It's as if history is truly on repeat as I walk with Grayson through the abandoned town. Opting to leave Marisol with the healer to work on her and stave off her contractions, I figure it's a bit of insurance for later. 

I trace my gaze over the dead buildings, dim with a lack of light on the upper levels, and yet the shops are bustling with a natural glow and life. Hundreds of people are here, yet they all move in complete silence. There are no cars; everyone is on foot, with the occasional beast wandering amongst them. 

Grayson points out as much as he can, and I pull him every which way in my excitement. My royal training fails me as I enter the book store and I feel my eyes are wet. I wipe them with the back of my hands at the familiar smell of real books, handwritten books that smell dusty yet hint at leather, and robust and satisfying paper. 

I track my fingers over each and every title I can reach, some even look familiar in a distant memory. The shopkeeper, an aged man, rushes towards me angrily and then freezes when he sees me. 

"Oh my gods." he breathes, dropping to his knees to bow his head. "Your Majesty. Honor the Good King." 

I blink rapidly, am I that recognizable? Glancing towards Grayson, he points at his head to indicate my hair. Maybe it's also the fact I'm relatively short, and not many people are as tan as a medieval Romanian. My accent was foreign, nobody in this time sounded like me.

"Rise. I don't go by that title anymore. It's just Nicolas in today's time." I offer him a smile and he clutches his chest, for a moment I fear I've killed him and Grayson helps him to his chair. 

He sits, taking a puff on a pipe and I can smell the dank aroma of herbs. "You are just as humble as the titles foretold, a true advocate for our people and struck down when you had only just begun. My my my, what you would have accomplished young man. But, there is a god and he is merciful." 

He smiles so broadly, his rounded cheeks almost shield his eyes. My body retracts, warning me not to get close to sweet older people in meager stores. They tend to not live very long. I hug myself, feeling naked as he talks about this incredible person that I feel as though I've left behind. 

"King Nicolas... I thought I'd never live to see the day when magic users walked amongst humans once more. Now that you're here before me, I can't help but think that time might be upon us. Perhaps my daughter and her children will see true freedom, as you might have known it on our tours through our mother country."

Forcing a small smile, I do my best to hold up my posture to his standards. It isn't often I'm expected to present myself as my breeding. "You flatter me, kind sir. I must do well to remind you that those on my tours, unfortunately, did not live long lives, I hope you've all taken this into account with your welcoming nature. With freedom comes a hefty price and as we know, that price is often blood." 

The man nods though Grayson frowns. 

"Ohhhh, I know all about your tours young man." 

He marches over to a shelf and pulls off a book to lay it gingerly on the counter. Puffing on his pipe, he opens it and points to a painting, and I'm startled to see it's of me. 

"Mid 1800s, your coronation, for starters. But, my personal favorite." Flipping back, he tracks with his finger. "Prince Nicolas marches on Ziduri, Prince Nicolas defeats Lord Tar-rock against a crystal dragon with a meer water beast. Minimal casualties, gaining the company of Prince Har-rock." 

The battle was so fresh in my mind it was as if it were yesterday, I almost wondered if Grayson was electrocuting me again. The pain, the discomfort of remembering who we lost on that damned tour.  We were there to rescue Randy, to save his life, for he was about to burn at the stake, but that wasn't in the book. 

My body shakes out of my control, and I relive it. Every bloody, horrific moment. The counter shudders and pops, and I realize that I've frozen it solid. Retracting my ice, I clear my throat. The battles had affected me more than I thought, though I really didn't spend much time thinking about them. 

"That was a fight well won." I finally managed. 

"You fought with your people, Your Majesty. Alongside them every step of the way-" I stop him, flinching at the agony of more remembered battles. 

"Not in the end." I snap, almost too harsh for my own ears. "In the end, I got on that bloody train.. and I retreated to France while Transylvania fell. I fled. If I had remained, maybe... maybe I wouldn't have died, and this all would have been different." 

They glance back and forth at each other. "You died of what we would consider in today's time, a heart attack, son. It was going to happen there or in the field. It was that deal you struck with France that brought guns to Romania and stopped the empire from succeeding. We won that fight because of you, you paid your dues. 

