The coffee mug flies across the room and Verando's arm instinctively covers me. I place my hand on his shoulder, stepping out from his shadow. A tantrum is not going to dissuade me. "Right, fuck all then, is it? Just split up a month before the end of days and go on this little quest?" 

The woman demands, violently running a hand through her dark hair to bring it back into order. "Bad enough Ron wouldn't hardly tell me a blasted thing, and now this. Do you people have any idea what we go through to keep you safe?" 

My eyes narrow. "Do you?" 

Tapping her long nails on her cheekbone, she scowls, her thin lips pulled into a narrow line. Glaring at me through her glasses, I size her up with my stern expression. 

"It's not up to you, you serve us, this is what our plan is. We have to find more allies. If the government hadn't made it illegal to have magic, I highly doubt this would be occurring now." Oftentimes, I wonder if that was indeed the case. It might be frightening to be so powerless, but I could see their hesitation. But at one point, we lived in harmony. Surely we could again?

"Nicolas. I greatly respect what you have accomplished. You have single-handedly done what it took The Mistress decades to do. You must understand my position to allow you to separate from the one destined to protect you. Every theory, every story, even your own admission, that lycan is holding your life in his hands." 

I feel the heat coming off of him, frustration with her tone boiling his blood and burning off his patience. 

"I think you'll find it's quite the other way around. It's not Nic you must worry about, regardless, we will do what is necessary to defeat Gabriel. Now, if you'd like similar treatment to your American friend, Mr.Malcom, I'm happy to oblige. Otherwise, show some damn respect to who might very well be your king one day." 

His harsh tone cuts through the tension, bringing her back to the ground. She snags the silver tumbler off her desk and stomps over to the massive window to take a long sip of the glass. Her gray jacket and skirt cling to her slender form. A wisp of a woman really. Thin cheekbones hardly support the narrow glasses, even her hair was thin, pulled tight into a slim ponytail.

With a slow sigh, she presses her forehead to the glass as if to wish us away. "Ron said to trust you both, that's why I'm giving you my best agent. He said that this is supposed to bring us all together..." 

Glancing over her shoulder at us, I see the hint of fear in her eyes. 

"History has not been kind to your likeness. If this goes badly-" She stops herself, as if she's saying too much. "Allowing you to go off and get more of your kind will put you in a position of massive power when this is all over... you should expect retaliation. Saving the world will not be enough, in the end, they will want to disband you."

I had expected this as we had dealt with it before. The battle of the races was upon us once again, thinly veiled by the end of days. The fight had merely waited for us, held in a standoff and slowly starving but now rekindled into a final stand. 

She was afraid because she knew we stood a chance, she was worried because the veil of control was thin and fleeting. 

"Then I suggest you stand on the correct side of history. My work has never been for a superior race, I have always wanted peace among all the races. You have seen what division causes. We will do this with or without government support."

Reluctantly, she walks over to the desk and hovers her fingers over a touchpad. Her dark eyes flick up, "I was ready to have you both killed. I'm still not convinced I'm making the right decision, but I have two daughters. I'd like to see them grow up. Keep that in mind when this is all over." 

Pressing a button, the door slides open, and a dark-skinned woman enters. Her body is covered in the lycra suit, much like the ones we wore when we first arrived in New York, she's tall, almost Verando's height. "Agent Lotta, Nicolas, and Verando Mercer. Please give them the full support of our government; remember your protocol." 

I feel him stiffen beside me as we leave the room. 

Our new agent is a harsh contrast to gentle, perspiring Ron. I miss the familiar wrinkles and balding head compared to our sharp-featured, black-eyed babysitter. Her head was shaved with just the slightest bit of curl visible. Her large, full lips were unmoving, not happy nor angry, and her almond-shaped eyes were accentuated with well-defined brows. "You're not what I was expecting." I allow myself to fill the void. 

Her shoulders were tense for just a moment as she eyed me. "Why not?" Her sharp tone takes me by surprise, and I blink in response. 

"I-" Collecting myself, I wasn't sure what about her had me so tense. "Ron didn't remind me of someone who had seen combat. You look like you've had some training?" I attempt. 

