and went over to the window, leaned against the pane, and stared
out.
“I’ve seen so much heartache. I think it all unnecessary,
all this pain and suffering.” In an act of passion, the king slapped
the pane.
Liam pursed his lips and prayed a quick, desperate prayer
to give him understanding. Then it struck him, the parallels
between this man and Emma, except for one thing this man
believed. He didn’t need to make the argument for God.
“If it’s any solace, your majesty, nothing is outside of
God’s control.” The man looked back at him.
“I know that, in here,” he tapped his head, “But here,
sometimes all I feel is its deceit,” he tapped his heart.
“What do you mean?” Liam asked, slightly confused.
“Have you ever read the verse ‘The heart is deceitful
above all things?’”
Liam nodded, “Yes.”
“Well, sometimes I have to remind myself that what my
heart tells me about God isn’t accurate because it’s deceitful. I
have to remind myself that my doubts, while posing some logic,
are mostly just feeling. That’s not to say to dismiss doubts;
questions about God are healthy and strengthen our faith, thickens
it until it sustains us. At the end of the day, though, my anger is
just a feeling; it’s as temperamental as a summer wind.”
Liam absorbed the king’s words, tried to understand how
the king could dismiss himself so thoroughly and put all of his
feelings behind him.
 “Doesn’t that ever feel overwhelming? Like you couldn’t
get past it even if you wanted to?”
The question popped out without him thinking. Liam
tried to keep his face passive, tried to act like the answer to the
question wouldn’t affect how he thought, tried to act
noncommittal. The king looked back at him.
“Yes, but emotions aren’t reliable, God is.” The king
smiled slightly. “Sometimes, all you have to do is ask.”
Liam had asked, repeatedly, for God to take his doubt
and turn it into faith. The Lord had never taken his doubt away.
“Ask for what?”
The king hummed, “That’s a good one.”
“I always ask for clarity. Clarity from my own emotions
because sometimes they had one mission, and that is to drown
me.”
Silence hovered in the office as Liam stood pensively
thinking over the idea. Were his emotions so strong they were
clouding his clarity? Was he praying the wrong thing? Could you
pray the wrong something?
He let out a strong breath before smiling a weak sort of
smile.
“Well, sir, you’ve definitely given me something to think
about.”
The king chuckled.
“The feeling is mutual.” Donovan stood at sharp attention
as he peered out the window, clearly seeking answers from the
courtyards. Liam hated to break the thoughtful look on the man’s
face, but curiosity overwhelmed him.
“Donovan, what was the second thing?” he asked.
The king jumped before spinning around while a large
grin spread across his face. It surprised Liam at how quickly the
man’s emotions changed and shifted.
“Oh yes!” He clapped his hands together excitedly. “A
few days ago, I got a request. Originally, I was wary of the
request, but then I learned the truth of it, and I couldn’t be
happier.”
The king’s statements were strange and perplexing. What
request? Liam’s muscles tensed as he waited for the next part of
the king’s explanation.
“As you know, I lost both parents some time ago, well,
you know,” he brushed the comment away as he continued.
Liam’s stomach started to tie itself in knots. The morning
had utterly changed directions from sipping tea in absolute
boredom, to the conversation at hand. Now his mind swirled with
too many thoughts, questions, and much uncertainty.
“I’m always so happy when I can reunite families; it’s
one of my greatest pleasures.” The king’s smile was sly and
excited. If Liam wasn’t mistaken, the king was bouncing on the
balls of his feet. After a second, he processed what the king was
saying.
“What do you mean?” Liam asked as anticipation began
to overtake all other emotions. Surely not? Surely, he hadn’t-
“A Miss,” he looked down at a piece of scrap paper on
his desk, “Natasha Mather came to me a few days ago-,”
“Natasha’s here?” Liam interrupted, hoping the king was
forgiving. The king’s face lost an inch of its excitement as Liam
was sure his face looked as though he’d seen a ghost.
Five years.
She’d been gone for five years. Five long years. How his
heart had ached for her, to see how she was. Love bubbled up in
the cracked pieces of his heart that had been broken when she left.
The fogged memory of pain induced fuzziness. His face had
 throbbed so horribly, blood still sat drying on his hands, he hadn’t
been able to see out of one eye when Natasha had come crying to
him. She had knelt at his bedside and said she was leaving. He
hadn’t been well enough to make protests; maybe that’s why she
did it then. Because he couldn’t make the arguments he wanted to.
Even in the pain he tried to order her not to go. Tell her that they
were family, even if they only shared a mother. That who she was
didn’t matter to him. That he loved her and needed her there to
make his heart complete. He didn’t say any of that, he only cried
with her, and
            then he never saw or heard from her again.
“Sir Mather?” The king’s voice knocked Liam back into
the present, and he swallowed. He looked to the king.
“Are you okay?” the man asked.
“Where’s my sister?” Liam asked, not caring how inept
he was acting. His baby sister was here! HERE! He couldn’t
believe it; he wouldn’t believe it until he saw her. He needed to
see her. The urgency arose in his breast like he thought it would
for any parent. Liam wasn’t an official parent, but they were 
his
girls. 
He may not have fathered them, but they might as well be
his children, even if he was only a couple of years older.
His loved reached far, and he needed to see Natasha, the
precious girl.
“She’s in the private parlor, waiting,” the king said.
Liam blanched.
“She’d been waiting there this whole time?” he asked.
Was that anger in his voice? He couldn’t bring himself to care. He
needed to see his sister! The king raised his eyebrows and
motioned for Lewis.
“Lead this poor fellow to his sister; I don’t think his mind
will clear until then.”
 Was that amusement in the man’s voice? Liam waited
with bated breath as the strait-laced guard led the way down the
hallway, and all Liam could think was,
she finally decided to come
home.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
  
 

                            
Chapter 28
 
 
 
Her foot tapped anxiously on the expensively dyed rugs;
purples and gold swirled beneath her nervous foot. Natasha had
always struggled to control herself, always struggled to keep
herself hidden.
Five years lost to the sea,
she thought. It was poetic, and
she may just write it down one day. But now it weighed on her
breast like a weight placed there to suffocate her.
She was impetuous; she knew that Liam would never
forgive her. Why should he? She’d been a coward. She walked
away when he’d been too weak to argue. She swallowed and
placed a hand on her jumpy knee, hoping to calm herself as her
heart began to race.
He will never forgive you.
Never.
Never.
Never.
            Natasha tried to breathe. Working herself up into a tizzy
before he even arrived was senseless. She almost scoffed; her
mind didn’t care if it was foolish; it just liked to freak out. It
wanted to run a marathon of anxiety. She shivered and gritted her
teeth.
Get control of yourself,
she chided. The king had been
gracious, overly so, if her doubt was to be trusted. She’d expected
him to ask for something in return.
Most men asked-
she shoved
the thought back. Not today, she couldn’t wander there today; it
would send her over the edge, and she was already toeing that line.
It would be nice if he’d hurry up; her nerves were about
to explode, pop and crackle until she could feel nothing, until she
was numb.
Natasha forced herself to study the art all around the
room, full of strange pieces she didn’t recognize or care to
understand. Art wasn’t her thing, never had it been she preferred
for music or words. Words understood her, at least in her head,
they did.
As she gazed absentmindedly at the art, she began to hear
footsteps tapping down the hall. It’d been silent for a good thirty
minutes. Dread and excitement sizzled inside her. She stood as the
steps got louder.
A guard walked into the room, followed by a tall, red-
headed 
man. 
It struck Natasha how much of a boy he’d still been
when she scurried away like a petrified rabbit.
She’d been that she was still that, but she didn’t want to
be.
Liam just stood there; his face twisted in emotions she’d
forgotten how to read. The silence stretched until finally, he broke
it. He also broke her heart.
He started to cry.
He didn’t want her here.
She knew it.
She knew it.
She knew it.
She’d been so stupid! So stupid to think he would want
her after her abandonment, her complete lack of care for how he’d
loved them, all the girls, even with their wounds and scars.
The tears streamed down his cleanly shaven face; the scar
that had been only newly stitched when she’d run was faded and
pink; it made his cheek bunch in certain places. Compassion grew
tentacles, and against all reason, she wanted to caress it and ask
him if it hurt anymore. She wanted to comfort him like he’d done
all those nights over the years. It was too late for that, though.
“Hello,” she croaked, her voice thick with the emotion,
from years of missing time between them.
He only stared for a moment more before speaking.
“I know you didn’t use to like hugs, but-,”
She rushed up to him and hugged him as tightly as she
could manage. She had a long way to heal; she knew that, but
hugs were okay as long as she trusted the individual and there
wasn’t a more trustworthy person than her brother.
Liam’s arms came protectively over her, and he buried
his head in her hair.
“Tash,” he croaked, and his body began to shake.
 He was sobbing.
The realization struck her down to her bones.
He was sobbing.
She rubbed his back, and her tears began to stream, too.
After a minute, he released her and stared again as though he
couldn’t believe she was there, standing in front of him. He
hugged her again and kept mumbling as he rocked
               her back and forth.
“God is good, God is good, God is good,”
The words struck something inside Natasha. She’d
forgotten about her brother’s faith; it didn’t bother her, just
confused her. Confused her how he held onto the belief that God
was good when they lived the same life.
She sniffed.
“How can you say God is good when He let me abandon
you?” she asked.
“He brought you back to me. He brought you home.
That’s all that matters in the end.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

    
Chapter 29
 
 
 
Emma shifted on her plush chair that her butt was
currently going numb on. Maids scurried as they rushed to fill
teacups and tumblers for the women who leaned back, intent on
their conversation. Emma listened as an older woman led the
discussion.
“People tend to miss how politics and culture influence
each other.”
 The statement struck Emma as a new idea, for she had
never thought of politics and culture together. Rather, she saw
them as separate entities to be dealt with differently.
To influence each other… the thought was enthralling.
Emma supposed she could see it. Culture demanded something,
and politics rushed to play catch up, influenced by what people, in
other words, culture, wanted.
The revelation intrigued Emma to no end; it had many
paths to explore and man-
She shook herself. She was being downright foolish and
incompetent; her curiosity would be the death of her. She
swallowed and buried her hands in her dress hoping to hide her
excitement, maybe to convince herself to stop being so foolish.
“I suppose I’ve never thought about it,” Commented
Lady Ceridwen as she sipped on her tea; she placed her cup on her
saucer as she seemed to think for a moment. “I suppose the
question that needs answering is which influences the other?”
A few voices piped up, agreeing that it was a good
question, but then a heavy silence fell on the room as all the
women got lost in their heads trying to sort out the answer. Emma
bit her tongue to keep from answering. It wasn’t her place, she
told herself, trying to convince herself of its truth. Innocently, she
pursed her lips. The older woman, who Emma had forgotten the
name of, looked to her and smiled.
“Lady Ambrose, you seem ready to burst. Do you have
an answer, dear?”
Emma paled. She croaked out, “I-I suppose I think
culture would influence politics.”
Lady Bryonic sniffed from the other side of the room.
“Surely, it would be the other way around.”
 The older Lady raised her eyebrows which sat in perfect
symmetry. Emma noticed, trying to distract herself from the rising
heat in her face. Emma was sure of her answer, but sudden
shyness stole over her for a moment.
The older woman spoke, “Let’s discuss this further, Lady
Ambrose; why do you think culture influences politics?”
Emma straightened her spine.
“I’ve seen it multiple times, people demand, and politics
must bend to those demands. People come up with an
‘acceptable,’ and politics must catch up.”
The older Lady hummed in thought before turning to
Lady Byronic.
“Lady Byronic, why do you think politics influence
culture?”
The woman bit her lip before replying.
“Politicians and others are the ones that
shape how we live, how much food costs, how
housing costs what we are and are not allowed to do.”
Emma sat back as she listened; the Lady had a valid
point. Another young lady piped up.
“I believe it could also be religion; it seems to have a
strong effect on people and government.”   
Emma watched, intrigued, as the girls discussed how
culture and politics influenced each other. As she listened, she
began to think of it as a game of tug of war. One trying to pull the
other down to gain the upper hand. Finally, after rounds of
arguments and points, a stout woman who appeared to be a little
older than the majority jumped in.
“The mob, the ton, whatever you want to call them.
People influence culture. Truthfully, it depends how successful
they are, and that determines how much they impact it.”
 The older woman smiled in what almost seemed a giddy
fashion.
“All great arguments!” she exclaimed and clapped her
hands together before standing. “Sadly, we must cut this
conversation short. Afternoon Session will begin shortly.”
Emma stood, waiting for Liam to make an appearance.
Instead, a serious-looking man slipped
In and over to where she stood. He bowed  succinctly.
“Sir Impaldi, at your service.” He stood and offered in
his arm. Emma gave a brief curtsy, her brow furrowing.
“Sir Mather…,” she could hear the question in her voice.
Emma cringed while fears that had been hissing that he would
leave all along began to whisper.
“He is currently preoccupied.” the man answered
vaguely.
Emma nodded as she let the man lead her to the
afternoon Session. She tried shoving aside her panic at Liam being
gone and the fact she was about to deliver her second plea. Her
palms began to sweat on her mysterious escort’s arm as he led her
to the hearing chambers. Emma’s throat began to constrict.
You’ve already done this.
You’ve already done this.
She tried to soothe herself. That was the problem with
being anxious all time; your head stopped listening to your
platitudes. Sir Impaldi led her directly to her seat before bowing
out and stepping back.
She mumbled, “Thank you,” as she turned to wait. Her
stomach felt so tight, and everything felt hollow within her. It felt
strange without Liam here in chambers with her; a sharp jab of
loneliness reverberated throughout her body.
 She missed him even though she saw him every day. She
missed their easy camaraderie; she missed their friendship. This
was why her father never let her have friendships; they were too
painful. He’d been protecting her. She was a mess. She wouldn’t
be if she had just followed his rules.
Somehow that second thought fell flat.
Good, loyal girl.
She’d broken so many of his rules over the last
                months.
She was going to vomit.
The bells began to clang, and the proceeding started.
Impatiently, with her mind swirling, she sat and watched.
Desperately, she tried focusing on the proceeding to distract her
from her insanity.
Two hours passed, and Emma’s legs had gone numb from
sitting when they finally called on her. Shakily, she stood and
made her way to the plea seat; her legs were wobbly for sitting
and stupid, stupid anxiety. Anticipation was no one’s friend. She
went and sat staring at the young king. Today, Aalam Donovan
had a softer expression; it wasn’t gentle, but not so hard and
testing.
He smiled at her and said, “Good to see you again, Lady
Ambrose.” He bowed his head.
Emma swallowed hard before managing, “Your Majesty.”
“Let’s get started, shall we?” he asked.
She nodded her head, hoping it looked demure and
passive and not rude.
“Please explain Clan Leader Summer Eyes’ plan to fulfill
her plea.” The king straightened his papers and glanced down at
them for a second.
 Emma spoke, “With your permission, she would gather
and train three battalions and begin to make….” She had to
swallow again as she began to lose air. Her conscience pricked as
she began to throb with the wrongness of the plan. The king
looked at her pointedly.
“Begin to make, what?”
She let out a breath.
“She has intimate knowledge of where the Rusakla lives,
your majesty. Bluntly, she wants to slowly kill off their water and
food supply until they are weak and then attack.”
The king’s expression went as hard as a rock. He
mumbled before standing.
“The chambers are dismissed for the rest of the day.”
The sudden declaration sent the whole chamber into
shock and chaos ensued as opinions and questions swirled. The
king went and left quickly. Emma looked around, numb to what
was happening.
She hated this.
She hated this.
She hated this.
Tears began to threaten the back of her eyes.
          She hated politics. There were too many moving parts, too
much evil trying to accomplish some form of twisted good.
Starve them out.
That was cruel, inhumane. But Summer Eye’s need for
revenge was strong because the Rusalka hadn’t been kind in their
methods of driving her people out. It was all overly complicated.
Emma stepped from the plea seat and fled the room
herself; it had been a mess. This second plea had been a complete
disaster. She heard desperate footsteps as
she clambered down the
fancy halls. In her desperation to return to her room she almost
missed the brooding king. His mouth was firm and his eyes
haunted. He glanced at her, and darkness settled in. Emma halted
and choked. Did he blame her?
Questions bring answers and answers bring pain.
He’d wanted the answer, and this is what he
got. She looked at him for a second, his brown eyes looked so
desolate. Emma knew she was blunt, but you couldn’t sugarcoat
what Summer wanted to do; it was cruel. Emma understood the
want to have an eye for an eye, but… she shook herself. It didn’t
matter anyway, she couldn’t change it anyway, she had no control.
“I-,” she pursed her lips, she didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry.” That was all she could manage.
The king nodded as he looked to the window he was
brooding at. Brooding men and windows, Emma believed them
synonymous. The thought didn’t do what she wanted. It didn’t lift
her spirits, especially when it made her think of Liam and he was
suspiciously absent.  Her heart ached.
She was so foolish.
“Your majesty, I know it isn’t my place, but she-,”
The king’s head snapped toward her, his lips were
dangerously thin.
“Lady Ambrose, I’m aware of her reasoning, but it won’t
help.”
“I’m sure it’ll feel good,” Emma let out a strange almost
strangled laugh with the statement.
“It won’t ever be enough,” the king mumbled.
“You can’t be sure,” she blurted.
It was his turn for the strangled laugh.
 “Oh, but I am. Lady Ambrose, a lot of people have
wronged me, mostly because they thought too young to do
anything,” he sighed. “The point is that I’ve tried revenge, and it
only ever made situations sticker and messier than it had been
originally.”
“You’re worried this is going to make it worse?”
He didn’t answer. She was going to take it as a yes.
“I see Sir Mather is still absent,” he said offhandedly.
“Yes, Sir Impaldi said he was preoccupied.”
For some reason that got a small smile.
“Do want to see your escort?” the king asked.
Her heart jumped, but she forced herself to keep her
voice even.
“That would be nice,” she said breezily, as
though it was a side thought.
“Follow me.”
“Oh, I can wait for an escort, I wouldn’t-,”
He held up a hand.
“Please,” he spoke.
              Emma swallowed her tongue and followed. As the king
walked, Emma’s gut tightened. They ventured further and further
into the castle. The hallways got smaller and darker, cozier.
Emma’s heart rate picked up as thoughts of how stupid she’d been
to follow a man she didn’t know ran through her head. He might
be the king, but that didn’t mean he had honor; no matter how he
reacted to Summer Eyes’ plan.
“I’m just starting to realize how this looks. I’m sorry,
Lady Ambrose. This is looking increasingly worse. I swear that
Sir Mather is back here. I just knew you never would have found
him by yourself.”
He was right about everything. It was
looking increasingly worse. He could easily slip her off into a side
room, and- she shook the thought out of her head.
He wouldn’t have commented if that’s what he’d
planned to do. She hoped. In the back of her mind, the comments
about her naivete scampered through. How she prayed that this
wasn’t a lapse in judgment. 
“Right through here.” He opened the door.
Seated on a settee was a very content-looking Liam with,
to her surprise, a woman. Emma swallowed the stupid jab of
jealousy.
It’s only another woman.
She had no reason to be jealous, no reason at all. She
plastered a smile on her face.
“I’m sorry Li-Sir Mather I didn’t realize-,”
Liam cut her off with a grin so wide and contagious she
couldn’t but help to grin back.
“Emma, I would like you to meet my sister, Natasha
Mather.”
The woman stood and curtsied, Emma, did the same.
Partially to help hide the shock and surprise.
Her mind flashed back to the shadowed tent on that
freezing night when Liam had been a lifeline.
“… and I don’t
know where Natasha is.”
His face had been cascaded in partial darkness and she’d
seen the demons he couldn’t quite tuck away behind his smile and
rules.
Natasha was one of them. One that was standing calmly
before her. Emma’s excitement began to bubble. This woman
might help Liam open up.
 “I’m Emma Ambrose, Liam’s favorite escortee,” Emma
smirked. The woman gave her a weak smile before Emma
continued talking. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re here. Liam’s-,”
“Emma,” a little growl came from Natasha’s left. She
waved him off, but before she could finish her sentence the
woman began to speak.
“It’s a pleasure, Lady Ambrose.” She said with a demure
smile.
Emma chuckled. “None of that, please. You’re Liam’s
sister I can’t have that.” She grinned and clapped her hands
together. She stepped up to hug the woman, but Liam put a hand
on her shoulder.
The heat from his hand stopped her. She was going to
send him a fierce scowl, but the intense look he sent stopped her.
It held an extra edge of warning that told her if she broke this
warning, she would be in deep water, possibly get pummeled by
waves. Emma’s smile faded a little as she realized something
wasn’t completely right.
It was then as she looked between the two,
she noticed a similarity she hadn’t noticed with Lindsey or
Charlene.
They held the same look of aloofness in their stances and
face. She could read Liam better than Natasha, but she recognized
the feigned disinterest. Her hopes that Natasha would draw him
out died.
“I’m sure you’re excited to have your brother back!” she
exclaimed, desperately trying to act like nothing had happened.
Natasha smiled and nodded.
“It’s wonderful!” The statement was seemingly genuine,
at least.
 “I’ll let you get back to catching up, I just came in here-,”
she then remembered the king who was, she glanced back over her
shoulder, nowhere to be found. Emma inwardly smacked herself.
So much for impressions.
She thought, turning back around she forced herself to
complete her sentence.
“To tell Liam something, but it can wait,” she explained.
Natasha shook her head.
“No, no we’re good I assure you; I need to go settle into
my bedroom anyway.”
Emma swallowed and nodded.
“If you’re certain.”
She nodded and began to step out.
“Come talk to me after dinner,” Liam called after her.
The woman nodded and her lips turned up into a real
smile.
“Of course, Will, I wouldn’t miss it for the
world.” And she was gone.
              As the door cracked behind her Emma raised her
eyebrows.
“You and your many names.”
“That one is off-limits.”
“Big, Tough and Scary doesn’t like his name,” she
patronized.
“I love my name,” his voice cracked.
Surprise flitted through Emma, along with immense
compassion that made her want to hug the beautiful man before
her.
“You missed her like I miss my father.”
He looked down at her.
 “Have you ever heard the story of the prodigal son from
the Bible?” he asked.
Emma twisted her hands in thought.
“No,” she answered.
He motioned to the seats.
“Sit, let me tell you.”
“Lia-,”
He held up a hand.
“Oh, it’s not preachy I won’t even tie in the actual theme
of the story, but it genuinely is a good story.”
She grunted and plopped down on the couch.
“Real lady-like.”
“That’s me.”
She reveled in the teasing, it felt like before they reached
the castle. Tucked away in the back of the castle, with him, she
could not even really be pissed that he was telling her a Bible
story like she was a child.
“Once there was this boy who grew up in comfort on his
father's land that was full of all the things you could imagine;
enough food for everyone, family, a warm home bursting with life.
Except this boy didn’t know what he had. He’d heard all
the stories of a city full of parties, good food, and women. He’d
heard of all the fun that these people were having, and he began to
grow discontent with his life. He would dream of spending his
time living lavishly at these parties.”
             The scene Liam set drew her in as she listened. She could
almost imagine the boy sitting under a tree dreaming of this city
with all its finery.
            Liam continued.
 “One day, the boy, who knew he had an exorbitant sum
coming to him at his father’s death, went to his father and asked
for the sum. He didn’t want to wait for his father to pass, he
wanted the money now. Shockingly, the father agreed and gave the
boy his inheritance early.”
The story continued as Liam spun a tale of a reckless
youth full of passion and life as he went down into the city and
lived lavishly, spending all his money like the self-absorbed
asshole he was. Emma wanted to roll her eyes at the boy’s utter
foolishness.
“Finally, one day he ran out of money. Luckily, a man
pitied him and hired him to feed his pigs. This boy began to work
as a pig feeder. As the days drew on the boy grew hungrier and
hungrier until he desired to eat the pig slop.”
Emma wrinkled her nose. Liam smiled at her reaction.
“After this desperate thought, he remembered his father
and his honor. He remembered how his father had treated his
workers. He thought to himself that maybe he could convince his
father to hire him as a worker since surely, he couldn’t love him
after how awful he’d been.”
Emma understood the thought, her mind raced back to
the plea,
Good, loyal girl.
If her father ever found out he would
hate her, kick her out of his life and just as lost and desperate as
the son in the story.
“So, he began his journey home. On the road, his father
spotted him.”
Emma braced herself for the nasty words and surely the
hatred of the father for his disgrace of his son. Her father’s angry
face permeated her thoughts.
 “When the man’s father spotted him, he raced toward him
and hugged him, kissed him on the cheeks, and wept for joy. He
called his servant and told him to kill the fattened calf,
to prepare the greatest feast the house had ever seen. The father
threw out the rags the son had been wearing and
dressed him in his finest garbs. The house was filled with joy
because the father’s son had been found, or his prodigal son
had come home.” Liam sat back with a content smile on his
face.
            Emma couldn’t believe her ears.
“The father just accepted him back?” she stated
disbelieving.
“According to the story, yes.”
“I don’t understand why you told me the story.”
“It’s why I love my name.”
“Liam, you’re speaking in some different
             language.”
He laughed.
“I love my name because my prodigal sister uses it.”
The sentimentality behind the statement choked Emma,
jabbed the sore, bruised places in her heart.
“What did you need to tell me?” Liam asked after
minutes of drawn-out nothing.
Realizing she was staring at nothing, she looked over to
Liam. She pursed her lips before managing, “I had my second
plea.”
“How’d it go?”
 “The king ended the Pleas after I announced Summer
Eye’s plan,” She croaked before pushing herself off the couch.
“I’ll let you go; you probably need to freshen up before dinner.”
She rushed out, her head hidden like a coward before he could
insist on doing his job or ask any more questions.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter 30
 
