Do I tell her the young son she had grew up? He grew up hateful, and he tried to instill that hate into the three children he had.
“I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting you, my Queen,” I say instead, the smile on my lips nearly falling into a wavering frown.
Her silver eyes light up a little with a soft smile that blooms pain through my chest.
I look like her. I remind her of herself, but she doesn’t remember herself.
She...
Fuck!
Why! Why did my father keep her out here alone, with only the crumbling memories in her mind to keep her company?
I bite my lower lip hard enough to almost compare with the pain that’s building in my chest, and I have to turn away from her kind eyes to face the wall and feign interest in the rocks that look just like all the others. Except these ones are so glistening, they reflect the dampness in my eyes as I peer down on them.
Gentle fingers slide down my spine over my shirt, but Damien never says a word.
I push my hands over my face slowly before tangling them through my hair. A deep breath hits my lungs, and I blink away the lingering pain until I’m sure I can look at her without bursting into tears.
I smooth my hands on my jeans and turn back around.
Except she’s gone.
“Where did she go?” I hiss to the four men standing there, like they let her escape.
“Calm down,” Krave says with a tilt of his head toward the open door. “She’s out watering the river.”
“Watering the river?” Zaviar repeats with a lift of his dark brows.
Krave nods as if it’s all in a normal day’s work.
I stand there looking out the wooden doorframe, watching the gray-haired woman sway to a humming tune as she dips her bowl into the river, and then slowly trickles that water right back down into the sloshing running water.
She’s... happy, I think. Obliviously happy. Tormented with happiness.
My heart hurts looking at her. My fingers run absent-mindedly over the smooth surface of the warm rock in my hand. I worry at it, sliding across the rounded edges over and over and over again.
Until my surroundings disappear.
Fluttering lashes blink repeatedly. They fan in front of me as I gaze out the glass window at the rain pounding down on the river water gushing ferociously. White lightning strikes hard with a howling gust of wind alongside the little home.
My sight isn’t my own. My body moves at the pace of someone else’s steps, and the movement and the flow of my gait is wobbling. Entirely not my own.
What the fuck?
I peer out the side window near the little door, and I realize I’m still in Hyval’s cottage. But it’s no longer morning. Nightfall casts across the dark sky, and I’m alone in the tiny house.
Her face peers back at me in the reflection of the window. Her face... and mine.
I want to gasp, but once again, I’m reminded this isn’t my body.
Total serene calmness is all Hyval has within her gentle-beating heart.
“Dravle simply cannot stay here. It’s romantic but... it’s drafty. Bitterly cold. I—” She turns us to look around. Her attention shifts from the kitchen counter to the stack of stones in the center of the room. She’s alone. “I want to go home,” she whispers to only herself.
Her dry lips close, and I feel the confusion in her mind. I feel her fear prickle across her flesh. She just won’t show it. Her shaking breath slips from her lips, and she starts quietly toward the bed in the next room. At the last second, she sets the stone down next to the others.
And then the bright morning sunlight flashes before my eyes.