I can't say I regret having you back here, to do it all again, but there is no other man that I feel could stand up to this task. The world is in a sorry state." 

Shaking his head as if he were overcome with exhaustion, I scan the shop. They murmur back and forth and all at once, I feel the overwhelming sense of responsibility to my people. Once more, history has found a way to pull me into the fray and plead for my help, but what if I'm not able to help it? 

I watch my reflection in the dull glass across the room, and I'm ashamed of who looks back at me. I went on a shopping spree, I'm galavanting when I should be working and trying to fix this. How long had it been since I'd done my job? 

Since the hurricane, truly. 

Why was it that my own happiness prevented me from doing my actual job? This is an opportunity, I have a second chance, and I have to take it. These people need me as badly as I need them, with their help, maybe I could find Fergus and begin to set this right. 

"Is there any way you could devise me a list of all the loyalists here? Those who would be willing to help, along with their abilities? "

Grayson perks, "Sir, that'd be everyone at last count, save for those who fear being eaten by your servant." I cover his mouth, pleading to the gods that there isn't a gray beast who heard that. 

"If you value your life, you will spread the word to never call him that. Verando is my partner, not my servant. Get me that list, and perhaps we can be of use to each other. Can you do that for me, Grayson?" He nods quickly and I dismiss him, turning to the aged man. "I don't know how I can thank you for... this."

"I beg your pardon? I've not done much for you, Sir."

"You just reminded me why I love my people, that I am a King and I'm not just someone who can control the elements. I- coming to this time, I had lost that. But, I think I'm finally starting to believe it again." He smiles warmly at me, patting me on the back with his large rough hand. "What is your ability?"

"I'm a historian, I remember everything once I've read it once." He pulls up his hair and I see that his ears have been sliced off. "I'm an Elf, so believe me, I think I remember exactly who you are and what you're about."

I try not to look too shocked and he laughs, patting me once more. 

"You're thinkin' of those elves of your time, but it's not the same as what I am. Bit of human, a bit of dwarf runnin' around in these bones but for the most part, or so say the government, I'm an elf."

Oh. That makes sense. I think of Haryek, and what he'd say to such claims. "It's Har-rick, by the way... My friend called him Harry once, and he was quite upset. He was a good man when he wanted to be."

And he died a traitor's death trying to protect me. I feel the tears threatening to come all over again and I try and think if I really want to go through this again. 

"You're a historian; how can you support this?"

 What a rude man to offer me no alcohol; he must be an elf. "Because I yearn for freedom, and the interesting thing about people is they're always surprising you. Everyone deserves to be free, allow them to fight for it. That's what they wish to spend their life on. History is full of incredible heroes who did incredible things because they believed in something, even impossible things. 

You are one of those incredible people, Nicolas. You give people hope, even in death, you brought all of these good people together. I'd say if Alpha doesn't kill everyone when he gets here, they'd follow you to the edge of the earth."

Verando turned his pack away because he knew they would all die if they followed us on our last battle yet they all died anyway. What was the right way? I wipe my eyes once more, laughing at what a mess I must look like. 

"You know, as a historian, I must tell you history has him all wrong. He just... loves.. me. If it is to end, I'd like the words to say that he was crucial to our victories. The Dacians were the original lycans and our people split from them. It's not us and them, it's all of us. We are all the same people,  magic users, and lycans. When I ruled, we were just that. Some of my best friends were- are- lycans." 

I sniffle, feeling ridiculous for getting worked up over this. The man hands me a tissue, opens the book back up, and runs his hands over the pages. The text shimmers and wiggles as he revises some of the wording. 

"This is quite a change from how it was remembered." He comments. 

"Only the victors get to tell their stories; the lycans were not the victors. So. By your knowledge of the past, what would you say the probability of us surviving this thing is?" 

He ponders this for a moment, closing the book and drumming his fingers. 

"What were your chances of defeating your sister?"

I laugh out loud. "One in a million, my good fellow. My father only saw one possible way we could win, and we deviated from that path so many times it was like navigating a lava field." 

He nods, taking this in before resting his hands on the table. His eyes glow as he calculates and his shoulders sag in defeat. 

"There is no room for error this time, Your Majesty. You must choose the correct path. The way that I see it, we have a singular shot to get this right."