  
 
Emma may look like nobility, but she felt like a rung dish
rag as she stood at the entrance of the first ball of Quartervois. Its
glamor and elegance grated on her weary nerves. It mocked how
unraveled she felt.
She had raced back to her room that afternoon and
sobbed like a baby. She bit her lip as she was declared, and she
stepped off the dais. A crowd of people met her at the bottom.
While usually Emma would have found it thrilling, tonight she felt
like curling up in a ball under her sheets and slipping off into
oblivion.
Suck it up, s
he jabbed at herself. She needed to grow up
and come to terms with the harsh reality of how hard the world
could be.
Then why is my heart so fragile?
Politely, she pushed through the crowd toward the side of
the room, hoping to fade into the background. She couldn’t force
herself to cooperate tonight; something would trigger her
emotions, and she would be a mess all over again. She’d barely
pulled herself together enough to make it to the ball. As she
walked, a gentle hand touched her elbow, and she turned to see
Lord Adikia standing with a lazy grin across his face.
“Lady Ambrose, how pleasant.”
“Mutual,” Emma smirked. “Or should I say-” before she
could finish, Lady Ceridwen stepped up with an excited grin on
her face.
“Lady Ambrose, you need to come meet some
gentlemen; not all are boors.”
“Any worth their dime are,” Emma stated with a
sickening ache in her stomach. She couldn’t place her feelings or
where they stemmed, but bitterness climbed up her throat.
Lady Ceridwen laughed.
“I can’t argue with that.”
“I am standing right here.”
The Lady waved him away.
“You don’t count,” she playfully smirked, “You aren’t
worth your dime.”
Lord Adikia’s face darkened.
“Bull.”
He turned to Emma.
“Milady, will you have this dance with me?” His face
became the perfect gentlemanly charm, but the darkness from a
moment earlier rested in his eyes. Emma nodded and smiled.
“With much pleasure.”
As they walked to the dance floor, Emma remarked, “If
it’s any consolation, I don’t care about a dime, and hopefully some
wonderful gentleman doesn’t either.”
The Lord looked down at her, and his face had turned soft
with gratitude.
“You’re sweet milady, but don’t worry about me; Lady
Ceridwen is just teasing.”
Emma nodded as they settled into their positions. The
music started, swirling around them as other dancers began to spin
and thump against the floor. Quietly they danced; each seemed to
be lost in their thoughts as the music settled into Emma’s soul. She
loved the music; she just didn’t get it to hear very often. She loved
listening to it rise and fall, loved how the music seemed to float
into your heart and imprint itself there, forever upon your soul.
These songs were different from the hardy, boisterous songs of the
sailors she’d heard on the ship with their less than delicate
subject’s matter. That music made the people happy, and she’d
been fascinated with it. This music was refined with perfectly
played notes from the musicians. It felt light and airy as it swished
and danced around her. She rather liked this kind of music.
“Are you okay?” Lord Adikia asked her.
She shook herself out of her funk.
“I was just listening.”
He gave a thoughtful look.
“I’ve never really listened before.”
She gave him a look.
“Now, there’s a look of judgment.” He laughed as he
spun her around. Emma smiled to herself, happy to hear him laugh
after he’d looked so disturbed by Lady Ceridwen’s words.
“I’m severely disappointed in you,” she tsked, and the
man rolled his eyes.
“I’m hurt, I tell you.”
She giggled at his dry statement. They continued to
spin, and the thrill filled Emma; she’d never danced for real
with the rush of excitement and adrenaline.
She remembered learning to dance. It had been a
particularly humid afternoon, her clothes had stuck to every inch
of her body, but her father had insisted. He’d introduced her to a
bland 70-something man whose voice was thick and heavy as he
drolled on about the proper steps. Every inch had been stiff,
formal, and hot. It had been less than pleasant. Her armpits sweat
just thinking about it.
“Lady Ambrose,” Lord Adikia’s voice broke through her
reverie. She snapped her head up from where she’d been staring at
their feet.
“Um?”
“The dance is done,” he smirked.
“Oh!”
 Her brain scrambled to keep up, so lost in the past. She
shook herself. Her tattered nerves were seeking comfort wherever
they could find it. He offered her his arm and sashayed her to the
side of the ballroom. The air was thick and suffocating. Her heart
thrashed in her chest, screaming at her to get out of the hordes of
people. The tall, pretty Lady Bryonic sidled up next to Lord
Adikia. A tiny, wicked part of Emma chuckled that the woman
didn’t understand that Lord Adikia wasn’t interested. It had
nothing to do with her and everything to do with that she had been
born a female. A larger, more empathetic Emma felt terrible that
the woman didn’t understand.
“Good evening, Milord, quite the turnout.
Some pretty belles, aren’t there?”
             The statement made Emma want to cringe and laugh
hysterically all at the same time. The woman - she couldn’t
finish the thought.
Guilty, she shook herself. Maybe she was judging the
Lady too harshly. Probably was, just like she’d judged Liam too
harshly. An ache rose within her. Emma remembered the story
from earlier how the father had forgiven the son of all his sins.
The son had been a real piece of work, but the father loved him
anyways. Emotion rose. She couldn’t even imagine someone
loving her like that. So unconditionally.
It must be nice,
she thought.
As Lady Byronic made more flirty advances, and Lord
Adikia stood there with his lazy and charming smile, Emma patted
the Lord’s arm.
“Excuse me,” She mumbled. He gave her a concerned
frown but nodded, and she rushed toward the exit; ran towards
freedom, air, where she could breathe. Her brain hated her; it
loved to torture her until nothing was left but a hollow body with
empty eyes. Desperately, she shook the image out of her head
while a hand reached out for her. Longingly, she looked toward
the end of the hallway where the retiring room sat; she ached for
the peace that was there. When she looked back, she stared into
the stunning purple eyes of Lady Annabelle Bryonic, and
confusion creased her brow. Emma held back a groan; she didn’t
have the emotional wherewithal to have another argument with the
Lady.
“You’re just going to leave and let me have Lord
Adikia?” she seemed earnest.
Emma waved her hands in the air.
“If he wants you.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” she asked defensively.
“I don’t know,” Emma answered noncommittedly, but
she thought,
Uh, cause he doesn’t like women.
She tried pulling herself out of the woman’s grip, but the
woman held on.
“Why wouldn’t he?”
The woman’s voice went up an octave as though it was
imperative she had the answer. Wearily, Emma took a breathe and
studied Lady Bryonic for the first time. As her eyes carefully
watched the Lady, she noticed how absolutely everything was
perfect on the woman. Her dress was the peek of fashion; her hair
was a stunning mixture of curls and updo. Everything screamed
perfection, but her eyes pleaded to be liked.
“You’re not like other girls,” Emma mumbled.
The woman’s horror made Emma want to snatch her
words back; the horror turned to anger.
“I’m exactly like every other girl, so don’t get up here
and ruin it!” Annabelle spit.
 Emma stood as solid a stone, her defensives flying after
the retort.
“No, you’re not,” she stated through gritted teeth.
Lady Byronic had turned away; her hair flew around,
whipping her snowey face.
“What did you say?” she snarled.
Something broke inside of Emma, something wild and
tired all at once. The woman’s snobbish behavior had worn on
Emma.
She was so perfect, and Emma wasn’t.
That was irritating.
That’s when the answer to all her bad behavior came into
focus.
She was jealous. Emma was jealous of Lady Byronic.
“‘Other girls’ are classy, defined, individualists who
know how to be kind but opinionated. They know when to speak
and when not to speak. They know how to love freely. They know
what makes a true woman. And you,” Emma exclaimed, “are none
of those things. You’re not like other girls; you are the exact
opposite of ‘other girls!’”
The same thing that had broken inside of Emma had
broken inside the woman.
Annabelle screamed before jumping towards Emma and
pulling her hair. The woman scratched her face and broke the
perfect ladylike façade she’d been wearing, looking down at
Emma with her snobbish nose. Emma could do this.
Pearls went flying, while Emma stood like a board.   
The woman’s nails dug into her skin. Finally, Emma put
her hands on the girl’s chest and shoved. The girl barely moved.
Exasperated, Emma gripped the girl’s wrists and dragged them
 inch-by-inch to the girl’s stomach, where then twisted one-by-one
around her back. She then leaned in the girl’s ear.
“I’m bleeding from my cheek. My blood is on your
hands, whatever that means to you. All I will say is there will be
no shame in it for me; why?
            Because
I am
like other girls.”
The girl howled at her declaration. A sick little smile
spread across Emma’s face. Wild, feral. She couldn’t explain it,
but it tasted like… freedom.
A good loyal, girl.
Bullcrap.
“Oh, a fight. Aren’t women supposed to be demure?
Mm,” a thick accent drawled through the air. Emma let the girl’s
arms go. She looked over to find Mill standing with his thin
fingers wrapped elegantly around a sturdy cane that he
               leaned heavily on.
Her smile disappeared in a quick flash.
“What do you need, Mill?” she asked irritably.
Mill’s eyes grew dark, and his thin lips turned down at
the edges revealing lines of age. She was acting like a little brat
tonight, but she couldn’t care. Emma couldn’t care when she
suddenly felt free. Suddenly, felt in control. The world wasn’t
spiraling, wasn’t waiting to collapse.
“Sir Mather is looking for you,” the man spoke calmly.
Emma put a hand to her cheek. Blood. He couldn’t have requested
her presence at a worse time. He’d ask questions she wasn’t
willing to answer.
She cursed under her breath.
“Now, there’s a word a lady shouldn’t say.”
Emma bit her lip before grinning wickedly at Mill.
 “Don’t you forget, I’m the daughter of a sailor. He would
beam in pride every time I learned a new word.”
“Oh, how the debutant mothers would faint.” Mill
drawled sarcastically. Emma chuckled.
“Who are you to lecture?” Annabelle bit out.
Emma sighed and turned to her.
“Either way you fall, it isn’t a prize to fit in. You are too
normal, too boring. To be so different, you are estranged or glory-
seeking. The balance can’t be found.”
Annabelle gave a look of disgust, not hearing a word out
of Emma’s mouth. Emma bit the inside of her mouth, thinking of
her conversation with Liam.
“Em, at the end of the day, it doesn’t truly matter how we
fit because this isn’t our eternal home.”
She’d been so angry when he’d said that, but
hadn’t she said something similar? She cursed the
question.
“Wobble on!” Emma exclaimed as she shook off her
thoughts, motioning her hands to the ballroom. Mill’s lips turned
up, and his smiles never managed innocence. Somehow, his lips
always looked sinister. He moved, his bad leg shaking as he
walked. Emma turned to Annabelle one last time before following.
“Don’t make your life about being normal. You will
waste the breath and energy you could use
            changing the world with your differences.”
Annabelle only stared at her with a blank expression.
Emma placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll see you; thanks for the scratch. Blood teaches me to
stay humble.”
Taught her to be her.
 Languidly, Mill led her to outside gardens, his cane
thwacking the marble beneath them as they walked. The silence
stretched between them. Emma couldn’t help but think what Mill
must think of her now; she wasn’t the sweet, exuberant person
she’d portrayed during their first meeting.
“Mill, please don’t te-,”
He made a shushing noise before saying, “You have
nothing to worry about with me, Emma.” He winked after using
her informal name. She wanted to sigh with pleasure, loving her
first name instead of her foisted-on title.
“Sir Mather should be out there waiting,” He smiled,
slow and devious.
Emma didn’t understand him, couldn’t read him. It
weirded her out. Thanking him, she dipped a quick curtsy and
stepped out into the gardens. The night smelled fresh and cool. A
smile tipped her lips as she looked at the different plants
illuminated by well-lit candles. Casually, she strolled, waiting for
Liam to show up. She barely gave thought to the situation, hardly
thought that he’d never requested her before, that normally he’d
sought her out. She brushed it off; their relationship had changed,
morphed into something more professional yet still personal all at
the same time. Confusion bubbled up, and Emma put a palm to her
chest. She shook her head and turned a corner when she saw Lady
Ceridwen and Lord Adikia. A grin split on her face, and she went
to say hi until she saw the intense look on their faces. They stood
close to each other, but their body language communicated stress.
Her heart dropped. Her mind debated the merits of
walking up. Casually, she stepped forward If they noticed her that
was on them, not her. She could just play the stupid new person;
she’d been doing a pretty good job of it anyway. She wandered
forward and strolled over to one particularly large bush filled with
 light, blush pink flowers. Emma smiled at the flowers while the
rest of her was intent on the conversation behind her.
“You are the most stupid person I met!” Lady
            Ceridwen screeched.
“Me! You made a joke about my fathers’ bankruptcy!”
Lord Adikia’s father is bankrupt! Compassion swelled
within Emma’s chest for his family.
“Xayn, you kept the glass shard,” the Lady retorted. The
Lord made some sort of strangled sound.
“I have a plan.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
Before she could listen more, a hand touched her
shoulder. She jumped and squealed. A baritone chuckled behind
her.
“Scared much?”
“Shut up,” she snapped as she turned to see Liam’s cocky
grin. She jabbed him in the chest. “Don’t get cocky. You did it
once, only once.”
He grabbed her finger and leaned, “Trust me; I wouldn’t
dare,” He winked.
Emma then noticed how close he was; so close she could
feel his breath on her skin. Her heart rate skyrocketed, and her
nerves danced. The man was way too attractive for his own good,
and it didn’t seem possible that someone with such
            orange hair-
She couldn’t finish that thought, or she would break out
into nervous laughter; her lips were already pulling up.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
Crap, he noticed.
“I was thinking that your hair is
so
orange. It’s a crime,
really.” She lifted on her toes and ruffled it. She was trying not to
 think about what she was doing. He scowled before smirking.
“Oh no,” she whispered before he shot back at her.
“For someone with some many freckles, you really
should shut that cute little mouth before it comes back to bite
you.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes before
           turning serious.
“You had me come out; you’d better have a good
reason.”
Before she could say anything else, his gaze zeroed in on
the blood on her cheek. His hand lifted it and caressed the spot,
and she cringed as it stung.
“What happened?” He asked.
“Oh, you know, just got into a casual, as Mill would like
to say, ‘chick fight.”’ She chuckled, he frowned.
“Liam, don’t get all worried it wasn’t -,”
“Who did it?” He cut her off.
“Lady Byronic.” She said.
His gaze shot to hers.
“You two aren’t on good terms.” It was more of a
statement than a question. She shrugged.
“You could say that, but I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
Liam dropped his hand as though it had been burned, and
his face grim; he nodded.
“I asked you to come out here because-,” he seemed to
choke on his own words, which wasn’t like Liam. No matter how
many times she hadn’t wanted his words, he’d never been afraid to
say them. His hand played at his side, his mouth opened and
closed twice. She remembered his story and sentimentality, but
emotion only edged in his vision. He seemed on the cusp of telling
her something. Could she hope it was why Natasha had run away
in the first place? No, that was silly.
“I wanted to say,” He’d firmed his lips, “that it was stupid
for you to rush away this afternoon without an escort; it was silly
and unprofessional.”
Anger simmered right under the surface at his words and
his eyes became cold.
Her thoughts caught starting a loop.
He’s shutting me out.
It burned, knowing he didn’t trust her. Her mind raced
back to that afternoon and what his eyes had revealed.
She didn’t respond to his comments knowing she’d
been cowardly racing out, but half of her foolish heart was
cracking.
His lips pulled up darkly.
“Don’t do it again, Lady Ambrose.”
“Then escort me to my room,” She swallowed hard the
emotion that had bubbled up in her throat. “Sir Mather.”
Gone was the camaraderie of this afternoon might as well
not of happened.
Maybe it’s better to be alone.
But her aching heart wouldn’t allow her to believe that as
she walked back to her room where confusion and loneliness
battled for rule.
 

 
 
 
  

       
          Chapter 31
 
 
 
The darkness crept and crawled around her, snaking into
her veins like the uncertainty pounding throughout her body.
Emma squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the darkness,
block out the world. Desperately trying to ignore the confusion
swirling throughout her brain.
“Xayn, you kept the glass shard!”
 Emma remembered the report, the report she’d gotten
informing her of her father’s “crimes.” There had been a glass
shard protruding from the Clan Leaders leg, but it was different
than all the other evidence. The fragment had been self-inflicted,
according to reports.
It was a terrible coincidence. Questions pounded to be let
in, but Emma didn’t want- she choked.
She didn’t want answers; answers brought pain. Pissed,
she rolled over, huffing into the darkness as she opened her eyes.
She needed to pace, to get out of her head, somewhere
she wouldn’t be haunted by all the confusion and pounding in her
head. Discontent, she shoved the covers from her legs before
swinging them over the side and stepping onto the wood.
Anxiously, she started pacing as though she’d outrun her brain, so
she didn’t have to think.
Tears began to fall.
So much for wild and feral,
she thought sarcastically; she
would always be that weak, naïve girl that her father had always
been trying to protect.
He knew; that’s why he’d always done what he did.
He knew she wasn’t strong enough to handle the real
world. Pain surged through Emma. He knew she couldn’t take the
answers.
Good, loyal girl
Always father, always.
A muffled sob escaped her lips. Her feet slapped the
floor, but it wasn’t working. She couldn’t outrun anything. She’d
been fooling herself to think she could, fooling herself to think
that she was avoiding anything. She was a slave, to Summer Eyes,
her father, and most abominably, herself.
Good, loyal girl
 Suddenly, a bludgeon of anger rocketed through her.
She was good because she wanted her father’s love;
Emma was good because she didn’t want to be disowned. Her feet
halted, and she stared at the healing blisters and pecks from the
birds, they were mostly gone, but a few had taken longer to heal
due to severity.
She’d made it all the way here, almost died, but she’d
made it. Sure, she cried. Sure, she had shown weakness, but she’d
made it here without her father. He sat in a jail cell.
He would never know.
You’ve suffered enough,
her mind pleaded, but the anger
blocked out the whimpering, sniveling part of her.
Emma was tired of tiptoeing around the important things
because she wanted a man’s approval who was eating hard bread
on a cement floor. She was tired of being owned by other people.
Her heart stuttered at the thought. Her hands went
clammy, but she clenched them.
Your mother left because you asked questions,
the voice
hissed.
Emma walked over to the bed and sat, resting her hands
on her knees.
Her mother left because… well, she didn’t know.
Consciously, Emma knew it was illogical to think she’d left purely
because she’d asked questions; not that anxiety was logical.
“I’m tired of being scared,” she hissed into the darkness.
“I’m sick and tired of being scared of the pain an answer might
bring me.”
The pain was inevitable.
As she stared into the darkness, resolve flooded through
her. She’d ask questions, and her father wouldn’t ever have to
know. For once she would be free from his chains and in that there
was solace.
 
 
Sleep eluded her the rest of the night as she thought of
her rebellion. Emma had never openly defied her father, never
made up her mind to disobey her father’s rules. Her mind
wavered, but as the early morning light peeked through the
ethereal curtains, the day didn’t seem to frighten her.
She smiled at the sunlight. How Emma loved
the sun: it’d always soothed the dark, achy parts of her. Tired,
she slipped out of her nightgown into day clothes, flared trousers,
and a ruffled top that hugged all the right places. A shiver coursed
through her, as the top was short sleeves, and her room had a draft.
Or maybe it was adrenaline from a sleepless night. She didn’t
know. Before leaving her room, she grabbed a sweater and slipped
it on. Quietly she shuffled down the girl’s hall toward the end,
determined to get to where she was going before losing her nerve.
She was a new person, with a new will.
If she could only convince her racing heart that. Sighing,
she stepped into the cool morning air; a chilly breeze swept
around her, and Emma could practically smell autumn on its tail.
Wrapping her arms tightly about herself, she rushed toward the
back of the castle where she’d spied the barracks during a long
meeting. Hopefully, Emma could ask someone! As she ran
forward, it reminded her of the first day at Tyche. Her foolish
arrogance, that no one believed in her. Well maybe they believed it
a little, but she’d felt like they could see right through her to her
heart, her petrified, naïve, sheltered heart that didn’t know
this
from
that
.
 Licking her lips, she stepped around the corner, and the
barracks came into view.
How was she going to find him? She took a
deep breath and did what she had done that first day; she counted
down from five before racing forward. Suddenly, she remembered
she had no idea what barrack he lived in or which room he slept in
every night. Did barracks have rooms? Shaking herself, she
looked around and searched for someone she could ask. She saw a
young man, possibly younger than her, leaning against the brick
buildings. He had a pipe in his hand and was smoking something;
hoping he wasn’t high, she
walked forward.
“Hello, do you know a Sir Mather?” she asked, her voice
genial and confident.
Fake it until you make it,
she inwardly chimed.
The man looked down at her. He left the pipe in his teeth
as his brown eyes surveyed her up and down. Lewdly, his eyes
landed at her chest. Self-consciously, she pulled her sweater
tighter around herself.
Pretty little slut,
the man’s words from the market
whispered in the back of her mind. She
             
swallowed hard.
Finally, after a minute, his eyes glanced up at her face.
“Who’s asking?”
Lifting her chin to hide her discomfort, she said, “His
escortee, Lady Emma Ambrose.”
The man grunted.
“Why do you think I know him?”
The question was ridiculous, but Emma put on a smile.
“I don’t think anything of the sort; I asked if you did,”
she retorted.
 The man took his pipe from his mouth.
“Sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that,” she stated defiantly.
He rolled his eyes.
“Whatever.”
Emma gritted her teeth. She leaned slightly forward and
sniffed; he reeked of whatever he’d been smoking. He was high, 
great. 
He wouldn’t be helpful, at least if she stayed as she’d been
a minute ago. With a sickly-sweet smile, she mustered up the best
bluff she could act. Maybe his drugged brain wouldn’t notice?
“I see you’re smoking something nice. What is it
exactly?”
He looked down at his pipe for a second before licking
his lips.
“Weed,” he shrugged.
Emma nodded.
“You like it? I’ve never tried it before?”
The guy nodded.
“It’s not bad.”
She hummed as though she were interested.
“I’m sure your commander would love to hear that one of
his is smoking weed; what rank are you are anyway?” She asked.
The man paled.
“I ain’t telling.”
“Eh, I could figure it out, but if you point me to the right
barrack, all is forgotten. Wiped from my memory.
Poof
. Gone.
Now, please help me out and tell me which barrack Sir Mather is
in.”
The man looked downright scared,
surprising.
His face
had paled entirely, and his fingers went limp around his pipe.
Mm,
maybe she was more intimidating than she thought.
 She looked at his eyes and realized they were looking
over her. Turning, she saw a fiercely scowling Liam behind her;
his arms crossed over his taut chest. He looked like the definition
of warrior with his leather fatigues and multiple visible weapons,
his scar puckered with his scowl. It clicked; the man wasn’t
intimidated by her at all.
Of course not,
she thought with an eye roll. She intimated
no one, and that wouldn’t start now.
“Tremaine,” Liam growled.
“Yes, sir,” the man snapped to attention.
“You are smoking weed?”
“Yes, sir,” the man whimpered.
She heard Liam sigh.
“At least your honest.” He held out his hands. “Give me.”
Liam reached around Emma, and the man put his pipe in Liam’s
hands. In a quick 
snap,
he’d split it in two before dumping the
contents out and handing it back to the man named Tremaine. The
man looked down his pipe and whimpered.
“Toss it in the fire, will you?” Liam asked coolly. “Go
catch some sleep before the morning session, and when you have a
hangover, you can tell your commander. I’m sure he’ll be
pleased.”
The man practically ran toward the third set of barracks
before disappearing. Liam let out a labored breath.
“Hopefully, his buddy wasn’t supplying,” he mumbled
before turning his full attention toward her. Rapidly, his tired
expression turned angry.
“Why are you out here without an escort at…” he pulled
a timepiece from his fatigue pocket, “6:13 in the morning?”
Awkwardly, she looked down at her shoe and
            kicked the dirt.
 “Couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled.
“Emma, you can’t ju-,”
“Shut up, will you? I want a friend, not a mother,” She
snapped, too tired and worn to deal with a lecture. She KNEW that
she shouldn’t have come out here by herself, but she didn’t care at
the moment.
“I needed a friend,” she choked out.
Silence befell them for a moment before she heard Liam
walk forward. Strong arms wrapped around her, and she melted.
Her eyes were dry; Emma had cried too much, her tear glands
were empty, nothing left. Emma should have done this originally,
but she’d been so angry at him. So mad that he was trying to do
his job correctly.
She was stupid for being here, but as her heart calmed
and her mind began to slow for the first time all night, she didn’t
care if she was the biggest idiot alive.
She needed him.
She buried her head in his leather; it smelled of him.
Minutes passed, and she realized she needed to step back;
otherwise, Emma would do something terrible, like looking up
into his beautiful, dark soulful eyes. Then her traitorous eyes
would wander down to his lips right below his scar. They would
look moist and puffy from sleep; then, she would have to kiss him.
She would have to; it would be a crime otherwise.
Slowly, she broke away and looked at him, his expression
all concern and empathy.
Swallowing, she blurted, “I’m going to start asking
questions.”

