I can't say I'm surprised when I wake up at the ungodly hour of 7:30, and he's no longer in bed. As much as I try to awaken before him, it would seem it takes an extreme amount of exhaustion to receive the reward of an unconscious warlord in my bed. An interesting fact, considering how much he loved to sleep when he was provided the opportunity.

Grumbling to the bathroom, I shower and shave, trying to regain some form of movement in my stiff body. My back is in agony, my thighs screaming, and my bottom is more sore than I'd like to admit. 

I'm out of practice and out of shape; my sore muscles complain from the thorough exercise that left me contorted and manipulated into a position my body was not accustomed to. I rub the back of my neck absently as I pick through the clothes provided to me. 

Artifice gently reminds me of the weather, knowing I enjoy peace in my morning routine. It's a daily struggle not to allow the nature of the A.I to bother me. I step into my thermal pants and layer on cargo-type pants over top for warmth.

The displeasure is evident on my face as I rotate and take in my waist size in the mirror with all the added bulk. For a moment, I almost choose vanity over warmth but decide against it as I begin to chill. A disturbing occurrence that had been happening more often lately. "Artifice, what's my body temperature?"

"98.4, Nicolas. A .2 decrease from yesterday. Would you like me to summon Mr.Mercer?"

"No. Keep track of it." I wish I understood why this was happening and what was happening; in my own time, we had dealt with cold before and had been less equipped, and it had never bothered me. Now, it was a fight to stay above freezing. 

It seemed the only person who could provide me with enough warmth was the lycan heater that I, thankfully, often had on hand. Slipping on the thermal shirt, I slide a sweater over it and tug at the layers. I wish it would lay flatter; I want it to look complimentary on a waistline that I was accepting of until I piled all these garments on. 

Everything was snug and form-fitting; while I was not a significantly sized person, it was hard not to feel cumbersome with the copious amounts of clothes. 

Exiting the bedroom, I rub my hands together to create heat as I follow the smell of breakfast into the kitchen. My teeth threaten to chatter as I clutch my wool socks firmly to my chest rather than dawn them. I couldn't help but blame the steel surrounding us; even the floors were chilled, unlike the nature of stone, which could be convinced to absorb heat.

Legardo stands at the stove, making pancakes, while Verando holds Silvia. One of her hands is placed in his as he spins her around, singing a sweet song from one of her favorite movies.

"They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy,
They can say, they can say I've lost my mind,
I don't care, I don't care, so call me crazy,
We can live in a world that we design."

She sings along with him with her high, pixie-like voice. Her curls swayed as he took her through a dance I remember fondly of our more casual events. Helen sits on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, happily joining in as Artifice plays the song gently in the background. The middle child, Briley, even shows the mildest interest, and I know this stems from their inner wolves drawing them toward the companionship song provided. 

Every wolf can sing, I remind myself. Seeing him warms my heart, as it means he is happy, and happiness is fleeting for us. My mind drifts to that little boy sitting in an incubator, waiting to join our family. 

I rub my arms to get warm, trying not to disturb them. Also, I didn't want to be involved. My vocals were disappointing, if not painful. 

Silvia squirms when she sees me and hops down to run over, and I happily pick her up, only to have her shudder at my cold grasp. "Papa Nic, you're cold." She says, rubbing her arms dramatically with a pretend chatter of her teeth. "Brrr! You're like the snow princess in my movie!" The child is too heavy; how these lycans continue to carry her is beyond me. I let her slide down to stand, cringing at my aching back. 

"He is?" Verando's tone is heavy with concern as he approaches, much as he tries to hide it, the back of his fingers brushing my cheek as he checks my temperature. A gentle smile crosses his lips at the comparison, though it doesn't touch his eyes. "Are you feeling alright, Princess?" 

The joy stops, and all eyes are on me; Rhea glances over her shoulder from her position in the living space as if my sudden demise wouldn't be the worst thing. I suppose that friendship was over; I did join the dark side with Marisol. If my body weren't so sore, I'd be considerably better today than yesterday; the cold didn't bother me as much when Verando was close by.

The small girl throws her arms around my waist. "I'll warm you." She tells me, hugging me tightly in a way that melts my heart. I hug her back, taking in the scent of overpowering artificial perfume from one of her toy kits and the sweet peach scent of shampoo. 

She's dressed in an over-the-top frilly dress, a princess gown. Princesses were all the rage in the home, considering my royal breeding. Silvia was well-versed in exactly where I'd come from. "Do you want to sing with us?"

