“Yes,” Wulfram told her. “Big airplane.”
Flicka could see why she had clung so hard to Wulfram after their mother had died.
Wulf hugged Flicka, too, wrapping his free arm around her and whispering intoher hair, “Be ready. It won’t be long. I promise, it will be soon.”
Flicka peeled her arms off of Wulf so he could leave without her.
When Wulf walked away, holding Alina in his strong arms, the little girl reached one arm back for Flicka, her green eyes and heart-shaped face visible over Wulf’s broad shoulder as he strode out of the throne room.
Flicka smiled and waved goodbye cheerily, thoughtears smudged the room into smears of scarlet and white sunlight.
Alexandre looked back as he walked away with Wulfram, worried, but he left her in the throne room with Pierre.
Flicka found a memory deep in her mind of herself clinging to Wulfie at that age and wondered if she’d looked the same, green eyes and heart-shaped face in his arms, looking back over his shoulder.
And then Flicka realizedthat she had looked exactly like Alina, though with darker green eyes.
Exactly like Alina.
Tumult rose in Flicka, and she breathed deeply to keep herself from running after Wulfie and Alina, who must certainly be her child with Raphael from all those years ago in London.
Pierre stepped up to her side. “She is your child, isn’t she?”
Flicka nodded.
Yes, Alina was her daughter.
From the otherside of the throne room, the photographer called, “May we continue now?”
Flicka turned back and blinked. “Yes, of course.”