             He raised his eyebrows; he was the only one who’d ever
questioned her on her aversion to asking questions. Liam was the
 only one who’d ever pushed her to look past her scared mind and
fumbling heart.
“What about the ominous ‘questions bring answers and
answers bring pain, Liam’?” his voice raised an octave.
She couldn’t help but giggle.
“I don’t sound like that,” she retorted.
“No, but it’s an imitation of how stupid it is. The saying
anyway.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” she quipped, having lived off
the saying.
“But satisfaction brought it back,” he tapped his head.
“Don’t forget that. The less you ask, the more they control you.”
She laughed.
“Now, who’s being ridiculous?”
Except, she couldn’t help but think.
A good, loyal girl…
Who never asked questions.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 
         Chapter 32
 
 
The afternoon air bore a chill that hadn’t been present a
week ago. Liam’s arm bore gooseflesh as Natasha gripped while
they walked. His heart still nearly imploded with the thought that
his sister was home, was with him. How had she found him? It
still perplexed him, but a part of him didn’t care. Fondly, he patted
her arm as branches and leaves crunched under their booted feet as
they padded away from the castle.
“Tash, I’ve been wandering for some time. Why did you
leave as you did?”
 “What do you mean?” his sister’s voice sounded hoarse.
“You rushed away as though,” he swallowed hard, “as
though you couldn’t get out fast enough. We loved you, still love
you, but you ran without a word as to where.” He didn’t want to
guilt her, but his heart still throbbed with the genuine pain of
betrayal. Effortlessly, he could forgive her, but that didn’t mean
the pain just went away with a snap of the fingers and a hug.
The silence turned taught with high emotion. Natasha had
always stored her demons away in a very private place that Liam
had never been able to see. Lindsey had been  public about her
trauma and how it had affected her; she couldn’t store it away, so
she’d tried to drown it.
Natasha had the dangerous ability to suppress it; tell you
she didn’t have a problem, and you believed her for a time because
she just pulled on her big girl pants and went on.
Like me,
Liam thought wearily. They were a mess, except
he’d found healing in his Creator, who was the ultimate Healer.
However, the verdict was still out on Natasha.
“Because I didn’t feel good enough.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
“I left because I didn’t feel good enough. I would never
be as good as you, healed as you.” She cleared her throat as her
voice caught, “You were always so good, so noble, and I felt so
dark and dirty. No matter how many times I scrubbed myself, I
would always be darker and dirtier than my perfect, noble brother.
The brother that dropped his whole life to take care of his,” a soft
sob escaped her, “his whores of sisters.”
Liam stilled as rash anger burned over all rationality. He
spun and gripped his sister’s shoulders.
“You are NOT a whore!” His voice was raised, and he
saw Natasha flinch.
 Her expression wore such brokenness that Liam began to
cry himself. The warm tears slithered into his sister’s hair as they
clutched each other in their desperation. Almost praying that if
they cried enough, held each other enough, then all the awful
memories and pain would disappear.
That wicked man had wrecked everything.
“See what I mean, always better than me,” she cried into
his chest.
Why did everyone think him so good? He wasn’t. He was
awful, thought awful things. He was weak, couldn’t protect those
who mattered most; he failed constantly. He wasn’t good; he was a
failure. Always had been, always would be, even if God’s grace
was sufficient. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel his failings, his
weaknesses; that was why he needed Jesus so severely because
otherwise, he would drown in a pit of despair.
“Tash,” he croaked, “I’m not good or noble. I’m as
wretched as everyone else, but the difference between you and me,
I have hope.”
“What hope can there be for me?” she asked with a
humorless laugh.
“Jesus,” he said easily.
“Ah, I forgot; you became religious,” she said with a
sniffle before relinquishing her hold and stepping back, looking at
him in the eye. “Liam, I’m glad you found what makes you happy,
but,” she sighed, “what works for you doesn’t work for everyone.”
Liam licked his lips.
“But that’s where you’re wrong,” he said weakly.
She waved her hand in the air.
“God wouldn’t want me, He’s… I don’t know, kind of
like you, too perfect. He’d only make me feel dirtier than I already
do.”
 His heart cracked in two at his sister’s
words; how she dismissed herself so quickly, her pain so
carelessly as the burden was just average now.
“Tash-,”
“Can we stop talking about this?” she asked, her voice
holding a fake lightness he knew she didn’t feel; no one could be
that light when talking about how dirty, inwardly, they felt.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged.
“For now.”
She pursed her lips and smiled.
“I can take that,” Natasha stated before spinning and
beginning to walk again. Suddenly, she stopped and looked over
her shoulder.
“I know you love me, Liam, I love you too, but I’m awful
at showing it.” Her eyes were sad, and Liam just smiled.
“Love you, Tash.”
Absently, he trailed his sister back towards the castle.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 

Chapter 33
     

 
 
 
The music swirled, and Emma faintly realized that what
she was doing was considered monumental by all the bystanders;
she was dancing with the king. All she could feel was a sort of
numbness that had settled over the anger as it lay in waiting for
the right moment to show itself.
Consciously, she told herself she needed to make
conversation with the dignitary before her.
Mindlessly, Emma had been watching the dancers with
all their elegance and refined manners when he’d formally asked
her if she wanted to be like one of those dancers. Nervously, she’d
stammered a yes.
 Unsure of how to act, she’d grown silent. She watched
the other dancers over the king’s broad shoulder, hoping he
couldn’t read her nerves. Finally, after minutes of contemplation
and stiff polite conversation, she decided to use her new skills of
asking questions to good use.
“I know Clan Leader Summer Eyes would be pleased if I
convinced you to help. Is there anything I can do? I don’t know,
dance with you, write something, anything?”
The king chuckled before sobering.
“Unless you can convince God to tell me her
plan is sound and sufficient; you can’t do anything.” His voice
was almost weary, it held a tinge of frustration. How long had
Summer Eyes been asking this of him?
Emma smiled at his answers.
“You sound like Sir Mather, God
this
and
that
.”
The king smiled.
“Do you mind if I ask you a hard question?”
The king nodded, “Please.”
“How can you serve a God that allows murder and
injustice to happen?”
The question had been burning ever since her
conversation with Liam outside the castle gate. Had that only been
a few weeks ago? It felt like years.
The king gave a surprised look.
“Can you not answer it?” she asked.
“No, no, it’s not that, but most people don’t have the guts
to ask. They dance around it, or they don’t even ask at all.”
She nodded at his reply.
“So, what’s your answer?” she implored.
“I’d say you’re looking at God all wrong.”
It surprised her to hear his words, it was her
              turn to rear back. He just smiled.
“People often assume that when God’ allows’ bad things
to happen, it’s almost in this aloof manner, or that in this gleeful,
evil way like, He gains pleasure by torturing us. I’d say it’s
neither.”
“So, what is it then?”
“God doesn’t merely allow; He uses it.”
“So, your God uses pain, destruction, and injustice? How
can you say He’s good?”
“Nothing is outside of God; initially, when we sinned the
first time, God knew we were going to continue sinning. So let me
pose it like this. Isn’t it brilliant to use human error, something we
are superb at, for good? Would you rather He condemn His entire
Creation to eternal suffering? That pain and injustice is a part of a
bigger plan we cannot see, probably never will see; that’s why
many don’t like Christianity. It’s the reason why so many think it’s
stupid because, to some, faith is stupid; like how optimism is
stupid to the pessimist.”
“I will let you know, most of that went over my head,”
Emma commented.
Instead of being frustrated, the king just let out a jolly
laugh, “Trust me; it took me years of praying, seeking, and not a
few tears, to come to that revelation. In a nutshell, we only see one
side of this pain and suffering; it’s only part of a small story in a
small part of the time, but God sees past the hurt of right now, the
injustice of right now. He’s sees the end game. We have to trust
that what’s going on right now is a part of a bigger, better, happily
ever after.”
“What if it never comes?”
“It will. Maybe not on this side of heaven, but it will
because God promises us ‘that everything works together for those
 who love Him, according to His will.’ That doesn’t mean this life
is going to be sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes it never works
out on Earth, but if you’ve been saved by the blood of Jesus and
pick up your cross daily, you are guaranteed a happily ever after in
Heaven with Him, for eternity.” His smile was wistful as though
he were reminding himself that.
Emma stared up at the young king and saw the mixture of
hope and awe on his face. What would it be like to believe in
something like that? To think that no matter how dark things got,
you would have a happy ending, and it was non-negotiable? Her
heart began to beat faster, that would be… she couldn’t even put
words to it; it was indescribable.
“That sounds amazing,” she whispered.
The king looked down at her, pulled from his
           wistful ponderings.
“It does,” he said, his voice thick.
“How do I get that happy ending?” she asked, a flicker of
hope igniting in her chest. The numbness faded for a second, for a
moment.
“You have to ask Jesus into your heart, ask Him to
forgive you all your wrongs, ask Him to make you new in His
blood.”
Like betraying your father,
that stupid voice in the back
of her mind hissed. Guilt built inside her. No, no God wouldn’t
have asked her to betray her father if He was as amazing as King
Aalam Delroy made Him sound, so big and powerful and good.
No, He wouldn’t do that to her.
The hope extinguished, and the anger burst forth.
“It’s not that easy,” she ground out.
The king raised his eyebrows at her sudden burst of
emotion.
 “How is it not?” he asked.
“Because, because then He expects you to follow all His
rules, expects you to be a good, loyal girl.”
Expected you to be His
slave!
Her anger went raging around in her brain. It screamed that
God was just like her father, expecting things that made you pay
too high a price, and when you messed up, they abandoned you,
struck you, became… became a monster.
Before the king could reply, the dance ended, along with
their conversation.
The king’s reputation couldn’t risk another dance with a
pretend nobody like her.
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 34
 
 
 
Emma breathed a weary breath as she stepped into the
scarce breakfast room. A yawn threatened Emma’s composure.
Slightly, Emma’s eyelids drooped, but promptly at 6:45, her eyes
had popped open, no care to the fact she’d been out past midnight.
Absentmindedly, she wandered over to the serving table; they
always set up for the morning meal and picked through the
offerings, picking up what even remotely looked good. Sleepily,
she wandered to a seat and plopped uncouthly into her chair.
Exhaustion pulled away from any façade of elegance she had, not
that she had much originally. After a few minutes of picking at her
food, which her belly promptly rejected, she shoved her plate
away and looked around. Too late, she noticed Lady Byronic
sitting nary a seat away from her.
Emma cringed, remembering their last conversation; she
felt like a much different person than she had that night. Nothing
feral and overly confident rose to greet her. Still, guilt at how she
barred into the girl rose along with the nausea that always
accompanied her when tired. Pursing her lips, she finally decided
to try an olive branch; she hadn’t exactly been peach, herself, to
the lady. Perhaps she needed a friend, not an enemy; life provided
enough of those, didn’t they? Resolving to be friendly, she
nervously addressed the lady.
“Lady Byronic, you look pretty this morning.”
The woman’s head snapped, and shock along with a
slight sneer lay underneath her angelic features.
“Are you trying to vex me?”
Emma cringed; she had every right to assume such.
“I’m serious. Also, I’m sorry for how I’ve been treating
you. Sometimes,” Emma swallowed, “I forget myself, and I hope
you will forgive me for indolence.”
The lady stared at her for a moment before suddenly tears
rose in her large violet eyes; they shone with an intense
vulnerability that took Emma by surprise. She’d expected a sneer,
maybe a snarky comment, for her apology to be dismissed. That’s
what she would’ve done had someone been as rude   to her as
she’d been to the poor lady.
“You think I’m pretty?” she asked. Again, surprised by
her reaction, it took Emma a moment before snapping herself out
of her stupor.
“Of course, I do; if I’m being frank, your beauty is kind
of intimidating.”
 Her tears began to spill over; a slight panic rose in
Emma’s chest.
Had she offended her in some capacity? Why was she
crying?
“Sorry,” the woman hiccupped, “You probably think I’m
some over-emotional ninny, but no one has called me pretty
before, and I do -”
Emma reached over and hugged her. Empathy rose in her
chest. How had no one called her pretty? The thought genuinely
confused Emma. The woman clung to her. Absently, she noticed
people watching, but at the moment, Emma didn’t care a wit. Who
cared what people would say! It didn’t matter anyway. As her eyes
roved, she found Liam’s and he gave a half-smile that titled one
side of his mouth. She smiled back. There was something
beautiful about it, something incredible she had been denied too
long, human connection.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

    
Chapter 35
 
 
 
The loom spun as her hands busily pulled and threaded
over and over and her foot powered the machine. As she worked,
she hummed one of her favorite childhood songs, one of the few
her mother knew. One of the few she would sing at night. Natasha
had always been the closest to their mother. As a child, she would
cuddle up to her mother after the men were all gone, tenderly
tucking her tiny hands around her waist and burying her head into
her side. Pretending she had a typical family, with a father and her
mother baked bread in the mornings like she’d seen other women
do.
Natasha pulled on the wool and guided it down into the
basket, forcing her mind off the past; the past only held her down,
and she was tired of being held down by something she couldn’t
change. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to think of
other things. As she sat at her mindless task, her mind wandered.
Two weeks had passed since she’d arrived at Quartervois,
two weeks to pay attention and avoid notice. She liked being
invisible; it meant you could do things others would never think
about; it meant a lot. Her humming turned into a low whistle
before being rudely interrupted by knocking.
Who could that be? Liam? That was the only person she
knew well enough for them to come knocking at her humble door.
It had shocked her when Warden had placed her here, with the
scuffed wooden floors, sagging walls, and nicked wood door. If
she lit a flame the wrong way in here and the whole thing could
burn in minutes… maybe that was the point. She rolled her eyes;
Warden did always have ridiculous precautions.
Slowly, she stopped her pumping at the wheel and stood
and walked to the door. A strange man stood with his hand placed
respectfully behind his back when she opened it. He wore the
king’s emblem on his chest. Her heart stuttered. What did he
want?
“His Majesty requests Natasha Mather’s presence
immediately.”
Her stomach dropped; she wanted to vomit, no, she
needed to vomit. Swallowing hard, forcing the bile down, she
nodded to the man.
“Please lead the way,” she stated, her body beginning to
sweat. Luckily, she was a master at hiding her emotions.
 She forced herself to breathe; panic would not help her if
the king. She forced the thought out of her mind.
“So, what does the king want with a pretty girl like you?”
the man smiled mischievously. Disgust rose in her throat at his
suggestion.
“You would know better than me,” she said
               coldly.
“I know what I would want.”
Natasha forced herself not to clench her fists or kick him.
Pig.
She didn’t respond to his remarks, instead focusing on
where they were going.
There was no way the king knew. It wasn’t possible, but
his requesting her presence was sabotaging her plan. Inwardly, she
cursed. The king requesting your presence didn’t lead to
invisibility, the complete opposite. She’d have to write Warden
and the Veritas Council; warn them she may be comprised.
Natasha scolded herself to calm down; she didn’t know what the
king wanted. She knew nothing besides an obvious flirt had come
knocking on her door. Forcing herself to pay attention, she
memorized their turns and the hallways they took in case she had
to run. In case her position had been comprised. Had she grown
that soft? No. She didn’t go soft; that was her whole appeal; she
didn’t trust anyone, not even her brother. She bit the inside of her
cheek. She didn’t know where Liam stood; she didn’t know how
much he knew. He was the escort to the girl, and that was
dangerous; she was dangerous.
Daughter like father
Daughter like mother
She winced at the direction of her thoughts; Natasha
wasn’t like her mother! She did-
 They had arrived. Before them sat an elegantly carved
door not nicked by time. The footman knocked before opening the
door and bowing.
“I present Natasha Mather, Your Majesty.”
No one was there; no man sat at the desk. Confusion
swirled. Where was the king? Her escort abandoned her.
Typical.
Sarcasm dripped; frustration rose. Had this been a wild
goose- a throat cleared, and Natasha jumped, spinning to see a
handsome man grinning to the back of her.
It wasn’t devious or sly as she would expect for someone
that sat where the door would hit. It
was quite a friendly smile, happy even content.
“Good to meet you, Miss Mather. I assume you’re a
miss?”
She simply nodded. King Aalam nodded
             while mumbling.
“Good, good. So, just to straighten-,”
“Your majesty, to be blunt, what do you want?”
The man’s eyebrows rose, and his smile dimmed a few
inches.
“What do I want?”
She nodded astutely.
“Well, I want to discuss the matter of your employment.”
“Don’t you have people for that?”
“Yes, I have ‘people for that,’ but I wanted to make sure
that my friends’ sister was being treated properly while she works
in my home.”
Now, his smile was replaced with a frown that was a lot
less nice to look at. It didn’t make his eyes sparkle. Natasha
ground her teeth; she wasn’t here to make him happy.
 Objectively, that was false. Natasha should be on the
king’s side, should be buttering him up, but she didn’t know how
to be that. She was rigid, blunt, and somewhat harsh. Her softness
had been stolen by the great thief known as life.
Warden hadn’t sent her to be nice, to butter up the
king. He knew the risks whenever he sent her anywhere. She knew
how to kick a man when he was down, but she didn’t know how to
make him stand taller.
She forced herself to respond.
“Liam is a friend?” she asked.
The king nodded.
“I would like to think so, but now I realize you and him
aren’t very alike.”
The statement stung. She couldn’t even aspire to be her
perfect brother.
“My brother has a charm that I’ve never possessed,” she
answered honestly.
He nodded and stood.
“I’m sure you have your qualities that he doesn’t have,”
he spoke.
She gave a dry smile.
“You would think, but my brother is too good for me
even to keep up. I prefer bluntness anyhow.” She shrugged her
shoulders, surprised at where this conversation was turning.
The king looked at her straight in the eyes.
“I see that, but you do realize honesty doesn’t have to be
harsh.”
Natasha rolled her eyes.
“I’ve heard it all before, but when you soften it, the real
meaning gets lost.”
“The Holy Writ says to speak the truth in love.”
 She ground her teeth. No wonder these men were friends;
they both were religious freaks.
“Love isn’t a synonym for soft.”
He looked at her intensely before answering.
“Love isn’t a synonym for harsh, plus I wasn’t saying to
be soft.”
“I see we don’t agree on this topic.”
The king pursed his lips.
“I see that.”
“Well, I am being treated well by all respective parties.
Thank you for your generosity and the opportunity to find my
brother but if you don’t need anything else, may I be excused?”
“You may.”
She bobbed a curtsy before saying,
“A pleasure.”
“Trust me; it’s been all mine.”
She chuckled.
“Sarcasm I can do,” she answered.
The king looked at her again before a smile tipped his
mouth.
“Good day,” he said.
She nodded.
“Good day.”

 
 
     
Chapter 36
 
 
 
Liam stared at his hands as his mind raced with
implications of the increasingly growing attacks from the Rusalka.
Nerves gnawed at his gut.
“They are growing nearer and nearer to the cities. I do
believe they will try a big attack soon. What do you think?”
Aalam asked, his face pulled tight in worry. “I think we warn
them,” he continued to speak.
Two hours, they had been at this for two hours. Liam
took a deep breath.
“You should notify the leaders of the cities and clans and
warn them, but I’m sure they see what’s happening.” Liam rubbed
 his thigh before sighing heavily. “If you don’t mind me asking, do
you plan to always play defensive?” He knew it was a touchy
subject. He looked to the king, who scowled.
“No,” he growled, obviously frustrated with the whole
ordeal. “But we don’t have a proper army. It’s sporadic at best,
warriors from each clan, you for example, but not a national army,
and the Rusalka know it.” He rubbed his temple. “I don’t know
who to ask to spearhead the project.”
Liam didn’t know either; he wasn’t sure of their options.
Clan Leaders were in charge of their warriors; there hadn’t been a
general for years.
Liam pursed his lips before placing his hands on the arms
of the chair and pushing him up out of his seat, groaning
              as his legs protested from lack of use.
“I hate to leave you at this pivotal point, but I have an
actual paying job to get to.”
The king chuckled before standing.
“Before you go, I wanted to tell you that I met your sister
yesterday.”
Surprise flitted through Liam’s mind.
“Why? How?” he spluttered.
“I invited her to my office, kinda like how I did with
you.”
“Ah,” Liam smiled; even as worry began to build.
Natasha didn’t always handle new people well.
“How did it go?” he asked.
The king’s brows lowered.
“She was a lot different than I expected. A lot more…
no-nonsense.”
Liam smiled.
“She is that, not one to beat around the bush.”
 “No, I realized that really quickly.”
Liam laughed at that.
“Don’t take her all seriously; sometimes she does things
just keep people at arms distance.”
Why was he telling this man that? It didn’t matter. Not
really. Natasha didn’t let anyone in, like him, except he was better
at hiding himself behind a charming, casual façade.
The king nodded.
“Good to know,” he smiled tightly. “Thank you for
talking with me, Mather.”
Liam smiled.
“Anytime.”
 
 
Cool evening air danced through Liam’s hair as Emma
gripped his arm, her face was flushed, and her body radiated
warmth.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked mindlessly.
Their relationship had been civil at best since their arrival
to Vois. It hurt him, but it was safer. That’s what he kept telling
himself.
She won’t ever have to know you.
And that was for the best.
“I suppose,” her voice answered.
Liam hummed. Polite, civil, it was a good day for them.
“Games are fun, not supposedly fun.” He
            teased.
“How philosophical do you want to go on that?” she
asked with a bit of a smile.
“How about not at all,” he said.
 Their footsteps echoed in the fading laughter and chatter
from the evening garden party.
“Then the mystery will remain on how games are
‘supposedly fun,’” her voice was light but tired. Liam hadn’t seen
her much last few days aside from escorting here and there; they
hadn’t honestly spent time together.
“Are you okay?” He asked. Before she answered, her
voice quiet like a gentle wind, there was a hesitation.
“I’m tired, but that’ll be fixed with a good
night’s sleep.” The question remained though, would she get a
goodnight’s sleep, or would it be spent pacing the lengths of her
bedroom until she crashed exhausted at 3 or 4 am?
“That doesn’t sound convincing.”
“I’m as okay as I can be,” her voice was more assertive
and held an edge of warning.
What had she said a few weeks ago when he’d been
asking similar questions?
You’ve lost the right to know, 
or something akin to the
sentiment. He supposed he had.
“Do you mind if we sit?” she asked, and he obliged with
the nearest bench. Silence encompassed them for long minutes,
where it seemed each held their breaths. Unmistakable tension
crept between them as though they couldn’t go through one
meeting without facing a small explosion from either side. It grew,
and he noticed Emma’s hands start to fidget; the dim light
showcased her brow beginning to furrow. She
shifted on the bench until finally, she faced him.
“I have been asking more questions, but you know this.
As time wore on, though, I realized how little I know of you,
Liam.”
His chest seized. What was Emma saying?
 “I know you are a child born out of wedlock, you have
three sisters, and you grew up in the Forest. But that’s it. In
comparison, you know almost everything there is to know about
me. I don’t guess it’s very fair. I guess the point of this spiel is to
ask: What’s your story?”
He stared at her, making sure his face was void of the
panic coursing through his veins.
You can’t trust her. You can’t. She’ll hate you if she knew;
she’ll realize how much of a failure you are.
Her eyes held a vulnerability as though it cost her
something to ask the question. The voice changed.
You’ll be free, free of the guilt. Someone else will know,
you’ll be free!
How would that look? To be free from his responsibility,
blaming himself for his sister’s trauma. He couldn’t imagine. Fear
rose. He didn’t deserve to be free of it. His sisters didn’t get to, so
why should he? But the temptation was great. Maybe she would
understand; perhaps she would see he’d been blinded by new
beginnings, blinded by bare minimum kindness? He opened his
mouth. He would tell her; he would be free.
Then he saw it, the admiration in her eyes. She respected
him even though he didn’t deserve it, even though he’d failed her
again and again, she respected him, and the fear clogged his
throat.
No, she would hate him. Rightfully, she would blame
him. That admiration would crash in her eyes, and she would
never be able to look at him the same way.
His mouth closed. He smiled.