She retains her composure, looking straight ahead. 

"I assure you, every agent has been trained extensively. I figured you meant I didn't bow down to you as Ron did." Her French accent makes me wonder if I misheard her. I glance at Verando, and he shrugs, unwilling to tangle much with the complexities of women. 

"Come on. If we're going to do this plan, we have a lot to go over before tomorrow." Her pace is extraordinary, her long legs reminding me of my days chasing after a hurried Alpha. He easily strides with her, but my short legs do me no justice. As we get into the tube, she sits across from us with one leg crossed over the other, tapping into her tablet. 

 I give Verando an elbow in the side, gesturing he attempts to speak with her. I can see her skin crawl as her nose wrinkles slightly on one side as if being in here with us was an uncomfortable thought for her.

 "Can you tell me about the travel here? Why are there no singular vehicles?" 

Her expression softens just the slightest. She did a double take, realizing that it was my warlord who was talking to her, her shoulders relaxed minutely. 

As her eyes drift out the window, she considers this for a moment; the profile of her nose is petite and curves inward just slightly, coming to a pert point. "We ran out of oil a long time ago. Most cars, as I'm sure you know, are electric, but creating their batteries is quite expensive. So we installed this. All transportation is done by rail." 

Verando made a face, and she frowned as well. 

"It's so the government can track you." Her voice is low, observing him. Her eyes flick towards the camera, and she presses a button on her tablet, making the green light shut off. 

"The government watches every movement, sees who uses the systems, and records your daily activity. They claim it's for customer service, but you be the judge. There are no individual vehicles in Europe. It also keeps you from going where they don't want you to go... if you develop a force the size you're speaking of, you'll have a hard time getting them back here.

 Got a plan for that, tough guy?" She seems to let her guard down if only for a breath, her eyes locked on Verando and not even bothering with a glance in my direction. 

 To act so familiar after such a cold greeting, I'm questioning her mental stability. 

Verando reacts cooly; if he's reading into it, he's not letting on. "Well, I suppose that's where you come in." The suggestion at least warrants a more mute expression. Lotta crosses her arms over her chest, gently bouncing her foot. "Ships, perhaps?"

"We'd have to send you one."

I shrug. "We could disguise it as a cargo vessel? To keep from drawing attention?" 

Her eyebrow twitches, and she tightens her jaw. "I'd rather a more dignified way of travel. These aren't criminals." Her voice is tight. 

I blink, taken aback. "I'm not suggesting they are. I don't want to be caught, and I don't want to alert anyone that we're coming."

Verando rests a hand on my knee, forcing me to take a breath. The tension in the air is putting me on edge. I turn my attention out the window; it would appear I'm not welcome in this conversation. The city looms in the smoke like a giant in the mist; shapes fade in and out of view as we pass through the tubes at immense speeds. 

It isn't often he is the peacemaker; people weren't usually more willing to speak to him than me, and it's admittedly thrown me off my game. 

"What do you suggest as far as cover?" He proceeds, leaving his hand on my thigh. I reluctantly grab hold of it, pulling his palm into my lap for the warmth.

Lotta exhales low in her throat, shaking her head. "I don't. I think we leave everyone in their civilian clothes and go on acting like civilians. I can arrange for the Artifice on the boat to have a broken scanner. It will mean if anyone is stowing away, we would be vulnerable, but it would be the easiest way to make a move. It'll take a few days to come up the coast, but from there, we can use the subways to bring you back to the city."

I'm not too fond of it. It sounds like a use of time that we don't have. "Need I remind you we only have thirty days?"

"Don't worry, we'll do all the heavy lifting. You have your meetings and leave the difficult part to us." 

The anger starts to curl in my stomach at her tone, her complete discount of my importance to this mission. "What is your problem?" I demand.

"Nic." Verando's voice is short, stopping me. Lotta narrows her eyes, but I ignore his warning. 

"I'm fighting to save this planet; you could act as if I'm less than the urchins on the street? Why are you helping us if you don't even like us?" 

While she hadn't necessarily been aggressive, her manners left much to be desired. Even David Malcom had been polite. 