Nodding, I part my lips to speak only to be interrupted by a flurry of feet. Thanking him, I rush out the door and onto the street. Hordes of people run from the entrance to the city, and I see the familiar car pull up. 

Are they truly that afraid of him? How often does he come here that he pulls in so casually? Did he know about this place all along and not tell me? 

Stepping out of the car, I jog quickly towards him and his eyes lock on me with relief only to have Grayson grab my arm. He storms towards us, and I put up my hands. "Verando. Stop." I demand sharply, halting him in his tracks. Turning my attention to Grayson, I take a slow breath. "You have to let me go, right now, or you're going to lose your life."

"Not a chance. I can't let him take you, Your Majesty, we need you here." 

They do need me and I need them. The community slowly circles us, and suddenly, I'm on the side of 'us,' and he's the 'them'. 

"Let me speak with him." 

"Nicolas." His voice is low. "If you go to him, he will take you."

It almost makes me chuckle like a crazy person because if he doesn't let me go, my warlord will take me by force, and there will be no stopping him. I remove his hand and give him a stern look. "Your King orders you to stand down," I tell him sternly and obediently; the man bows away from me. 

As I walk, I hear the murmurs spreading through the circle. 

"It's him."
"The hair."
"A solomonari?"
"The Good King has been reborn."

Standing before him, I wrap my arms around myself because I know if I touch him, I'll lose all my confidence. 

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He sounds so panicked even though he's trying to hold it in. His eyes show his fear; his body vibrates with restraint as he tries to hold back the wolf I had called so strongly. He's dressed in a clean-cut suit, that's dark in color, because here they know him as Mr.Mercer the performer and merciless lycan who'd laid claim to their king. 

"I'm fine. They saved me."

"I saw the building fall, and everything went blank, I got here as fast as I could. I thought that-" he stops himself and steps towards me, but I rest my hand on his chest to keep us apart. I can't, not with everyone watching. "I knew you were alive because I still was, but it was hard to believe. The store is blown up, there is a bloody building down in Long Island." 

He hesitates as he realizes I'm keeping my distance. "What're you doing?" He grasps my hand, and I slip my fingers out of his. 

There are too many eyes, too many people watching our every move. I can't even look at him, not with what I'm considering. 

"Nic?"

"Did you know about this city?" I needed to know, I had to know if he was hiding this from me. Could I take it? What would I even do if that were true? 

Verando pulls his eyebrows down, confused, searching my face. I wish there weren't so many people watching us, I wish we had time by ourselves to talk this out.

"No, of course not. I tracked you here, you were screaming for Alpha at the top of your lungs, God himself couldn't keep me from finding you." He steps towards me again and I stiffen, making him pause. "What's wrong?"

"I just- I don't want them to see us that way. Not yet, at least." 

His expression cuts me, and I have to look away. It wasn't fair to him, to me, but what if they decided not to follow me if they found out I was a lover of men? Nobody seemed to know; they all just viewed him as my keeper. I couldn't afford to lose a single follower, not now, not yet.

 "Randy, they don't know what we are," I murmur, my voice low enough that only he could hear. 

With a scoff, he looks deflated. Tounging his cheek, the disappointment sets in. "Are you embarrassed?"

What can I say? Yes? No? 

These people see me as someone totally different than what's the reality. We had been living a blessed life; people in this time didn't care, but those who thought they knew a past self also thought they knew his past, and the image was muddy. 

"Verando, they are terrified of you," I tell him shortly, and he clenches his fists. "I think if they know that we are involved in this way, they might not want to help us-"

"They should be. We don't know them, Nic. I had no idea there were this many. They should be wary of us, and we should be mindful of them." He reiterates. Verando was always so logical, but in times like these, wasn't it worth a bit of risk? This was a gold mine of potential, we couldn't afford to lose it.

I sigh, knowing that I'm hurting him, and hating myself for it. "It's more complicated than that, these people know who we are. They want to help, they are willing to help, but-" What the hell am I supposed to say? 

"I don't think they will help if they know you are so closely involved. Randy, I just-"

"Then tell them to piss off? Can we go home? Please?" 