“There’s nothing to tell.”
The light went out behind her eyes. Liam remained
trapped by his guilt, precisely as he deserved.
 
 
 
As she walked, anger and hurt burned through Emma,
their silence was a funeral to the trust that could’ve been forged by
mutual honesty and friendship. But the man was a pigheaded fool.
It was okay for him to know her darkest secrets, but not okay for
her to know his.
Bitterness soured any fun she’d had that evening playing
the games they’d prepared. It’d been fun, not enough to forget her
problems, but enough for her to laugh. The glow of the hall
welcomed Emma, and as she stepped inside, she let go of Liam’s
arm and turned to him, hoping to get the last word in. She wanted
him to know that no matter how pigheaded he was, she was there
for him no matter how strained and awkward their relationship
could be.
“I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to tell me
whatever makes your eyes look like a tsunami,” she said seriously.
It hurt when someone rejected you, the sting
uncomfortable and degrading.
 That’s why you don’t ask questions, remember.
She shushed the voice. Her father was wrong; he had to
be. Otherwise, she had risked her relationship with her only family
member for nothing; she risked her future for nothing.
Liam looked at her dully before saying.
“I won’t be here forever,”
He got the last word in and caused the bitterness to grow.
It caused Emma to want to scream. He shouldn’t get the last word,
but he was gone, the door shut behind him, and all wit and noble
intentions flew out the door.
The anger was brief before sadness replaced it. Sadness
sagged while anger stood rigid. Sadness was like a sedative drug,
your bones hung loose, and your muscles didn’t want to work; it
wasn’t worth it any longer. Her bones felt even more tired than
before.
Wearily, as tears pricked her eyes, she trudged to her
bedroom where hopefully deep, black, dreamless sleep would
welcome her into its arms so she could forget. Forget what she
was risking. Forget the mysteries twirling into her brain. Forget
the stinging rejection of a friend she wanted to know. Emma
wanted to just fall onto her bed and sleep until she didn’t care.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter 37
                 
 
 
 
The wooden chair bit into her back as she stared at the
letter sitting on the small vanity; it was from her father. 
Guilt and shame began to eat away at her. It had arrived
that morning, promptly after breakfast, when she’d gone back to
her room to prepare for the day. Now her father’s neat, slanted
handwriting sat blinking up at her. 
What was it going to say? 
Did he know? 
Her heart began to race, and her palms began to perspire.
Gulping, she reached for the letter; she swiftly tore it open and
scanned the letter. 
 
Dearest Emma, 
I miss you daily; I miss your sweet spirit and humble
attitude. I think of you often, and I hope all is well on the ship. I
know how you love the rocking waves; feel them for me; they are
preferable to this cement cell firmly planted to the ground. I will
be out soon; it will all blow over, trust me, my sweet girl. 
         What am I saying? You already do. That’s what I love most
about you; you have faith like a child, never asking foolish
questions. You have faith it will all work out. 
I have a gift for you, my dear Emma. The key to my
heart. 
From your adoring, 
Father 
 
Curiosity prompted her to pick up the envelope. She
noticed its weight; and reached inside, pulling a small key with a
pretty golden chain attached to it from the envelopes depths. She
held the key in her hand as guilt and love danced with each other.
Confusion was birthed in its midst. 
Her father loved her; this letter was proof. He said so,
more or less, but she was disobeying him. Wasn’t it for his good? 
She looked down again, staring at the line. 
“That’s what I love most about you; you have faith like a
child, never asking foolish questions. You have faith it will all
work out.” 
Shame caressed her, whispering to fall into its cold
embrace. Emma opened a drawer and shoved the letter inside.
Afterward, she gently placed the key and its pretty chain around
her neck. 
The key to her father’s heart 

But what did it cost her?
                
 
 
 
Danger sat on their doorstep, blinking up at him,
daring him to be remembered by the bloodshed he’d incited. 
Aalam’s insides shivered at the thought.
Ever since he was a boy, he’d hated violence. In contrast
to the boys who tussled and playfully punched each other, Aalam
sat on the side, watching, pondering what a petty thrill it was. As
 he’d grown, he’d outgrown the snobbish attitude that accompanied
his dislike for violence, but it was still senseless to him.
Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair, coming up short when
his hands caught in a curl. Letting out a frustrated grunt, he
dropped his hand onto his desk as his eyes helplessly roved the
reports of the massacre. Bloodshed was a waste of precious human
life. His lips pursed. 
How could people be so senseless? Had they never felt
the cloud of grief that somehow held a thousand knives? How
could they not see that taking a life caused another to feel grief
with a thousand knives? He shook his head. 
All so senseless. 
Most expected him to get angry, to be furious that others
would take another’s life. Thus, he would retort to get even, but all
he ever muster was the stab of grief. 
Did that make him lacking as a king? Possibly. It possibly
meant he had no backbone. Aalam gritted his teeth. Just because
he liked peace didn’t make him a coward. Did it? His gut sank.
Were they right? The naysayers, the one’s saying he would lead
the country to the ground with his incompetence.
Papa, you left early. I really could use you
              right now. 
His heart ached as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
When he cracked them open, they caught on a snatch of
movement in the courtyard right below him. The taller woman
caught his eye; her auburn was neatly tucked away at the nape of
her neck, her features were fuzzier with distance, but they were
still stark and stunning. Natasha Mather was too pretty for her
good, even if her personality could use some softening. His lips
tipped. Her propriety was somehow suffocating and non-existent,
all wrapped up in one rigid, beautiful package. His eyes wandered
to the woman she spoke to, squinting as he tried to recognize her. 
Lady Ambrose!
He didn’t understand why the Clan Leader had decided to
send the young lady as her replacement. Summer was much more
formidable than the young woman who, under the right
circumstances, could be considered still just a girl. She had an
abundance of freckles and slightly crooked teeth that made her
seem 15 when her large blue eyes stared at you in fear. He shook
the memory of watching her at the Pleas. Afterward, she’d
scurried away like a frightened mouse. Not exactly persuasive to
the Clan Leaders’ cause. Knowingly, Aalam wasn’t fooled; the
Clan Leader had a plan. She always did. Unlike him, she saw
violence as a necessary evil, a means to an end. 
Feeling safe tucked away in his turret office, he watched
the women converse. Miss Mather didn’t seem nearly as tense
with Lady Ambrose as she did with him. He frowned before
shaking himself. The stress of everything was getting to his head.
It was causing him to project the weight on his shoulders.
Great,
Aalam thought caustically as he continued
watching the women talk. 
Quiet peace inched forward as he sat, taking a breath.
Memories of conversations past came to greet him as he replaced
Miss Mather for himself and Lady Ambrose for his father. The
days passed when the world seemed brighter, the problems
manageable because his strong, healthy father sat on the throne.
Stuck in a thistle, he’d ask his father. A sad, wistful smile spread
across Aalam’s lips as he let precious time escape him. 
“Every man needs a night to himself with a pretty
woman.” 
Aalam smiled at the memory. He sat back
comfortably in his chair, placing his hands over his stomach as he
drearily closed his eyes. 
Papa had been winking to mama when he’d said those
words. Mama had blushed and swatted his arm in that fussy way
she was prone. The queen muttered something about keeping such
thoughts away from their son. She’d said that Aalam’s head was
already filled with too many whimsical fantasies that he shouldn’t
add to them. It hadn’t worked. That evening he’d gone to his desk
cluttered with scrawls of poetry and half bits of stories. That night
he’d started one of his favorite stories. Aalam’s eyes shot open; he
hadn’t visited with Berkly and Charolette in a long while and with
a sly grin, he scrambled from his chair over to the bookshelves
that lined his walls. He picked a battered gray notebook that
contained some of his favorite characters and gave a quick swat to
the front to get rid of dust. He studied the surface, it was cracked,
torn, and water-stained, but it was his pride and joy. It was the
only story he’d ever finished. Excitedly, he wandered back to his
desk and sat before cracking the cover and diving right back in
with the incredible adventures of Berkley Pierce and Charolette
Waterway. 
He chuckled at a joke he’d written those years ago,
noticing inconsistencies he hadn’t before. They only diminished
his joy for a moment. Time wore on, and he flipped to his favorite
scene. The scene of the village dance was layered but
straightforward. It was filled with emotional angst that no action
could compare. 
They weren’t supposed to be there. Berkely and
Charolette should’ve moved on. Charolette needed to get home
before her aunt asked too many questions about how this mission
was arrant; fear sat on the back of her mind. Berkley knew he was
a coward for drawing out this flagrant trip for personal purposes,
but he knew he’d be forgotten as soon as they got home. They
danced anyway; their hearts too wrapped up in the music to worry
about tomorrow, to worry about the upcoming climax. They linked
arms and danced. 
Aalam flipped to the last page of the scene, 
They linked arms and danced.  
 
He looked up to see that the woman had long
since departed, but the sun was veering toward the
west, hovering before it would fade into the sky. He knew it was
crazy, somewhere inside all of the excitement and expectation. 
He knew she would deny him. She didn’t even like him,
but he had to. He knew God had placed her in his life for some
reason. He knew the Lord had called him to be her friend no
matter how icy she was. Aalam spun in his chair and rang the bell
to summon his valet.
“Yes, your majesty,” A harried valet stepped in. 
“I request cotton clothing, preferably what a normal
man wears every day,” he stated happily. The poor man looked
confused beyond measure. 
“Your majesty wh-why?” he sputtered.

Aalam grinned like a boy ready
to forget his stressors, prepared for the world to be a little
brighter. 
“I’m going to a dance.” 
 
 
 
Silence, blessed silence, settled around Natasha as she
curled onto her bed with an old book with curling pages from how
many times, she’d turned them. She only owned one book, but she
adored it, rereading it at least a thousand times. Peacefully, she fell
into the pages, living through the characters, knowing she didn’t
have to solve any of the problems. She could sit back and let the
story unfold. It was wonderful. A hard knock echoed through her
room, rudely interrupting her reading. With a sigh, she pulled a
wrap from being strewn on her only chair and pulled it tight over
her shoulders as she called out. 
“Coming.” 
Shuffling, she made her way over to the door. Pulling it
open, she was horrified to find a smiling King Aalam Delroy
standing before her. It took her a moment to notice his clothing; he
wore a regular white shirt with a pale green vest that looked two
sizes too small, and brown trousers that were ill-fitting and hung
awkwardly over his hips. The more she looked, the more she
realized how silly the outfit was. A smile cracked her lips before
she burst forth laughing. 
Moments passed, and finally, she was able to stop. The
king’s smile had faltered. 
“Why are you laughing?”
The question was innocent, as though he genuinely didn’t
find anything funny about the situation.
She let out another chuckle before saying, “It’s a joke
when a king tries to dress down.”
 The king’s smile died as his beautifully dark eyes
clouded, his lips pinched, and his eyebrows lowered.
 “Well, then I must be devoid of a sense of humor.” 
He was hurt. 
Snowflake. 
She thought flippantly.
King Aalam was dressed like a wannabe shopkeeper; he
was romanticizing poverty. It wasn’t cute. It was ignorant and
privileged. Plus, he looked like a clown. She had the right to
laugh; he had no right to feel hurt.   
“Men are a joke.” 
She began to shut the door, but Aalam Delroy decided to
sacrifice his foot and shoved it between the door and the frame.
She muttered her embitterment. 
 “We all know that is a fib.”
She eyed him for a moment. What kind of statement was
that? 
“Remember, you have no sense of humor,” she muttered,
pointedly staring at his foot still in the door. The clown of a king
didn’t budge. He only looked at her, studying her if she was
judging correctly. She cursed. The king didn’t flinch.  
“You aren’t laughing anymore. You know man or woman
wasn’t supposed to carry the world alone.”
 She looked at him hard for a moment before it turned
into a glare. Him in his commoner’s clothing, mocking her. She
had worked hard, sacrificed much, for the clothes on her back. Her
mother had sacrificed her soul for clothes, and here this stupid,
ignorant fool stood wearing them as though he was playing dress-
up. 
“What would you know? You’re just the privileged king.
What could you possibly know?” she stated while trying to kick
his foot out of the door, but it pushed back, swinging into the wall.
The bang clattered through the evening quiet, and Natasha
flinched as her heart skittered. The pure masculine power petrified
her. She wasn’t in control of this situation. Swallowing hard, she
turned her face to stone, forced her heart to follow. Suppress it,
forget about it. The man before her rose to his full height, his
shoulders expanding, his face turned stony. She waited for him to
shout, waited for him to kick, punch, stomp. Maybe for his face to
mottle like she’d read in books, but none of it happened. Instead,
his face paled like it drained him to be angry. His fists didn’t even
clench. The only sign of his anger was the slight tick in his jaw. 
“I may live the facade of wealth and glamor, but wealth
doesn’t make the pain disappear. I suffered plenty, and money
never eases wounds how you stupid commoners seem to think it
does.” 
With his final retort, he was gone like the wind. He didn’t
stomp even in his righteous exit. No. He walked normally, evenly,
barely rattled. At least that’s how it looked. Natasha sniffed as she
shut the door, firmly, loudly behind her. 
Fitting.
 
The spineless king couldn’t even stomp away
victoriously. 
            Weak, and self-righteous,
she thought as she
wandered back to her quiet evening with her old book,
the curled pages soothing her again. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 38
 
 
 
“There you go, Emma.” Diana placed her elegant hands-
on Emma’s shoulders as they both studied the fancy coiffure. It
was beautiful; every hair set just so. It was elegant, mature, and
feminine. Happily, Emma smiled. 
“Thank you so much, Diana; you really are a gem.” 
She bounced up as the woman patted her shoulder once
more before humming her way toward the door. Once the door
clicked shut behind Emma, she looked at herself in the vanity
mirror. 
She had a light tint on her lips that added maturity to her
face, and Emma, for once, felt womanly. Sure, she had the body of
a woman. Technically, she was a woman. But sometimes she
forgot what it felt like to embrace the beautiful femineity laying
just beneath the surface. Emma wore a full-length ball gown in a
beautiful gold that hugged every right place. She ran a hand down
the length of her torso. When had Emma grown up? She
remembered her hormonal days when she cried at nothing and
became angry at the same nothingness. Yet one day, she was a girl
frolicking around with spindly legs and nonexistent hips, and the
next, she had more curves than she could count. It was all so
strange. Inwardly, she felt the same. She was still Emma Ambrose,
but outwardly she wasn’t a little girl; she was a woman. It was
exhilarating and terrifying.
Emma grinned, gripped her dress by the sides, hiked up
the hem, and spun with a bounce in her step. She flounced to the
 door, excitedly making her way to the sitting area. Her lips were
tilted up in a confident grin until she saw Liam. 
Frustration begged to be explored, but her newfound
confidence wanted a say. How did he see her? Did Liam see her as
a woman? She bit her lip and shook herself, who cared. His
opinion didn’t validate her womanhood. 
She forced herself to walk confidently. As she passed, she
noticed his different dress. He wore a suit, a fine black and white
piece that explored his broad shoulders and narrow hips. She
inwardly groaned. He had no right to be so handsome. None.
Especially being the most frustrating idiot around. Her smile
dimmed as he met her; she could see the stoniness in his features.
She lifted her nose a tad. 
“Good evening, Sir Mather.” 
“And to you,” he replied before offering his arm. “Shall
we?” 
She nodded, “We shall.” 
They walked intense silence. Liam’s betrayal still stung.
He didn’t trust her.
Just like my mother
The thought made her throat clog with emotion. 
Except, he was here, for now. Emma forced her grip not
to tighten. Fear inched up. As much as she disliked him at the
moment, if he left, she would fall apart. Emma barely held it
together, but she knew if he were gone, she really would fall to
pieces. Even with the tension between them, she knew she could
go to him if she needed him, and he would listen. Possibly even
hold her tight. He would then roll up his proverbial sleeves and fix
whatever problem she
              laid down. 
 They continued to walk and made their way to one of the
prepared carriages Vois had gathered to carry all the willing to the
ball off the grounds. It was one of the more significant events of
Vois. Liam opened the door and offered a hand inside, but with all
the pettiness, she refused; gripping the handles on the sides of the
carriage, she pulled herself inside. Liam followed,
mumbling, “I’m still your escort.” 
She snorted. 
“Really. I thought you were a block of ice.” 
They sat across from each other and stared at one
another, each unbreakable in their stance. Liam’s silence was a
silent scream of “No! No, I won’t tell you; I won’t trust you.” 
As they bumped along down the road, the words grew in
Emma’s throat. It kept growing, begging to be released until she
finally burst. 
“Why won’t you tell me?” 
Liam’s scowl darkened. 
“Because it’s none of your beeswax.” Liam sniped as
Emma turned toward the window one could practically see the
fumes coming from her ears.  
 
This evening the music grated instead of
soothed like usual, which irritated Emma almost as much as Liam
had. Her face probably looked as pleasant as a stormy sea, but she
couldn’t let Liam’s impertinence go. She should. Emma knew she
should, but if she let go, it felt like she would lose him. Lose the
only friend she had. Sadness began to eclipse her as the thought of
Lord Adikia and Lady Ceridwen pounced on her already angry
mind. Ever since their whispering in the garden about evidence
from her fathers’ case, every time she hung around them,
uneasiness settled around her. Wearily, she let out a sigh. 
 “Milady, would you like to dance?” a voice slurred
behind her. 
Speaking of the devil!
she thought with sarcasm. Her
thoughts must’ve summoned the Lord in all his drunken glory.
Lord Adikia wobbled as he held an empty glass. His eyes seemed
clouded, probably due to the alcohol. A part of Emma cringed, but
she didn’t shrink away; if there was one thing her childhood had
educated her on, it was drunken men and all their silly stupors.
“You don’t appear light on your feet,” she quipped
towards his swaying form.
He looked down at himself as though surprised to see his
legs wobbling before looking up at her like a confused child. She
smiled. 
“I’m sure sitting would be much more-,” he suddenly
leeched forward as though he’d forgotten to walk. Emma rolled
her eyes and as she angled to catch him. He hummed before his
head lolled towards her shoulder. 
“Lord Adikia, you can’t go to sleep here.”
He looked at her lazily before his lips began to form a
sneer. 
“You!” His tone was accusatory. Emma withheld her
surprise at the hatred in his voice; in his stupor, he’d mistaken
              her for someone else. That was it. 
“I know you aren’t even a…” he rolled his tongue around
in his mouth as though trying to form his mouth around the words,
“you aren’t a lady.” 
She smiled indulgently. 
“It isn’t exactly a secret.” She tried shoving him off her,
but he was like a dead weight in her arms. She looked around,
looking for a familiar face to help her. 
“But I know you’re Wa-,” 
 “Lady Ambrose, have you been attacked?” an amused
feminine voice asked. Emma looked into the smiling face of Lady
Ceridwen. 
“Practically fell into my arms,” she jested.
The Lady laughed before touching a gentleman’s arms.
Probably asking if he could help escort the thoroughly intoxicated
Lord out of the ball. Emma hoped that Lord Adikia wouldn’t end
up like this in some other Lady, or Lord’s arms. Finally, two
gentlemen guided Lord Adikia off her, but not before he leered. 
“I know who you are!” 
The men mumbled and guided him forward. Even with
their help he stumbled, and they had to grab him by the forearms.
Lady Ceridwen rushed forward before linking her arms with
Emma’s tired ones. 
“He’s such an idiot!” she proclaimed as she led them
away from the edge and toward a terrace. 
“Does he do that a lot?” Emma asked.
The Lady hummed. 
“Whenever the coffers are low.” The implications were
tragic, really, but Emma couldn’t help but shake her head.
Shaken from what he’d been implying, Emma numbly
followed Lady Ceridwen leading. 
He knew who she was!
If he told anyone, she’d be ruined from finding out
anything. Anxiety twirled inside her; no one would believe him
drunk, but what if he told someone while sober? They’d believe
him, wouldn’t they? Why wouldn’t they? She pulled away from
the Lady, needing time to catch her breath.
“I’m quite parched. Do you want anything?” she asked as
she spun to find the refreshment table. It was crammed into the
back wall, lined with the punch and a few weak snacks. The Lady
shook her head. 
“I’m good; I’ll be out here if you need me.” She smiled,
Emma did so back. 
“Thank you for saving me from the lead weight.” She
smirked as she said it. 
The Lady giggled before wandering toward the terrace.
Emma raced toward the refreshment table, shoving herself through
people that stood
around talking. Sighing in relief, she dipped the ladled into the
bowl before pouring it into the tiny punch glass that looked like it
couldn’t quench any man’s thirst, but it was something. A shadow
leaned nearby. Emma looked up, expecting to find Liam, or even a
stranger, but instead saw the smirking face of Mill Bellows. She
forced a thin smile. 
“Hello, Mr. Bellows. I didn’t expect to find you here,”
she exclaimed. The man just watched her for a second. 
“Lady Ambrose, you aren’t safe.” His voice
was monotone as not to draw attention to it. She tried to force out
a chuckle. 
“Always the tease.” The giggle sounded like a squawking
bird as her nerves roared to life. 
The cane thumped with every step past her. 
“You aren’t safe,” he said again. He was right next to her.
He stumbled and fell closer to her while he mumbled, “Daughter
of Water Breaker.” 
The world fell out from beneath her.
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

   
    Chapter 39
 
 
 
She stumbled into her room, exhaustion seeping into her
bones. Everyone seemed to know the answers but her because
they’d sent a blundering idiot into the tangled web of politics.
If she thought about it, it was hilarious. Why had they
chosen her? She wasn’t foolish enough to think it was because she
was destined to be great. Was she? That got a laugh out of her. No,
she was here because she had debts to pay, it had been never
anything more. She was a slave to family debts.  
 What had she learned while here? Personal truths aside,
nothing. Her letter to Summer Eyes proved it. She’d knew
nothing. 
Questions bring answers, and answers
            bring pain.
She picked up a pillow from her bed and slammed it
down on the bed. Enjoying the endorphin rush, she did it again.
Her body taut with unanswered questions and creepy
meetings. Maybe, she wasn’t supposed to know anything?
She took the pillow, covered her face, and fell onto the
bed like the dramatic child she was. The thought made her laugh
again; here, she’d been thinking earlier about how grown up she
was. A body didn’t make you a man or woman; she could look as
womanly as she pleased but still be a girl inside. She groaned and
dropped the pillow to her side. 
She was a dunce. A soft knock sounded on the door. 
“Milady?” Diana’s kind voice echoed from the other side.
Emma jumped up from her sprawled position on the bed. 
“Come in.” She called. The woman stepped
inside, her eyes were tired, and her body seemed to
sag. 
“Are you okay?” Emma asked. Even after the latest balls,
the woman always seemed to have a pep in her step. Miss Bellow
seemed to shake herself. 
“Fine,” she yawned. “Just tired is all.”  
Emma nodded. 
“I won’t ask much, just help get this gown off, and then
you can leave me to my own devices. I can undo my own hair. I
did it for years before I came here.” 
“Thank you, milady.” 
“You don’t have to thank me.” 
 She always felt weird when Miss Bellows thanked her for
the bare minimum kindness. She was exhausted; she deserved
sleep. Emma could only imagine half of what the woman did on a
daily. 
“How many ladies do you take care of?” she asked.
Diana motioned for her to turn around. 
“Three. I’ve already visited one, but I’ve another after
you.”
Emma pursed her lips. 
“That’s a lot for one woman. I mean, I knew
you were amazing, but still.” The woman just
hummed; Emma imagined she shrugged her
shoulders. She could feel her fingers undoing the buttons at the
back. 
“It’s not as bad as you would think. I used to do four or
five, but I wouldn’t be getting to bed until 3 or 4 in the morning.
You haven’t seen tired until then,” she let out a small laugh. 
Four or five
Emma had a feeling some were not as easy to service as
her. Some probably never went without having a maid a day in
their lives; they didn’t know how to undo their hair. Didn’t know
how to brush out a ballgown. Not that Emma knew it perfectly, but
she did well enough. 
“What time did you sleep ‘till?” she asked. 
“Eight or nine, most mornings.” 
Emma blew out a breath. 
“That should be considered inhumane,” she said.
“It was. King Aalam found out what they were forcing us
to do and immediately corrected it. He even gave some of us a
week off for our effort, me included.” 
Emma snorted. 
 “That’s not real compensation.” 
“It’s more than expected or required.”  
Emma supposed the statement was true.
 How much time could you give off before things began
to collapse, especially in a castle this large? It wasn’t great logic,
but it made sense, she supposed.
“There you go, milady. If you don’t mind, I’m going to
hop on over to my last Lady before going to bed.” 
“Of course! I can take care of it from here.” She turned
around and watched as Diana slipped out of the door. 
“Ah! I almost forgot; my brain is so clogged with sleep,”
Diana said as she popped back in the room, “It’s from the Clan
Leader.”
Emma sucked in a quick breath. What had she thought of
her letter? Was Summer Eyes going to call this whole thing off?
Emma could hope. She walked over and grabbed the letter from
the woman. 
“Thank you, good night.” She smiled at
Diana as she shut the door behind her, calling a good night that
was muffled by the door.
                Emma stared down the letter. Flowery handwriting
sprawled across the front that fit the woman and her rather
poetical speech patterns. She smiled slightly before opening the
letter. She pulled it out and flipped it open, her heart racing at
what it would say. 
 