"Honey, I don't know what you're singing?" In truth, I had minimal talent when it came to singing, and it wasn't as if English was my first language. "I just like to watch you sing. I'm sure your Papa would love to keep singing with you?" 

My eyes catch the way Verando's gaze clouds with concern, but once he sees me staring, he corrects it to a happier expression. Ever the warlord, ever vigilant. 

Tyler stretches, approaching to pat me firmly on the back. I try with all my might not to look disgruntled. "Come on, Nicolas. You might as well; ain't a man alive that can tell that little 'un no."

Verando rolls his eyes heavily in response. "Unnunciate, Tyler. You are not a neandertal. Words are entire for a reason. Your mental castration of an already difficult language is quite irritating."

 Tyler makes a face, and Helen chuckles, shrugging on his behalf. 

"I might not talk all fancy like as y'all do, but I do cater to sweet little girls. Play your song, baby girl; we will all sing." 

The little girl's voice calls on Artifice to start the music over, and I feel as though I'm in a choir hall with the melodic voices of Lycans surrounding me. I can see on his face that it upsets him just as much as it does for me, thinking back to the ceremonies in and around my home. 

So much tradition is gone forever, a rich culture based on family and honor taken from this world for simply existing. I can see why Legardo would want to protect them; their history is cruel and dark.

I watch Legardo and see him humming along; he seems to be surfacing from the darkness. We've all had to be strong; we've all had to learn to endure. I hear the low baritone of Marcello as he enters from a back room. Silvia watches me with those large, icy eyes, and Verando sneaks an arm around me, I'm assuming, to keep tabs on my body heat. 

Surrounded by lycans, I find that I'm feeling much warmer. I roll my eyes at the stern face I'm receiving from my granddaughter and crack a smile as I attempt the song. 

"Cause every night I lie in bed,
The brightest colors fill my head,
A million dreams are keeping me awake,
I think of what the world could be,
A vision of the one I see,
A million dreams is all it's gonna take,
A million dreams for the world we're gonna make."

The song touches my heart, and I'm met with judgment from the tiny face. "Papa Nic, you really can't sing." She whispers, and I can't stop the laughter, harder than I've laughed in what feels like a lifetime. 

I squeeze her, this endearing little girl who reminds me so much of Rowan. The way she scrunched her nose, the high cheekbones, and the shape of her eyes. The potent genetics were startling, to say the least. I find so many comparisons between her and the newborn little boy. It's hard not to become entranced, envisioning what he'll look like when he's chubby and ready to come home.

"Silvia." Legardo scolds. 

Silvia appears unshamed with her honesty.

I don't mind it; I quite like the bold girl. "Well, good thing Papa Randy sings well enough for both of us, hmm?" 

Dwelling on the fact that I was considered a grandfather wasn't on my agenda for today, nor was the fact that I was marrying one. I set her on the ground as she skips off to play with Tyler, who was happy to sing terribly with the talented youth. 

How could he be so charming yet say things that made us all pause? Verando might be right that it was best if I let them work it out on their own; I did like Tyler, he truly did seem to be a good man. Amidst all the destruction, our family was strong and continued to try and rebuild. 

Verando's hand rests firmly on my hip, keeping me pressed to his side, and I squirm under his grasp to slide his hand up towards my waist. I don't want him to see any impending 'thickness.' My self-conscious side was creeping out, perhaps due to my lack of comfort with my temperature.

 I felt as though I was being monitored more than coveted. Ignoring the odd look, I allow him to follow me closely to the kitchen, only for him to depart to get me a cup of coffee. I pull my eyebrows down at him as I accept the drink. "You know I much prefer this other way around. I've been waited on hand and foot my entire life; I quite like getting things for you."

 Before he can even speak, I sigh. This part was not optional; he was worried about me.

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome." His tone is annoyed, collecting my cheek in his hand as he rechecks my temperature. I smile back at him as innocently as possible, taking a sip. "Are we still going to the Dead City today?"

Marcello sits beside Helen at the kitchen island, his dark skin reflecting starkly against the light tones of the polished marble countertop. I found comfort in the man for odd reasons; there weren't many people of color in our immediate social group. 

The Nordic blood didn't lend itself to a tan unless forced. While we weren't the same, he broke up the tone of pale hues and made me feel like I didn't stand out so starkly. 

He's wearing a heavy jacket over his long sleeve; I can see the hints of a tactical vest poking out around the collar of this shirt. "If you're going to go, you need to go today. We have two days before we move on this hotel, much longer, and I fear we will miss our window of opportunity; the activity around the entrance is already slowing down. 