My heart fractures and I cling to myself, trying to hold myself together because we don't have time for me to convince him in my normal ways. This was emotional for him, too; he loved me, and leaving me with a society of unknown people with magical abilities was a death sentence to him.

 But I needed this, I wanted this so badly. 

"I need time to work with these people. I think I should... stay.. here a while. The blast was massive; we could let David Malcom think I'm dead. The work they have me doing is child's play compared to this, and if I'm dead, they won't think you or I were involved in the destruction of the building. You could have a press release, blaming Red. Think about it Randy, a group of mercenaries-" I try and speak quickly because I can see the sickening expression building as he shakes his head. 

"No, damn it, Nic." Cursing under his breath, he takes my hand and I grip it tightly. "I just got you back." It's a plea to my human side, from him and the wolf. The pain of being separated, the discomfort he felt being away from me like this, beyond his fear for my safety. "I can't protect you if you're here and I'm not, fuck it all if I can't keep you safe."

I hear the murmurs surrounding us, and I know I need to end this before it escalates. "Listen to me. They fear you; they aren't going to touch me if they know I'm important to you. Randy, I can handle this. You're going to have to trust me. Please..."

Verando's fingers slip through mine, and I resist the urge to throw my arms around his neck. While he doesn't understand, his love for me allowed him to believe I had good intentions. But his foul past had him questioning my motives. I knew the pain I was putting him through, I prayed silently to the gods that I was making the right choice. 

I'd do everything in my power to ensure this was the correct path. 

 Composing himself, I see the anger boiling under the surface. "I do trust you." He utters once more, running a hand through his hair. 

Snapping his fingers, he motions to Grayson to come over. Reluctantly, the man runs to us, and Verando's gaze burns white-hot with malice. "He wants me to trust him." He tells him firmly; Grayson looks back and forth between us with uncertainty. "But in reality, it's you I don't trust."

 Grayson throws up his hands, and everyone takes a step forward, ready to defend their companion. Getting in between the pair, my eyes flash a silent challenge to the lycan to not press our luck any further. "I'm vouching for them."

"Take me." The female says, the water-wielding sister. "If any harm comes to Nicolas you can-" He scoffs at her, coupled with a dramatic eye roll.

"What? Kill you? Your life holds no value compared to his. Let it be known, that if any harm comes of him, a single hair out of place, I will be back. No one, men... women... children... will be safe. I will hunt every last one of you to the end of time, and you will pay with your blood.

 History is not vivid enough; there is not a tale you have read that will hold a bloody candle to what I will do to you if you harm him. Do I make myself clear?" 

I sensed the reluctance of the crowd, they were hedging on giving me back, but I know more than anything he was making a statement to keep up whatever farce I was trying to uphold. It was also a clear message to me, my warlord was furious with me.

Marisol comes to his side, and he puts his arm firmly around her. Those burning blue eyes never left mine, defiant as I stared back at him with just as much discomfort. This wasn't easy for me either, I would miss him terribly, and I couldn't imagine seeing him leave, and yet this is what felt right to me. "That's my property; I'm just loaning him to you." 

Taking the phone out of his pocket, Verando hands it to me. "I'll change the number and get myself a new one. On you at all times; if you don't answer, I'm burning this place to the ground. Those are my terms."

Marisol didn't dare speak, and the flash of fear that crossed her expression told me what a gamble he allowed me to take. She didn't agree with leaving me here, it terrified her, but she respected his decision.

"Do you accept?" he demands of Grayson, who reluctantly nods. "Report for duty tomorrow; Marisol will need bodyguards now that you're taking this one. Don't be late." 

I watch as he leaves; he loves me so he's become what I asked him to be. I needed the heavy. The wolf tempts the sheep to follow the shepherd. He loves me, so he would do whatever I asked, no matter how much it gutted him. As Marisol looks over her shoulder, murdering me with her eyes, I know exactly what I asked him to do.

What they didn't seem to comprehend was that I loved him, too, with every fiber of my being. This threatened to break me and cut me to the quick, and I knew exactly what emotions it stirred in them both. But- sometimes, we had to make the hard decisions. I intended to live a long life, this is what was required. 

History repeats itself, the Alpha had returned, and the Good King would rise again.