Dear Emma Ambrose, 
The games being played here are more than meets the
naked eye. Keep that in mind as you search for the truth because
often you have to break your back for it. I don’t expect you to find
all the gold, but it would be nice if you could find the crown jewels
 before the thief takes them out right beneath your pretty, freckled
nose. Heed my advice before the sun sets another day. 
Clan Leader Summer Eyes 
 
Emma sighed. A paragraph. She got a paragraph of
               vague metaphors. 
The games being played here are more than meets the
naked eye.
She knew that. She’d seen that. But how did
             that help her? 
How was anything connected? She wasn’t even sure who
was attached to her father. She had her hunches about Lord Adikia
and Lady Ceridwen, but maybe they were talking about something
else entirely! 
A dunce, a complete dunce  
She needed comfortable clothes for this. She shimmied
out of her dress and petticoats before slipping into a nightgown
and sweater. 
Better, much better. 
She began to pace after picking the cryptic note up.
Could the woman be straightforward a day in her life? Apparently
not! 
It would be nice if you could find the crown jewels before
the thief takes it out…
What did that even mean? 
It was like Mill Bellows! She was in danger, from whom,
from what? What, who was she supposed to look for? Emma
growled. 
She paced and thought. Paced some more. Once her feet
grew weary, she sat and pondered, but nothing made sense to her.
Who thought it would be a good idea to send her? There were so
many holes and vagueness she couldn’t piece anything together.
The night passed one painful hour at a time. She’d
gotten up to pace again when she saw sunlight barely peeping over
the horizon. She blew out a breath and admitted defeat. 

Chapter 40
 
 
 
A knock startled him awake; he sat up as he pulled the
sheets off. He forced himself to breathe. It wasn’t a pounding,
urgent knock, but it was steady. Someone wanted in. Clearing his
throat, he called, “Coming!”
 He stumbled to the door. Liam expected to find one of the
men from the barracks informing him that they needed help taking
some drunk kid to bed or a surprise inspection of their barracks.
Anything besides an exhausted-looking Emma standing before
him, her body taught and her cheeks a fiery red. He cocked an
eyebrow.
What was she-
he looked down at himself where her
eyes rested. His exposed torso, he’d been asleep, and he didn’t
necessarily sleep in the epitome of modesty. He grimaced. 
“One moment, please.” He shut the door, slipped on a
shirt, and quickly straightened his sheets and pillows so it didn’t
look too sloppy. He opened the door again after being at least
passably modest.
“What are you doing here this early?”
Her cheeks still didn’t seem to have recovered. Surely,
she’d seen a shirtless man; it wasn’t 
THAT
 uncommon? She’d
lived with sailors. 
“Em?” 
“Yes?” Her voice was overly perky given the deep circles
under her eyes. 
“Why are you so embarrassed?”
Her eyes didn’t meet his.
“I’m not.” 
“Liar,” he teased.
She just grunted and shoved a piece of paper at him. 
“This is why I’m here so early.”
He caught it and moved away as she tried to shove past
him into his room. 
“Pushy much.” 
“Liam, this isn’t the time,” she snapped.
 He looked at her again; her shoulders were stiff, as was
her whole body. 
 “Did you sleep at all?” 
“Just read the note!” she waved her hand as
she headed for a plush chair at the other end of his room.
               He took her brusque answer as no; she hadn’t. He looked
down and read the letter. Vague, but not particularly concerning.  
“Em, why are you so worked up?” he asked.
She plopped down in the chair, leaned forward, rubbed
her face aggressively as though trying to wake herself up. 
“They know who I am,” She stated simply. 
“Who?” he asked as he leaned against the wall. 
“Lord Adikia and Mill Bellows.”
Well, that was an odd pair. Concerning, but still not
something to lose sleep over. 
“There’s more,” she said, “Mill came over to me and kept
saying that I was somehow in danger.” 
Liam pushed off the wall. 
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
Emma gave him a droll look. 
“You want to know the truth?” 
Liam scowled. 
“Emma, is this over me not telling you what I
          was going to say the other night.” 
She sighed, “Yes, I’m a petty fool, okay.” 
He scoffed, “No kidding.” 
It was her turn to scowl. 
“You don’t have to agree out loud.” 
He just shook his head. 
“Did he say anything about it? Do you think this letter or
the warnings of danger have anything to do with Lord Adikia?” 
Her shoulders tensed again. 
 “I have no reason to think so, the Lord was drunk when
he went on about knowing who I was. I think I’m just creeped out
between Adikia, Mill and this haunting letter going on about
crown jewels.” 
He looked down at the letter again, rereading the piece of
paper. 
It would be nice if you could find the crown jewels before
the thief takes it out…
Okay, that was a little disconcerting.
“Do you think she’s being literal?” he asked.
“Is she ever literal?” 
Liam grunted as he fell against the wall, his shoulder
catching the brunt of his weight. 
“Good point, but sometimes she is.” 
Emma sat back; she grabbed the throw
blanket draped across the back of the chair, pulling it down, over
herself. He withheld a smile, but the action was adorable. Her
brown hair fell around her as she pulled the blanket to her chin.
Her blue eyes were full of nervous energy. 
“I wish I knew what she meant,” she said with a yawn. “I
don’t like feeling like everyone knows the answers beside me.”
Another yawn. He hummed to her answer before saying. 
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
“Where are you going?” she asked, her face asked in
genuine innocent confusion. 
“The bathroom,” he answered. 
“Oh, well, I’ll be here,” her tired voice drawled.
 He smiled and shook his head as he stepped out. He shut
the door behind him so that no one would bother Emma. As he
took care of his business, he thought of the note and how Mill
Bellows had said she was in danger. What did he know? How was
he involved? He’d have to talk to the man.
Why was he even at the ball last night? He worked here
at the castle. He could see how Emma stayed up all night.
Questions attacked from all
sides. He opened the door again. 
“I think our-,”
Heavy breathing and closed eyes met him as he slipped
back into the room. A curled-up Emma slept. Her face and body
had finally relaxed. A semblance of peace had washed away the
furrow between her brows. He smiled. She was a pretty girl. She
was lost and confused, most definitely, but pretty. That thought
grounded him; he could never think of her as more than another
client or sister if she continued to remain lost.
He firmed his lips. Nothing more than another little sister.
He walked up to her and tucked the blanket
tighter around her and leaned down and kissed her temple. 
“Sleep well Em.” 
He walked to the door knowing whom he needed to talk
to. the only person who knew where the crown jewels were and
why Mill was at the ball. 
After many turns, he ended up at the king’s office. He
didn’t know what he expected to find, seeing though it was early
in the morning, and the king hadn’t gone to the ball last night.
Would he be awake yet? Liam wasn’t up to date on his schedule.
He timidly knocked, expecting no reply instead, he heard a
groggy, “Come in!” 
Surprised, he pushed the door open. King Aalam Delroy
was sprawled with his stockinged feet on his desk and hands
behind his head. His shoes were kicked aside and, what was he
wearing? Liam laughed at the sight. As he spotted Liam, the
 kings’ eyes flickered open; he grunted and swung his feet from his
cluttered desk. 
“What are you doing here so early, Mather?” His voice
was grumpy and half asleep. 
He rubbed a hand over his face, much as Emma had done
not long ago. 
“I could ask the same of you.” he said. 
“If you must know, I was brooding.” 
“You? Brooding?” Genuine surprise filtered in his voice. 
The king grunted. 
“I know, call the newspapers. But I must’ve fallen asleep
somewhere between pacing and glowering at the wall.” 
Liam chuckled at this, having experienced similar nights. 
“I need to talk to you about a concerning letter Lady
Ambrose received from Summer Eyes
             last night.” 
He took the letter he’d folded from his pocket. The king
meandered toward Liam and took it from him. 
“What’s so concerning about it?” He asked as he scanned
it. 
“We don’t have crown jewels,” the king said blankly.
“They were destroyed some five hundred years ago by
revolutionaries. Thought tearing the monarchy down was the best
way to go.” 
Liam pursed his lips, never having learned that seemingly
vital piece of history. 
“Would Summer Eyes know that?” he asked.
The king nodded. 
“She’d have to, she’s a Clan Leader. Those
revolutionaries are the whole reason Clan Leaders exist, to give
the people more power.” He didn’t seem disgruntled by the
information as some kings would be. 
“Why were they never replicated?” he asked.
The king shrugged. 
“It didn’t seem a top priority. Now so much time has
passed, and we haven’t needed them, that it just seems useless to
recreate them.” 
“So, what do you suppose she meant by it?” Even as he
asked, his stomach started roiling in displeasure. 
The king scowled. 
“Sadly, I think she means me,” he replied.
“The thief part, though, are they trying to kidnap you?”
It was a stupid question, really, but he had to ask, just to
make sure they were on the same page. The king shook his head;
neither seemed to want to say it.
All Liam said was, “We need stronger security.” 
The king gave a grim nod and wandered to the window.
His face had gone pale and his shoulders hard as stone. Liam spun
and headed for the door. Only one thought was on his mind.
               There was an assassin on the loose.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

Chapter 41
     

 
 
 
Emma's eyes fluttered open to the sound of yelling and
marching in the halls outside of the room. For a few moments, she
wondered where she was until it all flooded back to her like a
punch. She sucked in a deep breath; she wanted to stay asleep
forever; it had felt like a blissful dream. Nothing concerned her;
she smiled lightly and pulled the blanket closer. As she did, she
realized the blanket smelled like Liam. She couldn’t name the
individual scents. All she knew was that it smelled like 
him, 
and,
for some unknown reason, that made her giddy. She gathered it
and sniffed it once more before pushing it off and standing.
Her limbs felt creaky after being curled into a ball for
who knew how long. She looked toward the window where the
sun stood in the sky, no more soft morning sunshine, but rather it
looked as though it had been shining for hours. She sighed, where
had Liam gone? 
She knew it didn't take this long to go to the bathroom.
She smiled. She felt worlds better after a power nap. She stretched
out her achy limbs and cracked her neck that felt stiff and sore. 
The shuffling and shouts continued outside. What was
going on? She walked to the door, determined to find Liam and
ask. Had he figured something out? If so, what? When she opened
the door, three men rushed toward her, each varying degrees of
burly testosterone. Emma stepped back inside the room, feeling
cornered. 
"Are you Lady Ambrose?" one of them asked. He looked
like the definition of a scary bodyguard. He was tall with burly,
bulging muscles. She lifted her chin and cleared her throat.
"Yes, what does it concern you?" She tried to
sound slightly snobby, confident but came out weak, at least to her
ears. 
"Sir Mather has instructed us to protect you," the same
one explained.
"He did? Why?" she asked, her voice squeaky. She tried
not to let panic set in; there had to be a logical, reasonable
explanation to this, not that he'd left her. He wouldn't do that.
Right? He wouldn't have just left without saying bye or giving her
an explanation. Plus, why three men if it was just a replacement?
She swallowed, assured herself with this logic. 
 "He's busy, milady," the guard answered. 
"Doing what?" she asked; it was like pulling teeth.
They looked at each other. What did they not want her to
know?
"He's in charge," another guard answered. He was
smaller, more manageable. He didn't look like he could break a
man's neck with just one hand. 
"Of what?" she gritted out.
Really, how hard was it to give her a straight answer? 
"You won't faint on us, will you?" the third
           questioned.
Her eyes shot to him. He was stout with a thick beard and
large brown eyes that implored her to answer honestly. She
snorted. Of all the sexist things to ask!
"I won't faint. I'm not some dainty flower."
They looked at each as though questioning
            that assessment. 
"There is an assassin, milady, out for His Majesty the
King. and Sir Mather is in charge of his protection detail."
Emma gripped the door frame as Summer Eyes words
flashed before her eyes. 
It would be nice if you could find the crown jewels before
the thief takes it out…
The crown jewels were King Aalam. Her head spun, she
was going to vomit, eyes wide she turned inside and found a trash
can, feeling bad for whoever had to clean it as she emptied her
insides which was a mixture of raw bile and the remnants of
dinner last night, which felt like days ago not simply an evening
before. The men rushed forward; one held her hair back. 
"Don't worry, milady, Gilly is going to get
             some cool water." 
 Once she was done heaving her insides, the other took
the trash bin from her and rushed it away. Well, maybe that made
up for the sexist comment. The one that had held her hair back led
her to the chair. 
"Sit, milady. It'll make you feel better as Gilly
           gets that water." 
"Thank you," she said weakly. The man nodded. 
"Of course, milady Sir Mather said to take care of you,
and he was rather firm about it," the man said it matter-of-factly.
"That sounds like him." She smiled. She left off the rest
of the sentence.
He is
a
lways taking care of me. 
The guard named Gilly rushed in with a glass full of cool
water. 
"Here you are, milady," he said and handed it to her. 
"Thank you dearly, Mr. Gilly, or is it sir?" she asked as
she accepted and sipped. 
"Sir, ma'am," he answered, and he stood at attention. She
nodded. 
"Then thank you, Sir Gilly," 
He gave a sharp nod. He was older than the other; his
hair was receding and sprinkled with gray. She turned to Mr.
Muscles. 
"What's your name, sir?" she asked. 
"Mr. Pines, milady." 
"Good to meet you." 
"And the one that whisked away your insides is Sir
Raymond." 
She nodded and took another sip of her water. 
"It is a pleasure to meet you all. Would you mind if we
went and found Sir Mather after Sir Raymond came back?" she
asked.
 They nodded. Sir Gilly did warn her, though, that they
might not be able to talk to him; he was busy today. Emma
nodded. It felt strange knowing she didn't have immediate
connection to Liam whenever she pleased, and it made her insides
twist uncomfortably. 
"Why did he send three, sir?" she wondered aloud. 
"Said there was a threat on you," Pines answered.
Oh, that.
 
She finished off the water and set it down on the end
table as Sir Raymond rushed in. With his bushy beard and stout
frame, Raymond seemed an appropriate name. She stood slowly to
ensure her legs didn't give out on her. 
"Thank you, Sir Raymond, for taking care of
           that." She smiled at him. He nodded. 
"You’re welcome, milady." 
"We are going to go find Sir Mather and maybe a deeper
explanation of all that going on here." 
Like how he'd concluded there was an assassin on the
loose.
They wandered around for a while, trying to clue together
where Liam was. It was strange having three men follow her every
move; even when they were discreet. It was different with Liam.
He was her friend. She took his arm, and he escorted her as well as
protected her. He didn't follow her around like a glamorized
stalker. She knew she should be thankful for the extra protection,
especially with warnings from Mill Bellows the evening before.
However, it still left her unsettled as she asked around until
someone finally had a legitimate answer. Liam was staying close
to King Aalam. The king had been banned from leaving his office,
at least for the rest of the day. They rushed toward the office; a
cluster of men and women had assembled for instruction when
they arrived. The hall was cramped and loud, but she could see the
bright orange hair near the back of the crowd. Determined, she
took a deep breath and plunged through the mass of people
realizing she probably didn't hold much weight; she probably
looked like a maid with her simple day dress, her hair doing only
God knew what, and she may or not have vomit on her lip. That
last one was unlikely, she hoped. 
"Excuse me," 
"Sorry." 
"Pardon." She muttered as she shoved her way through
the mass of bodies. 
She heard her new bodyguards grunting and maneuvering
through the crowd. Finally, she reached the end. Liam didn't spot
her immediately. He stood with his hands behind his back.
Confidence exuded from his body like he'd been born to do this.
He was born to lead men and women toward victory or, in this
case, protect their ruler. 
Pride began to well even as sadness threatened to
overwhelm her. 
He had a way with people; they trusted him, listened to
him. She bit her lip as she watched him talk to a bigger man who
looked like he was missing half of his teeth when he grinned.
Finally, her guards caught up to her and crowded around her. 
"There he is milady. Are you going to talk to him?" Sir
Gilly asked. She nodded stoutly. 
"Sir Mather!" she called. Liam's head snapped in her
direction; his face clouded. He looked past her to the guards. 
"What is she doing here?" he asked; his voice was stern
as though ready to scold them. 
Anger bubbled up; he ignored her, subtly shifting away
from her by asking her guards instead of her. 
 "Don't resort to such basic tactics. I'm not a child, and I
won't be treated as such." 
She firmed her lips. Liam looked at her, his eyes
boring into her. She stared back. His eyes were a tsunami today,
filled with a pain she couldn't name since he wouldn't tell her.
Bitterness rose within her. Why did he shut her out every time she
got too close? What was his problem? He could trust her! Hadn't
she proven that by now? He walked up to her and offered his arm.
She took hold before he turned to the crowd. 
"I'll be back in a moment; I need to sort something out. It
shall only take a moment!"
Displeased chatter roared to life as Liam led Emma to a
side room and shut the door. 
"Emma, you need to be smart."
She lifted her chin and hardened her face in defiance. 
"Liam, I am. I'm not a child." 
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "But you are." 
Hurt at his comment, betrayal that he would say it to her
face, and bitter anger at his gumption swelled within her rioting
for a place on her tongue. She clenched her teeth until her jaw
ached so she wouldn't scream at him like a banshee. 
"What?"
It was all she could manage.
He looked at her hard, his face blank, but
eyes were storms. Loud raging storms where the thunder clashed
one after another. She could see he was about to send down a
lightning bolt and burn her ship down as if it weren't already
sinking. 
"You're a senseless, naïve, rash child, and you need to
think more! There is a threat your head! You can't go rushing
around fully exposed, your guard practically heaving to catch up
to you!" His voice slightly raised.
He'd never yelled at her, no matter how frustrated he
became at her stupidity. She flinched. 
Hot tears singed her eyes, the lightning struck, and it
burned horribly. It singed a hole in her stomach. She let out an
angry sniff as she plopped down on the couch. It burned because it
was the truth; she'd been thinking it all along. She knew it, but she
hoped Liam saw her differently. Naively she'd hoped that he saw
her as respectable, brave, and while maybe naïve, it was in a cute,
innocent way. 
Why was she so stupid? Of course, he wouldn't think of
her like that! Her life wasn't a book! Naivete was a curse in their
situation; it put more burden on his shoulders. Of course, he didn't
find it cute! Once she had gotten more control of herself, she
replied, "Well then, we're a perfect match, aren't we? A bastard
and a naïve chit. Perfect." She didn't even give him time to
respond; she didn't want to see his face any longer. She didn't even
want to hear an apology. It would feel wrong for him to cover the
truth any longer.   
"Keep that in mind as you search for the truth because
often you have to break your back for it."
The words from Summer Eyes' letter thundered through
her head, and she raced out, met the hordes, and pushed her way
for freedom. She was broken; no wonder she was in such pain.
She only hoped it would soon turn to numbness.
 
 
 
 
 
     
Chapter 42
 
 
 
Aalam stared down at legal documents unseeingly. His
heart raced. Even after trying to calm down, his shoulder ached
from being tense all morning, but he couldn’t relax them. He
might not be able to until the, he swallowed, until they found the
killer. Nervously, he shifted the papers around. Ignoring the
shuffle that seemed to be going on right outside his door. At least
until he heard a distinctly feminine voice outside demanding
entrance. The same voice that had called him a privileged joke the
evening prior.
Aalam stood. He wasn’t doing anything productive
anyway. Cracking his neck, he stepped to the door and opened it.
 The guards who’d been assigned to his door stood blocking a
pretty auburn hair woman. Natasha Mather. She stood in all her
icy, rigid glory. 
“This is a matter of national security. I need inside that
office!” 
Aalam flared his nostrils. She had some nerve coming
here to see him! 
He thinned his lips before saying. “Good day, Miss
Mather.”
Her head snapped up, and was that relief he saw? It
couldn’t be. She’d 
NEVER 
be relieved to see him, the privileged
joke he was. 
“Your Majesty! I have an urgent matter to discuss with
you,” she stated forcibly. 
“Is it about my attire?” he asked. 
She had the good sense at least to look embarrassed. 
“No, your Majesty?” 
He smirked. 
“Hmm, is it about how I decorate?” 
Her cheeks flushed a deeper red. 
“No,” she croaked.
“Guards, you can let her past,” he sighed.
They looked back at him aghast. 
“But Sir Mather said that no one was supposed to go into
your office without his
            approval.” 
Aalam smiled. 
“Seeing as though this is his baby sister, I do think he
would approve.” 
He resisted an eye roll;
and there is the small matter that
I am the king.
 He had to appreciate their obedience. Perhaps it was to
the wrong person, but that was a small matter. Finally, they
stepped aside and let Natasha inside. The door clicked shut. 
“That was incredibly naive for a king. I could be your-
well, you know,” she said, the relief gone, replaced with her usual
disdain
 “Then you would be the dumbest assassin,” he
                  replied.
 “Cause that’s all I am.” She rolled her eyes.
“I’m a privileged joke.”
Why had that stuck? Maybe because he’d always kind of
felt like that? He did live well, very well compared to most. It
made him uncomfortable if he thought about it too hard. 
 “You only hate it because it’s honest.” 
“Speak for yourself.” 
“That was a bad come back.”
The statement was made with a slight smirk as though
she’d won somehow. He bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t
make that easy on her. 
 “Sorry, all my money has weakened my brain,” Aalam
said with a simpering smile as he made way for his desk.
“Now you’re just being petulant,” she stated with a small
huff.
 “Sorry, it’s the wealth talking,” he said with a wave of
his hand toward his head. “It makes me a little ditzy.” 
“Is it the same money that makes you rude?” she asked
with a frown. 
The audacity,
Aalam thought. How were she and Liam
related? They were complete opposites.
“Is it the same poverty that makes you rude?” he retorted,
fed up with her attitude. He’d been nothing but nice to her, and she
 was acting as though he’d kicked a baby or two. Her cheeks
heated, and her fist clenched at her sides. 
 “How dare you stereotype me!” Her voice raised a
degree. Aalam sat behind his desk and clasped his hand loosely
together on the surface. 
“Well, good, we can be stereotypes together.” 
 “What do you mean?” she asked, annoyed. The
               disdain in her voice was poignant. 
 “You put me in a box marked ‘Wealth evil.’ It’s like you
couldn’t see past the nice coat. Should I spit at your feet when I
see the peasant dress and scuffed shoes and call you scum?” 
 “It’s not the same!” she said flippantly as though only
the rich should respect the poor. It had a name, and it was called
hypocrisy. 
 “Look, I know I have money. I know I live in grandeur.
But I didn’t choose where I’m at, just like you didn’t choose
where you are. I have lived comfortably in the physical, but
mentally, far from it.” 
 “Should I feel bad for you?” she asked with a sneer,
clearly not touched. 
“No, most definitely not. I don’t need pity. Just like you
don’t need pity. I will never convince you of the tribulations of
wealth because I know there trivial, but I would ask that you see
past the nice coat and see the human beneath it.” 
 “Wealth destroys humanity.” 
The statement baffled Aalam to no end. Someone in
power had hurt this woman. He’d only said one rude thing to her,
and it was only to prove a point. What was wrong with her? So
abstinent in hearing the truth. His mouth hung open. Quickly
snapped it shut. 
“Who hurt you?” 
  “That’s presumptuous.” 
“Presumptions, sound familiar?” 
She just sniffed. 
“This isn’t what I came for. I came to give you this.” She
reached into the satchel she’d been carrying. He hadn’t noticed it
until then. She pulled out a notebook. It was brown and looked
about as beat up as his storybook. She stepped forward and
plopped it on his desk. He reached for it and flipped through it. 
“What is it?” he asked. 
“Notes,” she swallowed. “There to help you to figure out
who is the,” she cleared her throat, “assassin.” 
He looked at her a moment before nodding his head. 
“Thank you. I’ll look through it. Who are
             ‘they’ from?” 
She shrugged. 
“I can’t say any more than what’s in there. Good day.”
She bobbed a brief curtsy before heading for a door. 
“Not so fast.”
She stiffened at his call.
“Who are you? Why do you have this? Why do you think
you can disrespect your king?” 
She just stood there, staring at the wall. 