I imagine they are preparing for a move with Red out of the picture and Tonic under lockdown. I'm trying to hack their Artificice, but it's much more sophisticated than I anticipated. It might not be an Artifice at all. Did I hear you're going hunting?" 

Tonic. I needed to speak with him, but when? 

Verando nods, his voice pulling me back from my musings. "Yes. The pack needs the exercise, and I figured the magic users could use some practice. Low risk, high reward, and what have you." 

Tapping the corner of the table, a map pops up in a 3D image that reflects a variant of neon colors. He gestures to the red zone where the Dead City lies, expanding the scene to expose the estimated terrain. There are plenty of woods and a massive lake, though its contents are unknown. 

"There is a wooded area on the edge over here and an abandoned city. I spoke to Ron about it, and nobody has received any word of life there; from the drone pictures he showed me, it seems like it's falling apart. It might be ideal for some training exercises."

Marcello scoffs, "When do you have time to look into all this? Also, who taught you to use the table?"

Rhea shrugs, "Guilty. I thought he would break it if I didn't show him. The man spends a good deal of the night looking at this damned thing." 

I want to remind him that my warlord would run the world if we allowed him to. Control and micromanaging were what gave him peace. 

Marcello seems impressed, though I imagine the same qualities also made him wary of my soon-to-be husband. Verando pays little mind to the commentary, absorbed in the best path to our destination on foot. 

"Air quality will probably be good, at least with all the trees. Just be careful in those woods; people don't tend to come out when they try to go sightseeing. I know the people we encountered were magic users, but still. There has to be a reason we haven't developed it." Marcello reminds us.

There is very little threat in the woods to be had, in my opinion, perhaps cats or the occasional wildlife, but what could stand against a small lycan force or our growing magical arsenal?

"I managed an army for quite some time; if you want something done right-" He trails off as Marcello seems to have allowed his thoughts to drift towards the last adult male progeny with some value. Raising an eyebrow, our practical second-in-command crosses his arms as he gives Verando a stern look. Shifting his eyes back and forth between the two, I realize he's gesturing to the white-haired man.

 Tilting his head towards Legardo, Marcello presses his lips into a thin line as Verando drums his fingers in annoyance. It was a silent standoff, yet Marcello seemed to have leverage as Verando finally yielded. 

"Gardo. Would you like to come with us?" Verando puts on his professional mask, indifferent, monotone, though I can tell by the waves of anger emanating off of him this was not his choice. 

Legardo stiffens, almost dropping the plate of pancakes he brought to the island. He's dressed similarly to Verando, in a long sleeve and cargo pants, which seems to be the theme for today. It would do us good to block out the wind and the cold. "And do what? Die?" 

The white-haired man tends to cleaning up breakfast, unbeknownst to the battle of wills going on behind him. Marcello gestures with his hand for Verando to keep going. Meanwhile, my warlord rolls his eyes so hard it's a wonder he stays standing with the theatrics.

 Verando forces a smile that doesn't touch his eyes. 

"Ideally, no. It might be good for you to leave this place, go out, have some fun or.. air? Rhea and Marcello have offered to watch the girls." Presenting his middle finger to Marcello, he gestures to it sweetly before folding his hands on the table in defeat for the inevitable. 

Legardo had lived quite comfortably with his mother, who had rejected all of their lycan customs. I could see the stubborn streak on the double ganger's face; convincing Legardo to go outside and become what he was supposed to be wouldn't be easy.

"We have?" Rhea demands. Marcello gives her a harsh look to silence her.

"Yes. We have," he reassures her.

Legardo doesn't look so convinced, and I drag one of the pancakes onto a plate, setting it in front of Verando. "Eat," I demand him before turning my attention to Legardo. 

The gray-haired male takes a sarcastic bite, only humoring me. He would claim he'd already eaten yesterday, but oddly enough, we expected him to eat daily. Another lycan would not go amiss; we could use the extra help, and if I wanted to mend this bond, I might as well help orchestrate this plan. 

He needed guidance; he was on the cusp of a return if we could only tip him over the edge. Marcello seemed appreciative of my need to interject.

"Verando was saying he wanted to do some continuing education with the fledglings? Tell them a bit about their heritage; you should be a part of that since you never got that when you were younger. I also wanted to talk with the recruits; why not do it tonight?" 