Shaking her head in disbelief, she allows for a soft laugh. "Of course, you'd feel that way. I'm not helping you. I'm helping him." She tilts her head to Verando. "I'll be honest with you, 'Good King', I'm not exactly a fan. But if there is any species that knows about hate and oppression, it's lycans." 

My jaw dropped, and I scooted forward to the front of my seat; she appeared unimpressed. "You don't scare me." Her voice is firm, decided, she thought I was doing this as a publicity stunt rather than to help these people. 

"My kind has almost been wiped out, so excuse me, but I'm quite sure I know what it's like to lose people. I'm doing everything I can to help this planet! What more do you want from me?" I wasn't trying to scare her; I couldn't fathom her reasoning. 

Lotta looks just as bewildered as I do. "After your family enslaved an entire race and DID wipe them out. Was your sister not the infamous Corina? Isn't his life now tied to yours? It's my understanding they fully intended on leaving him behind to die and bringing you here. Damn thoughtful, if I must say. You and yours are no friends of mine. Not everyone is impressed with you, 'Your Majesty'.

Don't compare the enslavement of an entire race to losing people. They lost more than people; they lost generations. Lives uprooted, children separated from mothers, fathers and sons recruited only to serve your people against their will. Good riddance; people like you are dangerous. People who can compare a death to a lifetime of involuntary servitude have no idea what it means to suffer." 

I had been faced with rebellion and displeasure before, but somehow, her measure of me cut me to the quick. My life had been so much more than the wrongdoings of my family. What Verando and I have is mutual.  

"You don't know a thing about us. I helped rally to save the Lycans. I did all that I could."

Lotta tosses the tablet at me, pulling up the history of my country. "Research yourself and see through your people's eyes. If someone brought you here, it's not to use you for good, that's for damn sure. Tell me. Did 'he' approach you? Have you met Gabriel? I guarantee he was hoping, if not certain, that you would be on his side. You gave speeches, and that's all you continue to do. I doubt you know who anyone in your community is; I doubt you knew your bloody servant's name. Tell me Nicolas, who raised you? Who kept your castles clean and plowed your fields?"

Verando comes to my defense, keeping his tone even. "It doesn't help to dwell on the past. What was done can't be changed, Nicolas did much more for the lycan's than anyone else in our time."

She doesn't look at him with the same hatred she regards me. "You are a much better person than I am, Mr.Mercer, and I respect you more than you know. I knew your late wife, Marisol. She was the first lycan I dealt with and she was an incredible woman. You both did things for your community and made sacrifices, and history falls on deaf ears to those achievements. The losers never get to write the books." I can see this comes from a deep-seated resentment; she was black, and her ancestors had faced the hardships of unspeakably cruel treatment for something as simple as skin color. 

To her, my family must be on par with those who captured her ancestors, for they created their designer slaves.

Lotta was not a hysterical woman, she was decided and educated, she'd formed her opinion from the facts given to her and as she laid them out for me, I couldn't say that I blamed her. Verando had his own qualms with magic users, even now. 

"All the books tell about him. His speeches, his council, and his tours are still on the backs of Lycan slaves and Lycan armies. Tell me, would Nicolas have freed the lycans on his own if you had not killed his father?" 

His silence wounds me, and I settle back into my seat.

Would I have? 

It was hard to know; how could anyone know? We were a product of our time. Having laborers was a regular occurrence; it was something I'd been raised in, not something I'd chosen. I didn't ask for my father to be the bringer of their demise, and yet, I knew from that very man that Verando was selected to help me bring all of this to pass. He'd been plucked from his life because he suited me the best. 

Yes, he loved me. I never questioned that. But was it fair?

"People change. I'm not certain what he would have done, but I am hopeful that he would have listened to reason if the facts were presented. Nicolas is kind; more than anything else, he was trained to appreciate nature and all it offers. I believe he would have come to the same conclusion alone."

Lotta doesn't seem so convinced as she looks me over once more as if being in my presence physically hurts her. "People can change. I lack faith in a man who was raised in brutality. Nicolas, I don't think you are evil, I think you are horribly uneducated on all that you preach. 