“I’m Natasha Mather, sister of
Sir Mather, and am a maid. There is nothing more to say. As to
why I feel I can disrespect you?” He heard the smile in her voice
even if he couldn’t see it. “Because I know you won’t hurt me.
You aren’t strong enough.” And with her final blow, she was
gone. 
 
 
 
Liam opened the king’s door after being called. He’d
been sitting, head in his hands on the couch, when one of the
guards came requesting his presence from the king.
He’d hurt Emma. He’d seen it in her face as she raced
away.
“Well then, we’re a perfect match, aren’t we?
              A bastard and a naïve chit, perfect.”
Fear had battled through him when he saw her face. It
had sunk its nasty teeth into his heart as he saw her blue eyes light
up when she saw him. He had to ruin it before that respect died
from events swirling out of control. She couldn’t respect him he
had to destroy it. 
His hand twisted the knob to the king’s office and
stepped inside. 
 “Yes, your majesty?”
The king’s face was pensive. His feet were kicked up on
the desk again as he flipped through a brown notebook that looked
beaten and worn. 
“What’s that?” he asked.
The king swung down. 
“It’s a notebook that’s supposed to help us figure out who
this man is.”
He shut the notebook and stood. He handed it to Liam,
who glanced down at it. As he studied it, it looked vaguely
familiar. He flipped through it. 
“Who’s it from?” 
“Anonymous.” 
He grunted as he continued to flip through
the notebook. There were ripped-out pages in the
front. He ran his fingers over the pages. He looked to the
handwriting. His fear worsened, grew tenfold.  
“I saw somewhere that writing helps
               anxiety: maybe journaling will help.”
He handed her the brown notebook he’d
splurged on, spent his last few coins on the little notebook and
pencil. Her large light brown eyes looked up at him in wonder and
she took the little book.
“Thank you.” She caressed the cover.
His stomach sank to his toes. He looked up to the king
who stared at the wall. His eyes looked distant. Did he know?
“Are you okay?” the king jumped and looked toward
him.
“Yeah. Have you notified the kitchen about poison; I was
thinking that could be a method of assassination.” He rubbed his
chin.
 “I already sent a man to do that.”
The king nodded absently. “Good, good.”
“This notebook is written from Natasha.”
Liam said coolly, refusing to exert any
more emotion than was necessary.
           He couldn’t show the pain that swirled around inside him.
He’d lost Emma. And, even though Tash was here with him, Liam
felt as though he were losing her all over again.
The king winced at Liam’s sudden exclamation. Liam
gritted his teeth as fear and anger battled for reign. He spun
toward the door.
“Excuse me I need to make a call.”
  
 
 
 
 
 
 

     
      Chapter 43
 
 
He took a deep breath to settle himself. The monsters
were fierce today. Everyone he loved was putting themselves in
danger that he couldn’t control. All control was slipping through
his fingers.
God, I need faith.
Nothing. No answer. Liam growled. When would his
faith be enough? Would it ever be enough? He shook himself. He
could think about it later. He tapped on the door and heard
shuffling behind it the door. A weary Natasha looked at him.
“I knew you were coming.”
 “Seeing as though I gave you that notebook, it wasn’t that
hard to figure out.”
She just nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders.
“You may as well come in I can see the steam coming off
you.”
He stepped inside and looked around the cosy room with
its singular bed, chair, and wardrobe. Simple but accommodating.
He heard the door click behind them and waited until his sister sat
on her neatly made bed. Her hands folded over her lap.
Liam stared at her as she sat primly on her bed, so
different from the Plains and their mats with furs. 
“Why?” he croaked out, his fury turning to deep anguish
he couldn’t express. She betrayed him. Just like their mother had.
It stung beyond what any poet could even write. She looked at him
with her perfect caramel eyes that glittered in the dim light. Her
mouth was pulled tight as though something sour rested on her
tongue. 
“You would never have let me go.” 
“But why did you need to leave?” 
Silence. She only stared at her feet. 
“Why did you need to leave? I don’t
understand! You had Lindsey, Charlene, me!” Liam cursed his
sentimental side. Sometimes, he cared too deeply. His heart so
open, and no matter how many times he tried to harden it, he
never could. Thus, Liam cried at an empty tent in the evening like
a mother hen. He took a freckled girl, with a bluster, that a rooster
would admire, who strove, stuck out her chin and he’d tucked her
into his wing like another sister. He wasn’t ready to let go. How
could he ever be free of duty when he kept finding it? It was
almost as if he didn’t want to be free. That couldn’t be possible.
He wanted it. He did. 
 Silence still permeated the air, haunting in the memories
and emotions it provoked. 
“Natasha!” he snapped.
Her head jerked up, caramel eyes flashing. 
“You don’t want the truth, Liam.” 
“That’s presumptuous!” 
She cringed as he threw his hands in the air as
               emphasis. 
“I hate you,” she mumbled. 
“Yeah, the feeling is currently mutual.” 
Her red hair fell around her shoulders as she
continued to stare at the ground. It struck Liam how young she
was, how most eighteen-year-olds were worrying about suitors,
future families, and careers. Roughly, he ran a hand over his face. 
“I’m sorry, Tash. I-I-” 
“I know,” a smile flickered on her lips. “We were always
the stubborn, righteous fools.”
 The statement stunned Liam. He’d always been teased
for being tight-laced and holy. 
“You speak life a fifty-year-old.”
Emma’s statement flashed through his mind. He never
thought about what people had called Natasha. 
Prude. Saintly priss.
The words rushed at him. Seemingly, trauma pushed you
in two directions Lindsey was one, Natasha and him the other. You
couldn’t seem to sit happily in the middle. He folded himself onto
the bed with his sister. 
“Please, tell me the truth.”
She looked at him as if considering what to say and
reveal. She heaved a breath. 
 “I loved all you very deeply, but I felt as though I sat
around doing nothing. I felt as though I was contributing nothing
to life besides being a
trauma case of what not to do,” she swallowed.
 Liam looked at his hands as he remembered how
Natasha acted in the days before she left. He remembered the
panic attacks she would shake him awake with, remembered the
frightened tears. Sadly, he remembered how she firmly resisted
hugging him for the longest time. He had never pushed the hard
places that haunted her. Liam knew he didn’t want people pushing
and shoving him so he just let her be. 
He’d given her a journal instead. 
 He sat her down across from him and whisper to breathe
and try to help ground her the only way he knew how. He talked
about the trees in summer and how parts of the world were
beautiful beyond imagination. She would always come down from
the panic, shaky and fearful, but more controlled. Afterward, he
would re-prepare her bed and make her hot tea. She would drink,
and he would continue to tell the stories. Lindsey and Charlene
would be awake by this point, and they would listen, filling their
dreams with beautiful, pleasant things. Liam always liked to think
they dreamed of flowers when they settled back down. 
“Liam?” 
Natasha’s hand rested on his shoulder as he bolted from
memories. 
“Sorry, I-I was thinking.” 
She gave a tender smile. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell
you. You always blamed yourself for my panic attacks, but they
weren’t your fault. I was weak-minded,” she admitted in a
whisper, face
             downcast. 
 Shame seemed to fill every crevice of her
being with her slumped shoulders and fidgety
fingers.
             Liam felt his expression turn fierce. Before he reached
out, he calmly asked, “May I take your hand?” 
Natasha nodded. He wrapped his hand over hers. 
“You were never weak-minded. I’ve only had one panic
attack, but it takes truly a strong person not to go insane, let alone
how many you had. That is strength. Having no control whether
you face your demons are not but coming away still fully attached
to your sanity, that is strength.” 
Once he’d finished, he saw tears in her eyes. 
“Liam, thank you!” she croaked.
 He gave a wobbly smile and silent tears
streaked down his cheeks as well. The past was horrid, but
somehow this moment healed the tiniest part of it, stitching a
wound long left untended. Suddenly, Natasha hugged him. She
grasped him to herself for the briefest, slightest of seconds. He
praised God profusely for even that tiny wonder. Liam prayed one
day that she would receive physical affection without it being
overshadowed by an evil, cruel man’s wicked desires. The tears
grew heavier, dripping onto his hands as he tried to wipe them
away. Liam hadn’t cried in months, and it felt good to release all
the pent-up emotions, all the turmoil that built until it burst.
Natasha released him. No tears slithered down her cheeks, but he
saw it in her eyes, and that was enough. She smiled when she saw
him. 
“Liam, I don’t think I hate you.” 
He laughed. 
“I don’t hate you either.” 
 Silence welcomed them again as Liam collected himself
and wiped the tears from his face. 
“Tash?” he asked when his tears had subsided. 
“Yeah?” 
“What are you doing? Why do you have a
notebook full of notes about who may or may not be the killer.” 
She swallowed. 
“I can’t tell you, Liam,” she said, her brows were
furrowed. 
Suddenly, Liam understood Emma’s insistence to want to
know and it stung. It felt like a door slammed in your face. Liam
nodded, his jaw set. 
“I understand, I suppose,” 
She nodded and stared at her feet. 
“I can tell you who I think it is.” 
“Who?” he asked. 
“Do you know Gulliver Tremain?” She leaned on her
elbows on her knees, still not looking at him. 
He gritted his teeth. 
“Sadly,” he said, remembering how the man had leered at
Emma the morning she’d come to the barracks with his pipe
hanging awkwardly from his mouth like an imbecile. 
“Are you suggesting it’s him?” he asked. The man looked
like an idiot, capable of a fistfight but
             not murder, let alone killing the king. 
Natasha stood and crossed her arms. 
“I caught him receiving mail from suspicious sources.”
She walked over to her wardrobe and shifted some of her
clothes around until at the bottom sat a box. It was new. He’d
never seen it before. She reached into one of her pockets and
 grabbed a key, unlocked it, and grabbed two thick sheets of paper.
She spun around and handed them
             to Liam. 
“They’re from the Rusalka.”
Liam reached for the papers and scanned them. 
“This is utter nonsense.” he spoke. 
“They aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t send a plain letter
when it easily could fall into the wrong hands. One nosy mailman
wondering why someone is receiving mail from our enemies and 
BOOM,
their plan foiled.” 
He sighed. 
“You’re right, and it does have his name signed at the
bottom.”
He frowned. 
It was strange, though. It couldn’t be this easy. It couldn’t
be. Life didn’t work that way. 
“I’ll notify the king, and we’ll send guards to question
him, get a confession. Can I keep these?” he asked.
She shrugged. 
“I don’t need them anymore.” 
He nodded and tucked them in his pants pocket. He
stepped toward the door but then spun back. 
“Thank you for telling me the truth.” He said honestly.
She gave a tight smile. 
“I love you, Liam,” she said. 
“I love you to Natasha, no matter how many headaches
you give me.” 
He heard her laughter behind him as he shut the nicked-
up door behind him. 
 
 
  

Chapter 44
 
 
 
“Sir Tremaine! We need to talk to you, to ask you some
questions!” Liam stoutly called as he knocked on the door.
Silence.
“Sir Tremaine!” he called again, looking back to the three
guards he’d hired for the task of taking down the possible killer.
Liam’s instincts were unsure about the lead, uncertain of their
accuracy, but the papers weighing his pocket screamed
incrimination. If not possible murder, he was guilty of something.
 Suddenly, shuffling and a crash thundered from behind
the closed door.
“Sir Tremaine, we’re coming in!” he called. He twisted
the knob, locked.
Of course, it would be.
 
Liam rolled his eyes before stepping back, preparing for
the shock of knocking down the door. 
3… 2… 1
He lifted his leg, and with a firm kick, he kicked the door.
It crashed to the floor. As the man’s room was revealed, he found
a smashed oil lamp with glass shards scattered throughout. Liam
scanned side to side, looking for the man, but it was empty.
Suspiciously, he looked to the window, but it remained firmly
shut. He gritted his teeth. Where had the buffoon gone?
“Sir Tremaine!” he called again. Scanning the room, he
found the only hiding place for a man in this size bedroom. Over
by the wall stood a solid wardrobe that a desperate man could slip
into if determined. Cautiously, he toed forward. He motioned for
the men to circle behind him in case something went wrong. He
walked up to the wardrobe and opened the door from the side so in
case the man stood with a weapon ready to bash someone’s head
with.
“Sir Tremaine!”
He heard a growl and a flash of movement as the man
jump forward with something clutched in his hand. The three men
rushed forward, ready to tackle him, but Liam quickly stepped out
from behind the wardrobe door and wrenched the man by the arm.
“Sir Tremaine, you are under arrest for the act of
premeditated murder and collusion with the enemy.”  
“I didn’t -,” his voice came out as a croak, but suddenly
he jerked, and whatever was in his hands was flung across the
 room. Self-preservation demanded they duck as fear roiled around,
demanding to know what it was he threw. Logic screeched,
bomb.
Panic began to claw, but Liam was determined; he shoved
Gulliver Tremaine forward and out of the room. Men behind him
scrambled for the object. Tremaine began to cackle. Maybe he was
capable of assassination? The laugh sounded mad like all possible
logic had left him.
“You guards think you’re so smart, but in all
reality, you’re as dumb as rocks!” He continued to laugh.
               “Sir! False alarm! It’s some sort of rock!” a guard called
out.
“You’re a real one to talk,” he drawled while he shoved
the man’s shoulder forward. As they walked, his cackle echoed
down the halls.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter 45
 
 
 
Emma sat at her vanity with her lips pursed and her
shoulders slumped. No matter how many times Miss Bellows
commanded her to sit straight so her hair could be perfect, they
slouched of their own volition. Tears pricked at Emma’s eyes,
which shouldn’t be. She should celebrate. The assassin had been
found under Liam’s excellent eye and connections. But selfishly,
Emma wasn’t happy. She kept replaying their last interaction, kept
replaying his words to her. 
 “You’re just a stupid, rash, naive child!” 
It was silly, really, but it was like a splinter. Once under
your skin, it took precision to get it out, and currently, Emma’s
fingers were fumbling with the weight of her own emotions. 
Her crush had been growing, developing under each
stroke of his tender care and affection, growing into something
dangerous. But he’d brutally kicked it. The disappointment and
rejection felt like a stack of bricks on her chest. 
So stupid. 
He’d never given any interactions that had suggested
romantic interest. He’d always treated her like a sister. Emma
squeezed her eyes shut. 
Why was she so stupid?! 
A knock sounded on the door. Who could
            that possibly be? 
“I’ll get it, milady,” Diana mumbled. 
“Thank you,” she answered. The door creaked open, and
she heard the woman give a slight gasp. 
“Sir Mather, what are you doing back here! You are smart
enough to remember the rules.”
The gentle scold brought a small smile to her even as
surprise filtered. 
It was Liam.
The thought brought indigestion. She wasn’t sure she
could face him so soon after he dismissed her. 
“I need to speak to Lady Ambrose.”
She could hear him from where she sat. 
She fiddled with the pins on the vanity surface. What
could Liam possibly want? Probably wanted to dig the knife in
deeper, throw a couple more splinters in her direction. 
 “I’m afraid she’s a little preoccupied,” the woman said
stubbornly. 
Thank you, Diana! 
Emma inwardly praised. 
“You really shouldn’t be back here, Sir
Mather,” her voice sounded worried. As though a young lady
might be offended instead of pleased that a handsome bodyguard
stood in the hall. Emma frowned. Why hadn’t she thought of that
before? Liam certainly had his options. Even with his scar and
orange hair, he wasn’t hard on the eyes. His imperfections added
character to an otherwise perfect face. She groaned. He wouldn’t
want her when he could have a lady as stunning as Annabelle
Byronic. She wasn’t ugly, wasn’t even average, but she wasn’t
drop-dead gorgeous. 
She was an idiot. 
“Sorry, Miss Bellows, but I’m not leaving until I see the
lady.”
His voice was stern, no-nonsense. 
She sighed. 
Liam wasn’t leaving. 
She stood and walked over to where he stood. He looked
at her and she could see the troubled expression. She inwardly
winced. 
That couldn’t bode well. 
“Have you come to bash me further?” she asked. 
She couldn’t help but get in a bit of snipe. She saw him
wince and couldn’t help smirking a little bit. Maybe let him feel
some of the foolishness she’d been drowning in for the last half a
day.
“I’m sorry, Emma.”
She rolled her eyes. Of course. Now, when it was
convenient for him, he dropped the title. 
 “Sir Mather, I forbid you from using my given name.”
She lifted her nose in the air. Lifting her eyes to the sky, sending a
prayer to a God she didn’t even fully believe in, praying she would
make it through this interaction without crying. She heard Liam
suck in a little breath. 
“I’m sorry, Lady Ambrose. Truly. It was cruel of me.” 
She lowered her eyes and stared at him for a moment.
Was he genuinely sorry? He seemingly went from a block of ice to
her best friend, big-brother, crush. She pursed her lips. 
“I can’t trust you, Sir Mather, since you can’t seem to
make up your mind if you’re my friend or not,” she said honestly,
as much as it tore her apart on the inside. She heard Liam blow out
a breath. 
“I’ll be over there.” Diana mumbled as she looked
between them. She seemed to have a twitchy smile. Emma
glowered at her. Wasn’t she supposed to be on her side? 
“Lady Ambrose, I’m going to be extremely blunt with
you, and I need to know if this isn’t resolved that you won’t use it
against me.” 
She swallowed. Did Liam think that little of her? 
“I hope you would know me better.” 
He ran a hand through his hair and ducked his head. 
“Right. I’m really digging myself a grave here,” he said. 
She didn’t argue with him. 
“I’m scared, Lady Ambrose.”
His face was blank. 
What was he scared of? 
“I’ve failed people my whole life I let them down again
and again, and I-,” he pursed his lips before continuing, “I saw the
admiration growing in your eyes as though you thought some
 storybook hero come to rescue you from all your woes. But that’s
not me.” The words seemed to strangle him. 
The blank expression was gone, replaced
with an extreme amount of vulnerability in his eyes.
Emma frowned. He feared letting her down?
“Sir Ma-,”
He held up a hand. 
“Please let me finish.” He swallowed, “I thought I needed
to squash that admiration. I’m not a storybook hero, but rather a
coward who has trust issues from a crap hole of a
               childhood.” 
Emma was speechless. She had no idea what to say to all
of 
that. 
The silence expounded on itself, and Liam bowed after a
minute. 
“Thank you for listening, milady. I hope you can find it in
your heart to forgive me.”
He twirled around and rushed away. 
He was gone faster than she could find words. Faster than
she could call out his name. But would she have if she could have?
She didn’t know. She bit her lip. She could forgive Liam,
but she could be friends with him when he saw her as a long-lost
sister? She wasn’t sure. 
 
 

 
 
 
  

            
 
 

Chapter 46
                 
 
 
 
Aalam eased back in his chair, kicking his feet up as he
waited. Prayer on his lips as anger broiled beneath the surface. 
 Help me forgive her, Lord. I don't want to dislike her. I
want to follow your will Lord, and you've called me to reach out to
her. But she's not making it very easy. Give me patience that's not
mine, but Yours. Dear Lord, I need patience. 
He heard rustling from outside the parlor. He was either
insane or stupid for asking Natasha Mather here. She hated him
for some unseen reason. 
He'd always sensed a lot of history in the Mather family.
Cautiously, he'd never asked, knowing how personal "history"
could be. He firmed his lips. 
Some secrets were better left hidden. 
The door creaked, and he stood. The beautiful Natasha
Mather swished inside; her face as cold as ever. Except her eyes.
Her eyes held a different sort of emotion today, one Aalam
couldn't name. He bowed. 
"Good day Miss Mather."
She curtsied a quick bounce. He pursed his lips. She still
held disdain. He sighed. 
"You want tea Miss Mather?" he motioned to the tea set
on the table before them. 
The lady studied it for a moment as though he might
brew poison into it for the sake of it. 
He was insane. 
"I do, thank you." 
"I think that's your first polite word to me," he
commented with a sarcastic edge. 
"Don't push me, your majesty. I'm in a good mood." 
Ah, yes. Her information did help catch Gulliver
Tremaine, who confessed to everything.
He began to pour the tea. 
"Sugar or milk?" 
 "Both," she said. 
"Ironic," he mumbled. 
"I said not to test me, your majesty," she bit
             out.
 He handed the teacup to her and raised his hands in
surrender. 
"Sorry, it's a habit with you in my presence." 
She snorted. 
"You don't have to tell me I'm not the easiest Mather to
get along with."
The comment sounded derisive. 
He bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from asking,
mostly because he knew he'd get a quick kick to the face. 
"I need to thank you for your beneficial information." 
He poured his cup while dropping a sugar
cube into it and stirring. Miss Mather didn't reply. He looked up
and saw, blushing? She stared down at her teacup, swirling the
liquid inside. 
"You're welcome," she mumbled in reply. 
"Will you be at the celebration?" he asked as he sat,
easing back while blowing on the steaming tea. 
He looked up to see all embarrassment gone. The
woman's lips were pulled up in some dry smirk. 
"Your majesty, you constantly forget our station
differences. I have something you might not have heard of before,
but it sounds like this… work." 
Aalam decided instead of being offended every time she
made a snide comment about him, he would laugh. He would
laugh because he'd get nowhere by constantly getting offended.
Words didn't work, so he'd have to show her what kind of man he
was. 
 His lips curved up, and he let out a low chuckle while
rubbing the teacups brim before taking a sip. 
"Miss Mather, I will inform, since you seem
unaware, that the staff has off that evening. I hired
a wannabe party planning company, so you are completely free
that evening to attend as a guest. All staff has been invited."
                   It was his turn to have a smug smirk on his face. Her
smile dimmed, and she drank her tea as though avoiding the
answer. He knew her answer would be no. He'd asked, knowing
the answer, but why was she hesitant to answer? Yesterday, she
would have said without a hint of remorse. 
"Excuses, Miss Mather. You're full of them."
He took another sip. She looked at him a moment before
snatching her gaze back at her half-full teacup. 
"I don't know, your majesty," she said softly. 
"As I said, everyone is invited, especially you. You
helped so significantly." 
Her eyes were downcast. 
"What does one do at a party?" she asked almost
wistfully. 
The question took Aalam by surprise. No one asked what
happened at a party. Everyone just knew. 
"You know, talk, dance, eat, drink and be merry." He
explained with a casual shrug. Her lips thinned. 
"I'm not very good at those things." 
"Miss Mather?" She looked up at him and the emotion he
could finally place vulnerability.  "Have you ever attended a
party?" He asked.
She swallowed hard and looked away. 
"No," 
 How could that be? Undoubtedly, the Mountain people
had parties. 
"Do you mind me asking why?"
"People have never agreed with me."
The answer seemed strange and vague. 
Meaning she didn't handle people well, they didn't handle
her well, or both? He gave a slight hum before gulping back the
last bit of his tea. 
"You could come with me, be my guest if you feel
uncomfortable. Parties can be fun if done right." He gave a smile. 
She snapped her head up, and the vulnerability was
replaced with panic before all emotion clattered shut. 
"Why? So you could make a statement out of
me? I think not," she snapped, the familiar ice back. 
He forced himself not to tense. "Miss Mather, the
moment I make a 'statement' out of anyone, is the moment I burn
in hell. I was asking you purely out of friendship."
He set his teacup on the table and leaned forward. 
The lady sniffed. 
"We're not friends." 
He let out a sigh. 
"In your eyes, I suppose not. But if you ever need one
that's not your brother, I'm here."
He smiled, and she seemed to tense. 
"We're not friends," she stated again before standing and
giving a brief curtsy. He stood along with her. 
"Good day, Miss Mather," he stated while he bowed.
"You as well," she nodded.
Lord. 
It was the only word Aalam could manage as his
heart managed to break. Something was wrong. Something he'd
been too angry to see. Natasha Mather was lonely and scared. But
she didn't seem in any rush to fix it. 
Why should you be her friend? She was rude
             to you, has always been,
the selfish part of him whispered,
stroking his ego, his pride. 
"Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. There is none
other commandment greater than these."
He supposed that was why he should, as the Bible Verse
repeated itself in his head. He stared at the floor as he thought
before rubbing a hand down his face and blowing out a breath. 
Obedience sucks sometimes.