My words cause Verando to cough and sputter on the pancake, lifting his hand to cover his mouth as he attempts to breathe and rebuttal my offer. I know I'm running out of time with my perfectly calculated maneuver of offering this when his mouth is full. 

"Cheeky, aren't they?" Rhea spits, crossing her arms over her chest in disbelief at everything the other side of the room had volunteered for. 

I proceeded, knowing he would revoke my offer if I didn't solidify the plans. "The more you know about your kind, the better. Your daughters are all lycans, and I think knowing your culture would at least help you prepare. Lycans need packs to be happy; they can't live and thrive without a community. You don't have to be friends with these people, but perhaps some time away might do you some good?" 

If nothing else, I'm a 'Mercer' expert. I was becoming quite familiar with the bloodline. I'm running out of time, as Verando seems to be coming around on his near-choking experience. "Please, Legardo? It would mean a lot to us."

Rhea waves him off. "Do it before your father regains sentience and changes his 'mind.' It's in there; there's no denying it. You don't want to end up going rogue one day and killing everyone."

"Fine." He grumbles.

 I smile at him, taking a pancake on my plate. 

"But I'm not doing any of this running around mess; I'm just going to observe."

"Of course," I reassure him, winking at Marcello, who nods at me in gratitude. 

"Excuse me?" Verando demands. "In what world-" I stop him with a strawberry. 

"Randy." I attempt to keep my voice level. I'll accept any punishment he can concoct for this later, but I had to agree. Legardo needed time with his father, and the pack needed to know their history. "It would give them something to fight for. It would give them a sense of heritage. The lycan army had such a sense of pride in who they were. I think we all need a dose of that."

 Shaking his head in frustration, he departs to sit with Silvia and Tyler, assuring me that any attempts of getting him to eat this morning were dashed. But it would be worth it if our plan worked. 

After breakfast, we pile into our vehicles and start on the snowy roads for the Dead City. I couldn't help but admire the sense of family. Where I had remained in the lost city in the cold and misery, it would seem that Tyler and Helen returned as often as possible to resume everyday family life.

While it wasn't how I would do it, I could admire the dedication given the amount of time training an army took. 

We settle into the sports car, following behind Tyler and Helen at a painfully slow speed that I know causes his blood to boil. I cringe at the anger I can feel building in him but snag his hand to hold in my lap and siphon his warmth. "Are you upset with me?"

 "Yes." But he sounds more frustrated than anything else. His fingers tangle in mine as he exhales, "But not for the reasons you're thinking; how long have you been cold like this? Also, how's your back? You look stiff as a board... I was too hard on you yesterday, I shouldn't have-"

"Since I stayed in the Dead City the first time." I shrug, cutting him off. "My back's okay, I'm just sore. You gave me a thorough education on my limits last night. "

I like to link it to an overcharge of my abilities, my body adjusting to a new level of power, but it seemed to worsen. "I'm not entirely concerned about it yet; my color is good; whenever I'm around you, I warm up. Maybe I'm just pent up; I'm not using nearly as often as I used to. "

His jaw set. I admired the stubble and overgrowth, pondering how he'd look with an actual beard. "Another reason I think we need to approach the government for your sovereignty is to create a place where you can use and do so safely. This illegal bullshit is about on my last nerve. I'm feeling it, too." He rolls his shoulders as if they're sore. "Everything aches; I feel like I'm going to explode. I'm sorry, darling; I shouldn't have taken it out on you yesterday... you might be armed and dangerous, but you're still a human under it all."

With a chuckle, I squeeze his hand, tracing my fingers over his knuckles. "Please don't be gentle with me; last night was the best sex I've ever had. I'm sore, but it felt so good." Hesitating when he doesn't respond, I sigh. "I wondered how you were fairing with the lack of running space."

"It's quite difficult. You need to use, and so does Tyler, if he's ever going to get stronger. Though it appears he will be more difficult to bring along than anticipated."

 That I agree with, leaning back in my seat, I sigh heavily. Do I want to be king again? How would we even go about it? I suppose we would have done it the same way in my homeland. 

"We will figure it out. Once this is over, we can put together a proposal. Ban this bloody testing and force the government to stop creating and testing on these creatures."

I gaze out the window, not allowing myself to dwell too much on the possibility of ruling yet another kingdom. I want to get through today; I want this to go smoothly so I can feel comfortable going to France. I shut my eyes, listening to him speak in the low, deep tone that I find so soothing with his accent. 

With the long drive and the warmth of his hand and the car, I drift off as I feel we're in for a long night.