He breathes in sharply, his expression shifting to wonder and disbelief.
“Your name,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “When Locke said it in his report. . .I dared to hope. I hardly let myself believe. But to see you standing here, real and whole and alive. . .”
He takes a step closer, and I can see my reflection in his dark eyes. “My daughter,” he says softly, and the words hang in the air like a benediction. “Eidryn be praised. You’re real. You’re here.”
I don’t breathe. I don’t dare to, afraid that any movement might shatter this moment like spun glass.
“I’ve dreamed of this moment for years,” he continues, his voice growing stronger with conviction. “Prayed to Eidryn who I thought stopped listening long ago. And now that you’re standing in front of me, I realize that nothing I imagined could touch what you truly are. You’re. . .” He pauses, searching for words. “Magnificent. Powerful. You have my mother’s eyes,” he whispers, and there’s a new note of awe in his voice. “The same pale fire, the same ability to see through pretense to truth. She was the fiercest woman I’ve ever known, and I see her strength in you.”
A hot coil of emotion unwinds in my chest, and I blink furiously against the tears that threaten to spill. Damn it all, I will not cry now. I can break down later, in private, when I don’t have an audience.
“I came here ready to fight,” I whisper, my voice shakier than I’d like. “I was going to throw every piece of your absence in your face like shards of broken glass. Tell you exactly what you let happen to her. To me. Make you pay for every moment of pain.”
“You still can,” he says, stepping forward with his hands open and empty. “You have every right to hate me. Every right to demand answers, to make me account for my failures.”
I flinch when he draws near, not out of fear, but because I might break at his touch. Because years of imagined conversations and rehearsed confrontations are crumbling inthe face of his genuine remorse. I swallow hard against the chaos of emotions warring in my chest. I want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. I want to cry for everything we’ve lost. I do neither. I am standing in a room with both my parents for the first time in my entire life. This moment feels surreal, like I’ve stepped into someone else’s dream. I want to say something, anything to break the charged silence that has fallen over the room like a shroud. Nothing comes to me at first, then suddenly I have the overwhelming urge to spill out my pain like a confession, to let it all pour out in a torrent of words and grief.
“You have no idea what I’ve been through,” I say, my voice sharper now, trembling with the weight of everything I’ve carried alone. “You have no idea what it cost me to survive.”
“Then tell me,” my father says, and there’s something almost desperate in his tone. “Please. I want to know everything.”
Somehow that’s what breaks me completely. His need to know, his willingness to hear the worst of it. His care for a daughter he’s never known, even when understanding might destroy him.
The words tumble out like jagged glass, cutting my throat as they come. “I was taken from my mother. Held like a prisoner by the high priestess, who raised me like a tool to be sharpened and used. Treated as less than human because my magic didn’t manifest the way they expected. I was handed over to the Headmistress at HellNight Academy like a piece of cannon fodder for her sick, twisted games.”
Sam shifts beside me, his jaw tight with remembered rage, and reaches for my hand. His fingers intertwine with mine, warm and solid and real.
“I almost died on a slab of stone at the top of the Blue Mountains,” I continue, my voice breaking. “Isadora cared nothing for my pain, only for the power she could strip from my bones.”
My fingers tremble as I reach up and touch my forehead, feeling the smooth skin where my crescent mark used to burn with silver fire.
“I lost my child,” I whisper, and the words taste like ash and salt. “Lost my magic. Lost everything that made me who I thought I was. I’m still lost, but I will find my way back.”
Tears sting my eyes, falling before I can stop them, hot tracks down my cheeks that I don’t bother to wipe away.
My father doesn’t speak, but I can see the devastation in his eyes, the way my words hit him like physical blows. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, and I can see him fighting the urge to reach for something to destroy, some way to channel the rage building inside him.
Instead, he steps forward and pulls me into his arms, and this time I let him. I let myself be held by this stranger who shares my blood, let myself take comfort in the strength of his embrace.
“I want to burn down the world for what was done to you,” he says, his voice hoarse with fury and grief. “I want to hunt down every person who hurt you and make them pay with their blood, leaving them screaming. And I failed you. I failed you both so completely, that guilt will haunt me until my dying day.”
He breathes deep, his arms tightening around me. “But I’m here now. And I will do anything, everything within my power, to help you reclaim what’s yours. To help you become whole again.”
His gaze shifts over my shoulder to Sam, who is still holding my free hand like a lifeline.
“This is Sam,” I say, my voice muffled against his shoulder, reluctant to pull away from this first paternal embrace I’ve ever known. “My mate. My anchor.”
“Her mate,” my father repeats, and there’s respect in his voice as he addresses Sam directly. “A true honor to meet you. Thank you for protecting her when I could not.”
Sam gives a single nod, but his lips remain pressed in a tight line. I see it clearly, the guilt flickering behind his eyes like a candle flame. The doubt that still eats at him, the belief that he failed me when his pack tried to kill me. The need to prove himself worthy of the bond we share.
I don’t call him on it here, in front of the others. I know of his struggles, his desperate need to atone for everything that happened those dark months ago. But I make a mental note to address it later, in private.
“You are my only heir,” Rhys says, looking down at me. “You are the last of my blood, the future of this realm. And I would be honored beyond measure to know you, to learn who you’ve become, if you’ll let me.”
I want to say yes immediately, but the word feels too small, too simple for the magnitude of what he’s offering.
So, I nod instead, and step reluctantly out of his arms.