Chapter 47
     

 
 
 
 The chatter at the table excited Emma and caused anxiety
to spark in her middle, especially since Liam was back to being
her bodyguard, even though the trio still followed them. She
hadn’t bothered asking. It had kept things less awkward as they
walked over here to the celebration. 
She sat next to Liam in all his wonder. She pursed her
lips and stared down at her plate where food sat pushed to all
corners. The anxiety forbade her from eating and enjoying herself
to a full extent. It irritated her that one measly man held so much
power over her emotions. Irritatingly, she supposed, she’d given
him that access. 
The clinking of glass grabbed everyone’s attention. The
king stood from his seat at the head of the table. His young face
was alight with happiness and what seemed to be contentment. 
“I want to offer a toast to all who worked to take down
this recent threat!” he boomed over the table. A few rowdy, and
possibly drunken cheers went up from over the room.
 “I want to thank Sir William Mather for his faithful
dedication! If you’ll stand, Sir?” The king’s lips tipped into a grin,
and Liam stood with a bashful blush. Willingly, he accepted the
hoots and hollers. 
“A toast to Sir Mather!” the king called. Seemingly a
thousand glasses clinked and then more hoots and hollers and
clapping. Emma joined in. She grinned and winked when Liam
looked down at her with a surprised look. She let out a loud.
“Whoop! Sir Mather is our hero!” For emphasis before the king
recaught their attention and settled down. He continued down his
list of toasts, and thanks.
Emma leaned over to Liam. 
“I forgive you, Big, Tough, and Scary.” She smiled, and a
shocked but increasingly pleased look crossed his face. He
grinned, and suddenly he leaned over and kissed her cheek. Emma
tried not to look embarrassed, especially when he turned back to
the king without a second thought.   

He probably kisses his sisters on
the cheek all the time, 
she assured herself and turned back to the
king, cheering and raising her glass at the appropriate time. But
she couldn’t seem to forget how his lips had felt on her skin. Way
too good. 
 
 
 
He felt like a fake. Like he was a criminal pulling off the
heist of the year. What was he stealing? Respect. His stomach had
been tied in fancy knots for hours, leaving him feeling jittery and
shaken. He stepped toward the door, needing a moment of peace
from people congratulating him as though he’d done something
more than his job. Liam’s mind whirred as he rushed for the back
door before shoving it open, stepping into the black expanse that
was night. Sharp, cool fall air met his face, and he smiled as the
edges of peace met him. He could think out here. Reverently, he
could stare at the stars God painted the sky with every night and
breathe.
 No bothering people wanted to meet Sir William
Mather… the hero, the fraud. He blew out his breath and set up a
prayer. 
Lord, let all this glory go to you. 
It was the only thing his cluttered mind could make up.
He and God hadn’t talked much recently. Stupidly, he’d been
distracted. It was the fault of every man, but it still wasn’t an
excuse. 
Aimlessly he walked and decided to do some praying. As
he walked, talked, confessed everything, and explained
everything, he somehow felt lighter, more grounded. The knots
were still twisted, but his mind felt more organized, less like a
trash pile that needed sorting. 
“Liam, are you okay?” A soft voice rang through the
night. He spun, his mind mid-prayer when he saw the puckered,
confused-faced Emma watching him. The moon bathed her face in
the pale light. Her arms were wrapped about herself, and her face
held a vulnerability that he never wanted to shut out. The concern
was palpable; he swallowed hard as unbrotherly feelings crashed
over him. 
She’d forgiven him. He smiled at her, and in the rush of
happiness that followed her statement, he’d done something
dumb; he’d kissed her on the cheek. Emma walked up to his side. 
“It’s pretty out here tonight. You know, I was thinking,” 
“That’s dangerous,” he said without thinking, their easy
relationship always fell back like this. 
She punched him in the arm. 
“Between you and Lindsey, I’m permanently bruised.”
She rolled her eyes. 
“Woe is Liam, the hero of all Quartervois.” The grin that
followed warmed his belly while the words sent ice through his
 blood. 
“Emma, I’m no hero,” he mumbled. 
She looked at him, her eyes so trusting. Her lips still
tipped into a smile. 
“Liam, just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t
the truth. I think you’re more of a hero than they,” she pointed to
the building crowded with people, “will ever know.” She bumped
his shoulder. The touch made him hyper-aware of the nerves in his
shoulder. He frowned and looked to the ground. 
“Don’t say that again, or I will bolt,” he said, half-joking.
Emma laughed. 
“I already experienced it.” 
He cringed while he rubbed the back of his neck. 
“Right.” 
She grabbed his hand and held it close to her because
now that was okay to do. He stared at their intertwined hands like
a schoolboy struck dumb that a pretty girl wanted anything to do
with him. Her hands were so small, delicate, but capable. It made
him smile warmly, rather like the woman herself. 
“Liam.” 
“Uh?” His head jerked up, and his cheeks heated,
              hoping the dim light would mask it. 
“Did you hear anything I said?” Her brows furrowed; he
crooked a sloppy grin. 
“No.” 
She huffed, “I could’ve spilled my heart to
           you, and you would be none the wiser.” 
“What does your heart have to say?” he asked, the grin
gone. 
She looked him in the eye for a moment, and suddenly he
understood the concept of waves.  
 Repeatedly, something crashed in her eyes.
Unexpectedly, she looked down, and he saw a blush. He
took a step closer, their hands still clasped together between them. 
“Emma.”
Her eyes were skittish, but after a moment, they re-settled
on his face. His stomach dropped to his toes. 
Desire. 
He saw plain desire written across her face. She dropped
his hands, and one went up to his face. Her thumb began to outline
his scar, he could barely feel it, but the moment was surreal. His
hand flopped against his side. 
Pull away, pull away, pull away!
his mind screeched.
Why had he stepped closer? Her fingers moved away from his
scar to the bottom of his chin, where she cupped his cheek. 
“My heart says this,” her voice so soft he could barely
hear her even with only mere inches between them. 
“Emma.”
His voice was ragged, but he couldn’t get the rest out
as she went up on her tiptoes and pressed her perfect lips to his. 
He didn’t even close his eyes. He couldn’t let himself
think how good it felt, couldn’t let himself go because he could so
easily kiss her back, drag her to himself and lose all sense.
 Tonight, when he finally dragged himself to bed and
curled under his sheets, he didn’t want to feel like a cad. He could
never lead sweet, beautiful, vivacious Emma on. Gently, he placed
his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. Her eyes
fluttered up to him; precious shreds of hope remained in his eyes. 
His heart sagged. He was going to break Emma anyway,
but he had no choice. 
“Emma, I can’t kiss you back,” he said. 
“Why?” her voice wavered.
 He swallowed hard. It physically pained him to swallow
as the emotions rose to choke him. 
“You aren’t going to like my answer,” he said
            softly. 
She crossed her arms as though preparing
for him to kick, which he might as well be doing. Her eyes
crashed again. Tsunami was a perfect description. He braced
himself for her explosion as the following words left his lips. 
“The Bible tells me not to get….” he ran a hand through
his hair, “romantically involved with a non-believer.” That was the
most delicate way he could think to speak. 
He looked to Emma, who stared at him. A few wayward
tears streaked down her beautiful cheeks. No explosion. 
“I see,” she said simply. Impressively, he saw her spine
straighten before she spoke. 
“Liam, it’s just a kiss, not marriage.” 
“Yes, only a kiss, but,” he sighed, the situation was so
tenuous. How to make her understand? “but a kiss is the start of
something, and I refuse to be casual with your feelings or any
woman for that matter. I’m not willing to lead you on to anything
more than friendship because I can’t offer you anything more.”
“So, if I were a part of your religion, you would have no
issues kissing me?” she asked. Her arms seemed to go even
tighter. 
“You can’t just be ‘a part.’ You have to
believe. You have to follow the Lord; it’s more than attending
services and praying occasionally.” 

She just stared at her feet as he
explained. His heart cracked; he’d broken her and crushed that
innocent part of her. She’d given her first kiss to him, and he’d
squashed it with his boot heel, but he knew it was for better. 
“Good night, Emma. I’m deeply sorry for any
pain. I hope you can forgive me again.” 
 
 
 
Coldly, distantly she watched him walk away until
everything hit her, until the anger gained a footing in her aching
heart. Desperately, she scrambled after him. Emma had to save
this somehow. Surely, it wasn’t his religion. She firmed her lips.
No. No, it was that stupid fear of his. 
“No! You don’t just get to walk away!” she yelled, her
feet pounding the earth as she dug her fingernails into his skin. His
expression was complex.
“You don’t have the right to walk away. None! I do, but
you don’t!” Her breath was heavy from emotion. Her lips still
remembered the taste of his lips, his still, unmoving lips. “You
can’t just walk away as though you don’t care because I’m not
dumb enough to believe your blank expressions. I’m not dumb
enough to leave you alone. You’re the dumbass, not me,
 remember?” The anger turned into grief, desperation. Tears started
to stream; she hugged him. She didn’t care how solid and tight he
held himself; she wouldn’t let him leave. 
“I felt you, and we understand each other. I know you’ve
felt that in those moments, and I know you felt the same.” Her
voice broke. 
Liam just stood, so solid she thought he hadn’t heard a
word she said until finally, he rumbled, “Desperation is a man’s
grave.”
               He gripped her arms and pulled her off him.  
His eyes were sad as he said the words, “It’s something
my sister used to say to me. Pleading isn’t going to change
anything, Em.”
The tears came swifter as she violently shook her head. 
“This isn’t desperation. This is determination. You break
every time you leave, don’t you-”
“STOP!” His voice sounded in agony.
 His face broke into a million pieces. 
“I leave because I must. This isn’t something I do
because I’m scared. I do it because I’m brave.” he stated. 
Her eyebrows drew into furrows.
“You don’t have to leave this time.” She
reached to stroke his face; he turned away. It stung,
but she continued to push.
 “Liam, be weak.” 
He looked at her as though she had gone crazy.
“Be weak. Be vulnerable for once in your life. I will not
              judge you for your tears, your fear.”
He looked at her hard.
“I live within myself every day. I live with my
weaknesses if I show them...” the briefest flash of fear crossed his
face before he turned to stone. 
She punched him in the chest. He flinched only the tiniest
bit.
“Break!” 
She punched him again. 
“Break!”
Again. 
Again. 
Again.
Liam’s hands wrapped around her arms and pulled her
close. His breath was hot and tense as he spoke, his voice hard. 
“Breaking isn’t a possibility. This is for your wellbeing.”
She replied, her voice just as tense, “It is with me.”
 He let her go. 
“Leave, please, just leave.” His face was hard, so hard.
Her heart ached.
“I leave, and suddenly you’re safe. Hidden, I can’t do
that.” Her voice was firm despite the tears, despite the roiling fear
in her gut that she would lose him for once and for all. 
“It isn’t the end of our story yet.” Her eyes bore into him,
begging him with her eyes to trust her enough to be open. His eyes
grew soft, and his hands reached for her face; she soaked it up,
stepping into his hands. They caressed her face. 
Victory spilled forth. 
“Goodbye Emma, this is the end of our story.
I can’t love you how you want. Don’t you dare protest! I would
expect things of you. You couldn’t give purely because that’s not
what you believe. I am unwilling to do that. It would tear us apart.
Trust me.” 
 He stepped away and bolted down the hall so quickly
Emma knew she wouldn’t be able to catch up. 
 The victory was murdered, defeat soared through her
veins. Emma’s legs collapsed beneath her, and all she did was
stare at the empty garden. 
She lost him, somewhere in her numb brain, she realized
that her father had been right all along. 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
  Chapter 48
 
 
 
He stacked hay bail after bail, ignoring the itch the bails
caused to his revealed skin in his formal military leather.
Swallowing back tears, he reached for his sword, unsheathed it,
and in the dim hall, he began the useless practice session. He
shredded each piece carefully, full of angst and desperation. 
Desperation is a man's grave. 
The saying had come back to him when Emma had
practically jumped him. He'd seen it in her eyes, the hope to
change unchangeable circumstances. Sometimes, things couldn't
be changed, Liam growled, and you were supposed to have
enough faith that in the end, it would work out. Liam slashed and
bashed. As he did so, he relived his worst nightmares. He'd let his
sisters down and now the woman he'd stupidly grown to love. 
He couldn’t control the tears anymore. They streamed
fasters and faster until his sword dropped into the dirt. Every
feeling of being a fraud, an imposter, choked him. He was no hero,
and even though he’d done the right thing by God, he felt like he’d
squashed a butterfly. 
He could never protect the people he loved from himself.
He never had enough faith to leave them in God’s hands. He fell to
his knees. The weight of the world came crashing down on his
shoulders, and he couldn’t hold it anymore. 
He’d lost her, he knew it, Liam denied her, but wasn’t
that what he wanted in the first place? 
He might have done the right thing, but that didn’t mean
he was good. He was a selfish wretch, weak, fallible, and
impossibly human. He felt like he couldn’t breathe under the
weight of his failings. The knots tightened until he felt like he was
going to vomit all over the hall’s floor. He sat on his knees,
crying. 
He would never be good enough. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

Chapter 49
 
 
 
Emma wandered towards the hall that led to
her bedroom. She couldn’t go back to the celebration. Emma was
numb; she couldn’t even feel anxious. She couldn’t even care
where Liam had runoff. She was utterly numb. The feeling was
what she’d wanted for months. Every time she had a panic attack,
Emma wanted to be numb, but it didn’t feel good now that she
was here. She felt trapped within herself as though nothing
mattered anymore. 
She’d been shut out. She’d started to think asking
questions was good, but she was a fool. Her father was right, he
had only been trying to protect her. Distantly, she opened the hall
door, ready to crash on her bed, fall into a deep sleep, and not
wake up for weeks. 
He didn’t want her. 
No one seemed to besides her father. Her father wanted
her, her father loved her. But it was these people’s fault that he
was in jail, that he couldn’t protect her. It was their fault! A
footman stepped out of the shadows, surprising Emma. 
“Are you Lady Ambrose?” he asked, his face blasé. She
nodded, not thinking she could handle speaking. He handed her an
envelope.
She gave him a weak smile as she accepted before he
scurried off. It struck her as odd, but she dismissed it. Everything
seemed strange. Everything was cold and gray when she couldn’t
feel. Licking her lips, she looked to the letter, and her heart sprung
to life as her hand went to her neck where the key necklace sat. It
was from her father. Maybe he told her how much he loved her,
the only person to have ever loved her. She ripped the letter open,
hoping he could make her feel again, like he had after her mother
left. Encouraging her to speak again after she lost her words. 
Emma, 
I’m ashamed of you. You’ve directly disobeyed my orders
by attending Vois in my place. 
 I am immediately dismissing the idea of you as my
possible heir. You have rejected all years of trust I had in you. You
disobedient, foolish girl! This letter will be my last
correspondence. 
From, 
Water Breaker 
 
The letter was quick and knocked the world out beneath
her feet. 
No. 
No. 
No. 
No. 
Her eyes scanned the letter again; she’d read it wrong.
Surely. Denial began to drown her, drowned out the numbness.
The letter said the same thing, still dismissed her from all
connection to her father. He’d dismissed any idea of her being an
heir. The thought struck her. 
I have no one. 
She stumbled back. She’d pushed too hard. She’d asked
questions. 
Questions bring answers, and answers bring pain. 
Her feet gave out from beneath her as she crashed to the
floor. 
She had no one. 
She had no one. 
Everyone is gone. 
“I have no one,” her words choked out as she caught
herself, her knees landing painfully on the marble, her hands
burned, but none of it mattered. The pain wasn’t enough. Her heart
 raced, feeling like it was about to pound out of her chest. Her body
heaved as sobs began to rack. 
You’re alone. 
Wrench. 
Disobedient, foolish girl.
Her mind continued to spiral, dragging her deeper and
deeper into the pits of insanity. She leaned down, pressing her face
to the cold floor as her hands traveled to her face and began to
pinch repeatedly, the only thing keeping her in this world. The
pain wasn’t enough; she needed something else. She started to sit
up while sobbing, but all it
 did was make her dizzy, and her insides came out; she puked all
over herself. 
She had no one. 
No one would come running. She was alone. 
“Emma?” a feminine voice called. 
She didn’t answer. They didn’t care anyway. They would
only leave once they saw her, the true her. She was covered in her
vomit, sobbing, with a bruised cheek from her fingers. Absently,
she saw a figure bend before her holding something in her hand. 
“Let me wash your face,” the voice stated, no arguing. 
Emma moaned and didn’t put up a fight. She
             couldn’t bring herself to care who it was. 
“Are you okay, darling?” the voice asked.
 She only moaned again before saying. 
“I’m going crazy.” 
“No, you’re not. You’re sick.” 
“Because I’m crazy,” she hiccupped.
 She felt something cold against her flesh that began to
stink like her. Minutes passed before the voice talked again. 
“Darling, I’m going to need you to stand.” 
 Emma shook her head. Her heart still felt like it was
bruising her chest cavity. The hands gripped her and hauled her
up. 
“Come on, darling; you need clean clothes.” She looked
down at herself and couldn’t care. 
She had no one. 
“Lady Ambrose, you really need clean clothes. Sir
Mather would kill me if I just let you sit in your insides.” 
Emma shook her head. 
“He doesn’t care.”
She shook her head again. 
No one cared. 
“I doubt that.” 
“He doesn’t care. I pushed him too hard; I asked too
many questions. He doesn’t want me.”
 Emma bit her lip before another round of tears
overwhelmed her. 
“My father doesn’t love me because I asked questions.
Hh-he-he always said it would come this, but I just,” she couldn’t
do it. She was sobbing again. 
“Milady, you’re hysterical. Take deep breaths for me.” 
“I’m not a lady. I’m the daughter of Water Breaker. I’m
no lady.” She cried. The face crouched before her. She recognized
the kind face of Diana Bellows. Her kind hands smoothed over her
face. 
“I know, milady, but it doesn’t matter. You’re still
hysterical. Let’s try this, you follow me. We’ll breathe together.”
 Emma gave a pathetic nod. Miss Bellows guided her
through a few deep breaths, and it made her feel an inch better. 
“Can you stand for me?” she asked. 
Emma nodded, a tiny bit more rational. 
 “Good,” she said with a nod. They stood together and
walked toward the door when she heard bang open from the front. 
“Oh good-grief,” the woman next to her mumbled. “Let
him walk her back off the cliff.” Miss Bellows huffed.
 Emma looked behind her and saw a confused-looking
Liam standing there watching. 
“Emma?” he asked. She turned. He rushed forward. Miss
Bellows stepped in front of her. 
“Sir Mather, this might not be the best time.” Her
              voice was firm. 
Emma stood paralyzed, unsure how to act, but he looked
like he had been crying. A mixture of emotions rallied inside her. 
She loved Liam. She didn’t know when it’d happened,
but no matter how they fought and disagreed, she couldn’t push
him away in a ridiculous attempt to be correct.  
 The silence turned taught with emotion until Liam
asked, “You want a hug?” His voice was weak, scrappy.
She nodded. 
“She-,” Miss Bellows called out, but Liam enveloped her
in a hug. 
His arms melted her. Her heart began to calm down. Her
tears began to dry. 
“I thought you didn’t want me,” she
           mumbled into his chest. 
“I can’t have you. There’s a difference,” he mumbled
back.
 No matter how noble Emma wanted to be, she couldn’t
give this up because he couldn’t kiss her. She clung tighter. She
needed Liam, needed his calming presence. 
“Sir, you realize you’re getting insides on you.” The
voice of Miss Bellows cracked open their little bubble. 
 “You cleaned pretty well,” he said.
Emma backed away. 
“Liam I,” 
“Em, I shouldn’t have gone so hard on you.” 
Emma shook her head as she looked around for the letter.
Seeing it, she scrambled for it. He watched her precariously as she
shoved it at him. She watched him as his face transformed into a
scowl. 
“Your father sent you this?” he asked. She nodded. 
He wrapped her in another hug. He
           whispered to her, “Love should never be that conditional.” 
“I disobeyed him,” she mumbled. 
“He can be angry, but to-to.” his voice shook. 
“Do you mind if I ask something?” poor Miss Bellows
called.
Emma leaned back, finally feeling a semblance of sanity
returning. 
“Yes,” she said. 
“You are afraid to ask questions?” she
              asked. 
Emma nodded.
“Why?” the woman asked. She didn’t ask it rudely or
disdainfully like it was stupid, but simply confused. 
“Answers can be scary, and in my experience, people
don’t like being asked. They,” Emma cleared her throat, “they
leave.”
Miss Bellows considered it before walking back up to
Emma. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a motherly
fashion. 
“Darling, people leave for multiple reasons, not because
of anything you ask. They shut you out, they leave, because they
have demons they aren’t sharing.” Emma looked back to see Liam
looking down at his toes.
“No one leaves because of what you ask. You
should always feel comfortable asking things of people.” 
Emma looked at her. That wasn’t her experience. Every
time she asked a challenging question or asked something
remotely difficult, the person shut her out. Diana Bellows patted
her cheek. 
“I’ll leave you two to discuss. I’ll be in your room,
preparing a fresh gown.” 
“It’s your night off,” Emma remembered. Miss Bellows
waved it off. 
“Consider it an act for a friend.” She smiled, and Emma
did so back. 
“Thank you, Miss Bellows. For everything.” 

“You’re welcome,” she stated
before turning towards the room. Once the door shut behind her,
Emma said. 
“You came back.” 
 
 
 
 Liam's eyes roved over Emma. Her hair fell in clumps in
her shoulder, her pretty gown was stained in vomit and rag water.
Her cheeks stained with tears, and a purple bruise was beginning
to form on her cheek, and yet Liam couldn't help but think of her
as beautiful. He swallowed as thought. 
"You came back," Emma said, her voice so weary, so
broken, but hopeful. This poor woman had been crushed over and
over again tonight and
             yet hope still lingered on her tongue. 
"I did," he said hoarsely. 
He wasn't good enough. 
He'd sat there on the floor, crying, the sword before him,
and it struck. He wasn't supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to
have enough faith. He wasn't supposed to be able to protect
everyone. The point of the Gospel was that they all were full of
fallible skin. He wasn't 
supposed to be 
good enough. That was
the beauty of it. He'd begun to weep again as the guilt started to
slough off him as he cried out for the Lord. He asked for the faith
he lacked so desperately, he sobbed and emptied his heart. 
"I realized something," he said. "I realized I was
protecting myself for nothing." He pursed his lips. 
"I don't want you to think that I'm not here for you
because of one moment, I am. You've become one of my dearest
friends, Emma, and friends are there for each other." He said with
determination. 
She gave him a wobbly smile. 
"You're one of my dearest friends also." Her voice was
still watery. 
"Please, ask whatever you want. Ask the hardest,
toughest question you can think of." 
 Caution would always be his flaw. He would never take
enough jumps off the cliff. He was scared. He was okay with that,
but not jumping for Emma, for the king, would make him stupid.
They had proven themselves worthy of his trust, admiration, and
ultimately his story. He couldn't fight that any longer. Weariness
was fine, fear wasn't. He was a warrior, he didn't have time to be
afraid, yet he had been petrified for the last nine years. He was
terrified that his poor judgment would result in another sucker
punch to the gut.

"I can't, Liam," she mumbled. 
The pain in her eyes pulled him close; and he wrapped
her in his arms again. 
 
