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. Marisol was just as valuable as Verando when it came to forming bonds.

 I needed her to tell me if I could trust these people

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 bookstore, 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, with robust and satisfying paper. 

I track my fingers over 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 Grace. 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 that I'm relatively short, and not many people are as tan as a medieval Romanian. 

My accent was foreign; nobody at this time sounded like me.

"Rise. I no longer use that title. It's just Nicolas, now." 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. 

The man 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 not to live very long. Hugging myself, feeling naked, 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 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." 

The older gentleman marches over to a shelf, pulling off a book to lay it gingerly on the counter. Puffing on his pipe, he opens it and points to a painting, 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 mere water beast. Minimal casualties, gaining the company of Prince Har-rock." 

The battle was so fresh in my mind that it was as if it had happened yesterday; I almost wondered if Grayson was electrocuting me again—the pain was startling, the discomfort of remembering who we lost on that damned march through hell's gates to get my lover back.  

We were there to rescue Randy, to save his life, for he was about to be burned at the stake, but that wasn't in the book. 

My body shakes uncontrollably, 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 truthfully didn't spend much time thinking about them if I could help it.

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

"You fought with your people, Your Grace. 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 a way of pulling me into the fray and pleading for my help, but what if I'm unable to help? 

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 must 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 a list of all the loyalists here? Those who are willing to help, along with their respective abilities? "

Grayson perks, "Sir, that'd be everyone at last count, save for those who fear being eaten by your servant, or should I say hell hound. I must ask, has he always been like that-" 

I cover his mouth, pleading to the gods that there isn't a gray beast that heard that. 

"If you value your life, you will spread the word never to 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 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 once called him Harry, 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 to 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 accomplished remarkable things because they believed in something, even the impossible. 

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 in 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... 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, looking at me over his glasses. "The tales of Alpha are vast and brutal, mostly recanted by those with run-ins from him. Just because he's your... friend.. does that mean you want to rewrite the warnings, as well?"

"Only the victors get to tell their stories; the lycans were not the victors in this tale. 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." 

The aged elf 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 Grace. 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. I can explain to him the situation, but if he thinks you're going to hold me captive, you're as good as dead."

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

They do need me, much as I need them. The community slowly circles behind us, a crowd of pleading faces, come to stand in my favor, as if this man were truly so unreasonable. 

"Let me speak with him, he's no doubt seen the news, he's just worried about me." 

"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?" Verando's voice is tight, he glances over my head, menacingly. 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, 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, see? I'm not even injured. They saved me, they have a healer--."

"I saw the building fall, and everything went blank. I thought that-" Verando 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, but it was hard to believe. The store is blown up, and there is a bloody building down in Long Island. What the hell happened--" My warlord 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 see 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- these people are terrified of you and-... 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? I promise you, Grayson and Pascal are well aware because I don't hide shit like this."

What can I say?

 Yes? No? 

"I'm just trying to preserve this relationship with this group. Is it so much to ask that we remain professional right now? Just until they can get to know you? Until they can see that--"

"They should be terrified, they brought you here and we have no idea who the hell they are. I had no idea there were this many. It's a practical army, and if they wanted to keep you-" My warlord flinches. The reality was that they could turn on him; he was running the numbers, and he couldn't take me if he wanted to. 

"They should be wary of us, and we should be mindful of them." He reiterates. Verando was always so logical, factual; there was no place in his life for emotional decisions. 

I sigh, knowing that I'm hurting him and it's killing me. I hate myself for it.

 "These people know who we are. They want to help, they are willing to help, but-" What the hell am I supposed to say? "This is going to require a lot of time to cultivate, we have so little time before we go to France, and I can't help but feel my place right now is here. Randy, these people could help us find Fergus. It wouldn't have to be just us, we could delegate... You already said you're stressed-"

"You are well aware that there is not enough time left on this planet to train these people." Verando's voice is low, stern. "You are holding onto a strand, a lost cause, because of what? Am I honestly to believe that you'd prefer to sit here, a pretend King of nothing, than come back with me?"

He loved me, and leaving me with a society of unknown people with magical abilities was a death sentence in his mind. 

 But I needed this, I wanted this so badly. 

"I believe this is the next step forward, and Randy, I so desperately need you to trust me the way I've trusted you time and time again. This is just temporary, just a couple of days tops, but I want to see if there is anything here that can help me save this. Save us. Save you."

"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, was a cruel side effect. 

I was torturing him. I'd just come back into his life, and now I was asking for time again. 

"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, uncomfortable with the pressure to make a decision. "Your reputation is burned into their minds, they won't touch me, but I can't guarantee they aren't desperate and crazy enough to fight for me if I try and leave with you."

"So you're a bloody captive?" Verando spits under his breath, allowing his fingers to slip through mine, and I resist the urge to throw my arms around his neck. 

"I just think that... it'd be cleaner if I decided to stay," I reassure him, "Red just tried to kill me, the safest place for me might be right here, where she has no idea where I am."

 Composing himself, I see the anger boiling under the surface. "Right. Red."

"You're so busy right now, I've been keeping you from your work. You'll hardly notice that I'm gone-"

Verando flinches, narrowing his eyes, his fingers flexing as he resists the urge to touch me. "Don't ever speak like that. I have lived without you, and every moment was-" Sighing, he drags his fingers through his hair, resting his hand on his hip as he searches the ground for answers. "This goes against everything I stand for, everything I believe in. You are asking an Alpha to submit, to walk away from the one thing that matters to me most in this world, and accept that I couldn't take you if I wanted to. Do you understand that?"

"I'm asking you to trust me," I whisper, feeling the emotion well into my throat. "I'm asking you to make this look like it's our idea because I need to do this right, just like you jumped off that boat and ran to save those men, I couldn't stand the thought of letting you go either, but I trusted that when I found you, you'd be alive. 

I don't know the whole plan, or if it's going to work; these are our people that are being snuffed out, and I have to try. Please don't look at me as if I'm telling you I'm not madly in love with you, as if this was easy for me, because it's killing me to think of staying here." A single tear rolls down my cheek as I inhale sharply, trying to compose myself. 

"Just a couple of days, Randy. I'll navigate my way out. We need these people on our side. "

Snapping his fingers, Verando motions to Grayson. Reluctantly, the man runs to us, my warlord's gaze never leaves my face. "Nicolas wants to stay here, so I'd like to make a statement. Let it be known that if any harm comes to him, a single hair out of place, I will be back. No one —men, women, or children —will be safe. I will hunt every last one of you to the end of time, and you will pay with your lives.

 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 he's harmed. Do I make myself clear?" 

I sensed the reluctance of the crowd; they were hedging on giving me back, and for a moment, I almost will them to hand me over. 

Marisol comes to his side, shooting me a warning glance, but slowly, she nods. Her measure had been good; these people had passed whatever test she'd performed. 

Those burning blue eyes never left mine: "That one belongs to me; I'm just loaning him to you." My heart catches in my throat, remembering the promise he'd made to me only this morning. 

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

"He's going to be alright, Doe." Marisol murmurs, not daring to touch him.

"You know I love you." I mouth to him, the pain in my chest had to be from Alpha, the wolf clung to me, silently pleading, reaching out into the depths of our connection.

"Do you accept?" My warlord 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." 

He loves me, so he would do whatever I asked, no matter how much it gutted him. My body felt as if it were being torn in half as he turned, walking toward his car. Marisol spares me a look over her shoulder with an air of sympathy. I hoped she'd talk to him, convince him to come off the ledge, and that this wasn't surrender but a truce.

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