I'm doing this because I want to see equality for all races. 

I hope your voice will be heard when that time comes, Mr.Mercer. Marisol and I shared the same fears.. I'll be honest: I was hoping I'd see you here today with her. It's a significant loss that she died." In other words, she'd wished it was me who'd been shot, that he'd chosen her over a king with what she considered no life experience.

I want to tell this woman about my life, struggles, dedication to freeing the nations, and giving up my monarchy for a society where people had the right to vote. Still, it seemed as though she had the history before her anyway. 

Verando pinches the bridge of his nose, uncomfortable with the conversation as much as I was. 

In my defense, Verando rarely brought this up. I hardly knew what his life as a slave was like, unfortunately, I was a trade partner to his 'owner'. Often times, it seemed easier to just forget that part and move on. 

I set the tablet down and say nothing; I'm hurt that he wouldn't defend me more fiercely and that she would see me in such a light. 

Since I'd arrived here, I hadn't gotten much of this side of the argument. I hadn't thought about people viewing me as a slave owner or seeing me as a potential threat to equality. My family's faults were surely not mine. 

As the tram pulls into the port, we make the short trip to Stefan's, and I push past my vampire double-ganger to storm up to my room and slam the door. While I try not to allow things like this to get to me, I'm drowning in her words. 

Not everyone will like you, I remind myself. 

Her people were also prosecuted, so it made sense for her not to trust me. I just had to show her that I wasn't my family. Laying on my stomach, I clutch the pillow to my cheek and feel the weight of my age. 

I had been called a gypsy but it never bothered me much, my age was the largest slur most could put against me. I bury my face in the pillow to scream at myself. Why couldn't I answer her question? Surely I would have freed them on my own, wouldn't I? 

I hear the door open and close; his weight pulls my weight on the bed, and I refuse to look at him. "Should I call someone?" His tone is teasing.

"I'm a terrible person. I couldn't even defend myself." 

He says nothing, and I sit on my elbows to stare at him in disbelief, but I see he's not taking me seriously. Verando flashes me my favorite look, and I shove him in frustration. "I didn't expect people to hate me. I was unprepared for her words. I was hoping for another Ron."

Verando traces his eyes over my body as if memorizing it. "Opinions like hers are good to have; criticism builds better societies. You don't have to listen to everything, but knowing what people think is good. She's afraid."

I scoff. "She didn't look afraid to me."

Verando glances at me, raising a brow. "Maybe that was her point? She looked terrified to me." 

I consider this, rolling over onto my hip and pushing myself up to sit beside him. 

"As someone who spent a lot of time hating you and everything you stood for, people can change their minds. You have to show her as you showed me." 

A small smile curls onto his lips, and he kisses my cheek. 

"Maybe not exactly how you showed me." 

Standing up, he pulls off his coat and carefully folds it.

I groan and flop back onto the bed. "Maybe I am a terrible person." 

The contrast was not lost on me. Verando could be much more personable than I was, but in my defense, my contact with people was limited. He had an entire community; even as a slave, he was surrounded by people who only survived by their unity. He understood the importance of social bonds, even if he disliked most people. 

But, the very thought stops me in my tracks. He didn't dislike people; he disliked my people. 

The change in him since moving to the future had been immense; away from the stresses of constant racism and slurs, he was able to exist as a man and not a commodity. He was friendlier and happier; the man who never smiled had become someone who often could be pleasant. 

Verando had become the ever-elusive 'Randy' in a much more permanent way. It was me who had struggled to find my place and who had worked to remain upbeat. I trace my gaze over the lines of his back as he removes the button-up shirt and folds it. 

The scars over his shoulder, the now healed bruise, and the scatter of faded marks from battles and scuffles. When I first met him, I remember thinking that his owner must have been so disappointed to see his injuries.

Quickly, I approach from across the room and hug him from behind, kissing each ragged claw mark. "Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you?" I whisper against his skin. 

Verando shrugs innocently, glancing at me over his shoulder. "You could tell me more often." He muses. 

I chuckle, kissing his back once more. "If I ever revert, promise me you'll stop me."

"I'll be the first to let you know." He reassures me.