 
 
Emma tried to untangle the mountains of
            emotions and thoughts swirling in her head. 
"Darling, people leave for multiple reasons, not because
of anything you ask. They shut you out, they leave because they
have demons they aren't sharing."
Miss Bellows echoed in her head. She wasn't sure if it
was the truth. People left, but Liam had come back. He was
hugging her. He wasn't afraid of the questions she asked. No
matter how many times it caused them to squabble, he always
came back. 
"You came back."
It seemed the only thing she could say. 
He hummed. 
"I had to," he said softly. 
"Liam, what's that saying you say when I'm annoying you
by not asking questions?" 
"What?" he asked. 
"You know, the one about the cat," she said. 
She felt his laughter rumble around his chest. "Curiosity
killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back." 
She pulled out of their hug and looked at him. 
"But what if it only brings you pain, not satisfaction?" 
He sighed. 
"That's the risk you take, Emma. Life is one big risk. We
have to deal with that. I've had to." His eyes were a tsunami. She
nodded. 
"I suppose you're right. Life is a risk, being your friend is
a risk, being here is a risk, jumping in the river after almost being
pecked to death by demonic birds is a risk." She said with a shy
grin. 
He rolled his eyes. 
"You have to be smart about your risks," he mumbled. 
"But living in fear isn't risking anything." 
"As I'm learning, you lose so much doing that." 
She looked at him, the man with harsh features. Big,
Tough, and Scary. How inaccurate that nickname was. If she
weren't so exhausted, she would have laughed. Liam was big, but
tough? He was the biggest teddy bear in existence, his heart the
 great expanse of the world, and scary? Well, only when you were
a hay bail.
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

    
Chapter 50
 
 
 
The large wooden door creaked open, revealing a cold
stone wall, a simple chair, and not a single window to the outside
world. In the simple chair sat a lean, a scrawny man she
recognized from her morning at the barracks. He hadn’t seemed
like a peach then, and he looked downright terrified now. Sweat
could be seen on his brow, and his hands clutched the chair
beneath him. 
Compassion whirled in Emma’s breast for the man.
Maybe her heart was still too raw after yesterday? She’d gone to
bed the night before so exhausted she hadn’t even thought
anything until late this morning when her eyes finally decided to
flutter open. She firmed her lips. When she’d gotten up and found
Liam, he informed her he would be doing the full investigation
today into Gulliver Tremaine. When Emma had told him she
would be coming, he’d argued very strongly, but she’d informed
him that this was her investigation too. Her father might have cut
all ties with, but Emma still wanted to know the truth. 
She wanted to know if her father was guilty. A small
part of her hoped he wasn’t, but it didn’t look good when he’d so
firmly asked her not to do anything. 
She forced herself to focus again on the petrified man as
guards and Liam filtered around the room. 
“You’re scared.”
It sounded stupid. Who wouldn’t be in this situation,
especially if they were guilty? He was facing treason, and no one
charged with that was left alive.
“What did they threaten you with?”
  She heard Liam grunt but ignored him. He was supposed
to do the asking, but she’d finally come to peace with asking
questions, and she had quite a few of her own. 
The man shifted in his seat, but he looked about to cry. 
“I can’t tell you anything,” his breathing was
hard. “I just, I’m just the assassin. Know that. I know I’ll
face treason, but it is better than being left alive.” 
Emma stared at the man, put off by his answer. 
Why was he so insistent he was the assassin? Didn’t they
already know that? Why did he feel he had to assure them? Liam
took over, and she moved off to the side. He asked his own
questions. What was the man’s plan? How long had he been in
cahoots with the Rusalka? Why the king, besides the obvious
answer? 
Finally, the interrogation was over, and one of the guards
held the door while another lifted Gulliver from his chair. 
As they walked out, Liam leaned down, “Why did you
ask that?” 
“The man looked ready to pee his pants or cry, or both.” 
“He’s facing an interrogation for treason,” Liam sounded
exasperated. 
“Yeah, but he seemed off somehow like he 
wanted 
to
make sure you knew it was him.” 
“I know. I don’t think it’s Gulliver,” Liam sighed. 
“You don’t?” she shrieked. Liam shook his
          head. “But the king might still-,” 
“I never let up the guards. The precautions are still just as
high.” 
“But last night with the celebration.”
Liam shook his head. “Plenty of armed guards hidden in
plain view, plus an assassin wouldn’t be stupid enough to do it in
broad daylight, at a party with thousands of people.” 
Emma shook her head, “You had me fooled.” 
He laughed, “That’s good, I suppose.” 
“Are you going to let Gulliver go?” she asked. 
“No. He is using this as a shield from something, and I
plan to use that to my advantage.”
Emma nodded. 
“That’s a good plan.” 
Liam held out his arm, and she took it. He patted her
hand in a sisterly manner. Her heart still stung at his initial
rejection; it would take a while for it to go away. But she could
live with it as long as he remained her friend. 
“I’m glad you approve,” his voice was amused. “You
want some lunch?” he asked as they headed down the hall.
“Sounds good.” 
As they walked, pieces hovered in Emma’s mind,
something didn’t sit, but she didn’t know what. Everything felt
tangled together, but she couldn’t undo the knot to see out all the
string wove together. Mindlessly, she rubbed the key on the chain,
and she had a horrible feeling it all had to do with her father
somehow. 
 
That evening, Emma was curled up in the lounge in the
lobby of the sleep quarters hall. Liam sat across from her, his face
in a minor glower. 
“We don’t have any more leads?” she stated
on a yawn as her eyes dropped as she tried to refocus them on the
battered, worn gray journal.
“That’s the problem,” he growled as he sprang from his
chair and began to pace. Emma could empathize with his
frustration. She felt like something was off, but they couldn’t
place a finger on it. 
“You said Gulliver threw what again?” she asked. 
“He threw a rock. We all thought it a bomb he’d
concocted, but we now realize he’s not bright enough for that,”
Liam sniped. 
Emma’s mind spun back to the night when they’d argued
in the garden. 
“Liam,” she said as worry and excitement began to build
inside her. Suddenly, she was wide awake. She bounced
upright. “You remember when you summoned me into the garden
that one night during a ball?” 
He nodded. 
“Before you came out, I overhead Lady Ceridwen and
Lord Adikia talking about a rock and a glass shard. Do you think
they know anything?” she asked. She hoped they weren’t guilty of
anything. Sour distaste at the thought they were settled in her.
Liam stared at her. 
“I interrupted this?” he asked. 
She nodded. Liam shook his head. 
“I don’t know Emma, but we can ask.”
It was his turn. She stood and came over to him, and she
patted him on the arm. 
“You can ask in the morning.” She smiled, looking at him
a moment before the question burst forth. 
“Won’t you tell me what made you so distant?” she
asked.
His eyes focused on her, and slowly the layers peeled
back to reveal a sharp, blistering pain. 
“Yes,” his voice was thick and gravelly with emotion. His
posture shifted from confident, sure bodyguard to slumped and
 seemingly shamed. What could good, noble Liam have shame
from? 
“My mother was a whore; my siblings and I were born
out of wedlock. None of us ever knew our fathers because my
mother slept with so many men that she didn’t know the father.
She had many flaws, but she tried her best to love, but one day she
got deathly ill and died a few months after.” 
 “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too painful.”
             She already knew this piece of information and saw the
obvious distress the retelling brought. It wasn’t shocking, and if it
made him shrivel so, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to know
anymore. It seemed a lot less critical. 
 “I need to tell you,” His voice was small but
determined. 
 “Okay.” 
 “After she died, I took a job with a man who provided
food and shelter for all of us. It seemed so good, and I worked
with my hands to make leather creations. I loved my job until I
found out what my boss was doing.” 
“Liam, I-” she saw where this was going, and tears
               rose in her eyes. 
 “Shhh, it’s okay. He-he-he had been touching my child
sisters inappropriately for months, and I-,” he cleared his throat as
his words seemed to catch in his throat. His tears fell along with
hers. Their pain felt by the other, “I had been blind to it until my
sister, bless their brave souls, told me. We got out of there that
             night.”  
Moments flickered by as Liam regathered
himself, but her tears wouldn’t stop. Her heart couldn’t stand it;
her brain couldn’t fathom it—his sisters. 
Lindsey. 
 Bright, beautiful, Lindsey had gone through that
wickedness, she’d… Emma squeezed her eyes shut as her heart
repeatedly broke as she thought of innocent Charlene. Her eyes
popped open. 
“Charlene?” she had to ask as dread pooled. She couldn’t
have been more than a toddler. 
Liam shook his head. 
“He didn’t do anything to her,” he said, his voice weary
and beaten down. Emma nodded as she sniffed, trying to regain
control. 
“Don’t you blame me?” he asked, his voice hesitant, raw. 
“Why would I blame you?” she asked as she wiped her
nose. 
“Because I was blind to it!” his voice rose.
 Luckily, it was late, and no one was in the lounge. 
Calmly, Emma walked over to him and wrapped her arms
around him. 
“Liam, never should you blame yourself. You were a
child, desperate for security. No child would dare believe a
seemingly nice adult would do that. Ever.” She didn’t even want to
think someone would do that to a child. She shivered. Disgusting. 
“I just can’t believe I couldn’t see such pain every night
when I came in. I should have-,”
She cut him off with a finger. 
“Liam, you’re not superhuman. You were a
Kid. You were probably exhausted, and it can be
hard to see things like that.” 
He nodded, but she could tell he didn’t fully believe her
assurances. She sighed and hugged him tighter. 
“Thank you for telling me,” She mumbled into his chest,
where she seemed to be a lot these days. 
 They had been a rough few days, but she wasn’t alone. 
Liam only hugged her tight. After a minute, he released
her and said,
“You should get to bed. It’s getting late.” 
She smiled. 
“So should you.”
“I’m sleeping in here.” His voice was firm. 
“Why?” 
“Because knowing a killer is still on the loose doesn’t
exactly give me the warm and fuzzies.” 
She nodded and wiped a stray tear from his cheek. 
“Are you sure you are okay?” she asked. 
“Just drudged up old, painful memories, so no, not
really,” he said wryly. Emma grimaced. “I’ll be fine, Em I just
need time to think and pray.” 
She dropped her hand. 
“I’m trusting you,” she said with an impish grin as, she
turned and headed toward her bedroom. 
 
 
Sleep captured Emma quickly, as exhaustion seeped into
her bones easily these days. As she dreamed, she heard a creak
and a click. It didn’t make sense until she bolted awake. Her pulse
started skyrocketing. Surely it was just a dream. She scrambled for
the lamp by her desk, switched in on, and a scream pulsed in her
lungs. A figure in black stood at her door. Only eyes could be seen
from behind the mask. Paralysis settled in, but only for a moment.
She scrambled for a pair of scissors on her vanity from a ribbon
Miss Bellows had cut. Breathing hard, she turned. The figure had
approached. Whoever they were, wasn’t much taller than Emma
herself. The figure held a dagger in their hand and seemed ready
 to jab at her. Emma held out her scissors. Scissors were sharp;
they should at least be mildly intimidating. Right? Emma
swallowed hard and swung them in front of
            her. 
“Put the scissors down, and no one gets hurt,” the voice
growled. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Emma couldn’t place it
while fear tramped through her. 
“Never,” she bit out. 
Emma wasn’t stupid. The figure in black had a dagger. 
“Let it go, and no one has to get hurt,” the voice
practically purred. It was feminine, but Emma still couldn’t place
it. The woman’s fingers started to caress the edge. Emma resisted
a shiver. She was only trying to intimidate her, that was it. If only
her heart would slow, and her hands
              wouldn’t shake so.
“No,” her voice came out stubborn and
              defiant. 
She had to give herself props for that, at least. 
“I said let it go,” the woman’s voice lost all softness as
she flung the dagger with a screech. 
Emma ducked as the metal hit the wall behind her with a
thwack. In her rush to escape her death, she’d dropped the
scissors, and they’d slid under the bed.
“Crap,” she mumbled. 
At that moment, though, they were pretty evenly
matched, especially if she had any hope of escaping and getting
help. With a roar she didn’t know she possessed, she crouched and
pounced on the figure in black. Before she could get there, a leg
went out and kicked her in the shin, Emma gritted her teeth as pain
shot through her, but she was determined. With a firm fist, she
made sure it connected with her face. The who she suspected was
a woman’s face snapped back. Footsteps clamored outside, but
Emma couldn’t think about them. She lifted her leg and kicked in
the lady in the shins. She heard a grunt of pain. 
“Emma!”
She heard a yell. She smiled at Liam’s concerned voice. 
“Little help!” she called.
The figure reared back and head-butted her while she’d
been distracted. Pain ricocheted behind her eyes. She let go and
fell, but before she could crash to the floor, the figure tried
reaching and grabbing at her neck, screeching, “I want your
neck!”
Before she was successful, hazily, Emma saw Liam rush
in and knock the figure out with the butt of his sword. It was all
she needed before she collapsed on the bed. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 

Chapter 51
        
 
 
 
Liam reached Emma’s side as she fell backward. 
“Emma!” he stated his voice was still loud. She
groaned, “Liam, my head hurts. Could you lower your voice?” 
“You scared me.” He huffed.
“Well, the gem, who I’m guessing is now on the floor,
head-butted me,” she ground out as she slowly sat up.
 Now that the threat had lessened, he more
firmly assessed the situation. His eyes stuck on the dagger in the
wall. 
“Did they throw a dagger at you?” 
Emma pumped her hand in the air. 
“And I dodged it like a warrior.” 
“You’re delirious.” His chest constricted. 
Lord, thank you for keeping her safe. I surrender this fear
and need to control the situation. 
The prayer was his only thoughts as he turned back to
figure in black crumpled on the floor. He shouldn’t have excused
to three extra guards for sleep. He swallowed hard.
“Shall we see who that it?” he asked.
As the doors began to creak open up and down the hall,
one courageous young woman stepped inside of the room before
screeching. “Why-Why is there a body on the floor?” 
“Miss, I need you to vacate the premise.” He took on his
guard voice, firm but calm.
 She nodded but didn’t take her eyes off the floor where
the person still lay. 
“I assure you miss; they are alive. I need you to leave.
Could you help and inform the others?”
Her eyes snapped to him, and she nodded. 
 “Yes, of course, Sir Mather.” She stumbled out of the
room. 
He turned back to the situation. Emma still lay on the bed
with her eyes closed. 
“Em?” he asked. 
“Yes?”
“You okay?” he asked about more than just her head. 
Her adrenaline must be skyrocketing and plummeting
quickly. 
“I’m good,” she said. 
“Your anxiety?” he asked as he pulled out a handkerchief
from his pocket. He crouched before the crumpled body. They
should be waking up soon, so he should take the mask off before
they come to.
“I’ll probably have an attack later, but not at the
moment,” she spoke.
He made a humming sound and peeled the mask off the
figure. 
“Crap,” he mumbled.
He heard rustling as Emma sat and stood; she held
her head for a second before walking over. Her expletive was a
little more explosive than his. 
“Lady Ceridwen,” Emma breathed. 
Liam stared at the woman. Her eyes were rolled into the
back of her head while Liam leaned over and closed them. It felt
too much like she was dead, but he shook the feeling off. 
“Why the heck did she attack?” Emma asked as anger
laced her word and her fists clenched. 
Liam stood. 

“No idea Em, but I promise
we’ll figure it out. I need to get a doctor for her and then throw her
in a cell for attempted murder.” He motioned to the dagger that
would line up precisely
            with Emma’s heart had it struck its mark.  
A disturbed shiver coursed through Liam. 
 
 
 
“I want your neck!”
 
The words Lady Ceridwen had screeched right before
Emma had gone unconscious ran through her head. Did she want
her dead? The thought made Emma go cold as she paced the
lounge. A guard had been posted to watch her as Liam took over
the scene. 
Why did she want her dead? The thoughts were painful to
mull. Why would anyone want her dead? 
“You’re in danger?” 
Mill Bellows had warned her, but the warning had gotten
lost in the mess of the last few days. Was she in danger because
they, whoever they were, wanted her dead? She moaned and
dropped her head into her hands. The cold key bumped against her
arms, and her hand went out and reached for it. She grasped it. 
 “I want your neck,” 
Did she want her necklace? Emma’s stomach dropped.
She knew why. She knew precisely why, if that were the case. She
needed to get to the king. Preferably sooner than later. Guilty, she
made her way to the door. She’d have to tell Liam later about her
discovery. 
“Where are you going, milady?” Sir Raymond, her guard,
called. 
“I’m going to see the king. You can come with me if you
want!” she called back. Hurriedly, she raced across the courtyards,
her blood pumping. Ignoring her pounding head, she stumbled
toward the king’s office. When she arrived, she halted before the
guards stoically placed in front of his door. With the same bluster
she’d used when she’d come barreling into Liam’s life, she
declared, “I need to see the king!”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 52
 
 
 
Emma stared at the king’s back as he led her inside a
vaulted door hidden behind a closet full of junk hidden in his
office. 
“You’re sure about this milady?” the king asked. His
voice was worried, concerned. 
“As sure as I can of anything at this moment,” she
breathed. The king didn’t say anything to that. 
Emma gripped the key in her hand as though if she let go,
it would disappear along with her opportunity to find out the truth.
To find out once and for all whether her father was guilty of
murder. 
 “Milady, turn your back. Only the king may know the
password to enter here.” 
Emma bowed her head and spun on her heel. Her breath
was loud to her ears as she waited. Her heart pounded in both fear
anticipation. The vaulted door swung open with a loud 
screech; 
Emma spun back around. 
“His safe is there on the left. Waves should be the
emblem.” The king’s head bowed as he motioned towards the
vault. 
“Thank you so much!” She said as she walked inside.
The king nodded. 
“I’ll be out in my office if you need me or are done.” He
gave her a weak smile.
Nodding, she gave him an assuring smile that she
understood. The king turned away and headed back. Long metal,
ceiling-length safes cluttered the large, carpeted room. She turned
left and followed the safes until she came to one will engraved
waves at the top. Her hand went up to brush across it. A deep
yearning rose within her breast for the tempest that was sea, the
salty twang, and warm breezes. She loved it in all its wild glory.
Shaking herself, she took the necklace from her neck and slid the
key inside the hole. It fit perfectly. Emma’s shoulders sagged in
relief. She hadn’t been entirely sure this would work. Fiercely,
she’d hoped it would. 
It would explain why Lady Ceridwen wanted her “neck.”
Her father was somehow wrapped up in this knotted mess between
Gulliver and June Ceridwen. She desperately wished this safe
would provide some answers. She turned the key, and the door
popped open. A single shelf lined the top of the high, rather deep
safe. On top of the shelf sat a single envelope. With shaky fingers,
Emma reached for it. She stared at it for a moment, unsure what to
think. Timidly, she flipped it over and tore it open. 
 
Burn this letter immediately after being read. 
Dear Emma, 
My darling girl, if you’re reading this letter, I’m sorry it
came to this. I’m sorry I must act cruelly to you but trust me, it’s
for the best. We can’t have any association with each other until
all is settled. 
I made horrible decisions, but we often act like caged
animals when we feel trapped. 
Let me start at the beginning. 
At the beginning of last Quartervois, I was contacted by
Clan Leader Summer Eyes, who wanted me on her side to help
win the king’s help in tracking down the Rusalka. I was hesitant,
unsure if I wanted to get involved, but after many talks, she
convinced me. As time went on, I started to receive threats. First,
they were only minor things, but they became more and more
severe as time went on. Finally, I got to my breaking point when
they threatened you, my beautiful girl. I messaged them back and
asked for a meeting to resolve the matter at hand. We met, and
they threatened my life again, going into more grotesque detail
unless I killed Clan Leader Summer Eyes. When I say them, I
mean the Rusalka. 
I couldn’t do it my dear daughter. I couldn’t kill the Clan
Leader. 
 
Emma looked up, tears on her lashes. 
Oh, father. 
She kept reading. 
 
 But I knew I had to do something. I write this on the eve
before I become a murderer. If you’re reading this, Emma, realize
it’s all for the best. I have a plan. 
I’m sorry for betraying your trust, dear daughter. It’s for
the best. 
Lovingly, 
Your father. 
 

Chapter 53
 
 
 
Two weeks later… 
Liam sat in the grand room that held the pleas. A strange
feeling overcame him as he watched Emma sit in the plea seat,
 fulfilling her final duty to Summer Eyes. After today, her debts
would be paid. She could go home if she wanted, and he would
trudge back to his duties as Summers Eyes guard. Life would
settle. But how could it with the mystery still wide open? A part of
Liam felt as though he were leaving a job half done, but today
he’d officially given up lead role in the investigation. The thought
left Liam bereft. Faintly, he heard Emma talking. They’d come so
far in the last few months. He almost couldn’t imagine life without
the spunky brunette. Fondly, his lips tipped up. His mind
wandered over the previous two weeks. Back to when Emma had
come to him and told him everything, told him about the safe and
the letter. The letter that proved her greatest fear. Her father was
guilty. He’d hugged her close as he always did. The tears had
flowed easily that day, but a precious bond he wouldn’t break for
the world had been borne with bearing each other’s burdens. 
He was a warrior. He had no place for fear, the lies, the
lot of them. He would always be scared. Maybe not of trust, now
that he trusted someone. Now that he loved someone, he was
afraid of her their good-bye. He was afraid, but he lived in it.
Why? Because the pain wasn’t something to run away from.
That’s what a warrior was. Warriors had fears. It was how they ran
towards their fear with a spear raised, ready to stab it in the heart,
that made them different from the average man who ran in the
opposite direction. He would always be afraid, but he was a
warrior, and with that in mind, he ran towards it for the first time
in his life. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
           Epilogue
 
 
“My debts are paid!” Emma confidently proclaimed as
she sat staring down at the intense Clan Leader, but no fear roiled
within. She’d sat before kings. The dignified woman who stood
with such assurance didn’t scare Emma as she had before.
A smile tipped her lips, and it wasn’t all bluster this time.
Her heart still ached from the harrowing revelations
Quartervois had revealed, but it had also birthed within her new
confidence. A new acceptance for life and all its turmoil had
grown within her. The Clan Leader only nodded at Emma’s bold
declaration.
“Yes, they are, but we all know not all the skeletons are
found.”
The poetry still confused Emma. Summer
was wrong; growth still hadn’t planted any seeds of
understanding. Confusion still clouded her brain as she sorted out
her mind.
“Respectfully, I want to know why you did this?” she
asked; she clasped her hands in front of her as she awaited her
               answer.
The petite woman only smiled in that elegant, mysterious
way Emma would possibly never understand.
 The woman had “skeletons,” as she put it, aplenty, and
Emma would let her have them. Emma had her suspicions her
father and Summer Eyes were in cahoots. For some reason,
Summer had pushed her to fulfill a ridiculous plan her father had
set forth. Summer Eyes shrugged in a purely inelegant motion. It
was in such stark contrast with the rest of her Emma just stared.
“I talk to the wind. The whispers of the wind reveal great
mysteries.”
Emma just blinked and shook her head, resisting to roll
her eyes. It was a deflection, a bad one at that, but Emma knew
there would be another time and place for conversation at hand.
“Rather like the mystery of your mother,” the woman
added.
“What?” Emma asked dumbly. “My mother, what does
she- just-,”
“Hello, Emma,”
A soft voice echoed from the entrance. Emma pushed her
chair back as it toppled behind her with a
crash
.
In the shadow of the flap, wearing a dainty pink dress,
like a ghost from Emma’s childhood nightmares, stood her mother.
 
 
 

Acknowledgments
 
 First off, I want to thank you, the reader of this book, for
making it to the very end of this precious novel. I humbly thank
you for spending your time reading it in its entirety (unless you
skipped to the acknowledgments, which I have no idea who does
that, but good for you, I guess.) If you hate me at the moment, take
my gratitude as a balm for your anger.
             You may have noticed some “contradictions,” in this
novel. Every time I read Christian fiction; it almost feels like this
edited, unrealistic version of what we want the world to sound like
as Christians. At times, that's great and exactly what I want and
need. However, it is not realistic in how the world really operates.
None of us live in a perfectly edited world. In reality, we all deal
with cussing, homosexuality, and other gritty issues of life. As
believers we have answers, we have the infallible Word of God,
which gives us the way we should live our life. Within the Good
Book, it gives us instruction to be the Salt of the earth, to be a
light set on a hill. Now, I hope you are smart enough to realize that
my portrayal is not condoning nor supporting these acts. If we are
too afraid to discuss it in literature than all we are doing is
cowering. Hoping that people will find the Gospel in our books by
how “holy” they sound. Again, I iterate that I love Christian
fiction and have whole shelves dedicated to the genre, I simply
wanted to try something new. 
In the same vein, I will warn you that I'm unabashedly
in love with Jesus (as you probably noticed) and how He died
on a cross to save me from my wretchedness.
The Gospel is spread through these pages. I'm sorry if it ever
seemed preachy. I do not intend to sound like a sermon, but I
write from the heart! I thank all my readers for bearing with me on
this new adventure and I beg to remind you, we are all human no
matter belief.  
 I want to thank my brother for graciously, most of the
time, giving up your computer time to let me secret myself away
for a couple of hours to pound out some words. You don't know
how appreciated it is; otherwise, this novel wouldn't be finished.
Along those lines, I must give a big shout-out to my
whole family for dealing with my daydreaming and air-headed
tendencies. Especially during the long days while I finish
my drafts (because there are many days.) Y'all handle me like a
champ, with kindness, love, and grace.
Without thanking my biggest cheerleader and writing
buddy, Lydia Webb, it wouldn't be an acknowledgment page.
Seriously, this novel wouldn't even exist if it weren't for you and
your listening ear. Constantly, you inspire me to write better and
step outside my comfort zone.
A HUGAMONOUS thanks to Nyah Grey. Omg, you
went above and beyond what I asked of you, spending hours
pouring of my messy, and frankly terrible, first draft. I can't
express the length of my gratitude. A $20 Olive Garden gift card
doesn't feel like enough! You are amazing and brilliant. This book
would still be a mess if it weren't for you! Love you to pieces!
Another HUGE shout-out to my fantastic editor Rachel
Yurko who will diligence and grace pointed out my
tendency to be long winded and wondered why everyone kept
licking their lips. I thank you for editing this novel in its
entirety without giving up hope that it could be great. You guided
me on my very first novel and I’m awed you would take a chance
on such a young, and inexperienced person as myself. Thank you
again!
 Also, I need to give a quick shout-out to Jasmine Stroupe,
Claire Michaux, and all the fantastic people who have supported
me thus far and continue supporting me every day. I can't even
name all of you because there are too many!
Last but certainly not least, I thank You, God, for giving
me the constant inspiration and direction with this novel. I praise
You for this gift of writing You have blessed me with, and just like
Liam, I ask, You get all the glory for this.
I adore you, my Savior, my redeemer, my Immanuel.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
Follow Abigail at:
 @Official_abigailthomspon
And buy Scrawled Out Timeline (her poetry
book) wherever books are sold. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

 
 

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