After returning from the Woodlands, Michael was on a mission as he stormed through the castle: find his mother as quickly and as quietly as possible.

Quickly because every second that ticked by was another second she was allowed to enjoy the comfort of her deceit. And quietly because if he were to cross paths with anybody after everything that had just happened, whether they deserved it or not, they just might become a casualty in the war he was about to wageupon his mother.

He was managing to make the trek undetected until he was stopped by his name being called after turning down a corridor.

He knew who it was without having to turn around—the shadow that seemed to come and go as it pleased, revealing itself whenever Michael least expected it. But he was in no mood for their never-ending game ofhide-and-seek. So when he heard Lukas approaching, he started to walk off, hoping the guard would get the hint and return to wherever he had come from.

"You have come back from the Woodlands. Again."

Michael stopped again, but that time he turned around and glared at Lukas standing about ten feet away. His brown hair was pulled back in an impeccably neat braid without a strand out of place, and his black attirewithout the slightest wrinkle.

"I am quite certain I told you to stop keeping tabs on me."

"I wish only to help. I serve you, Michael."

"Do you serve me?"

Lukas nodded.

At that point, everybody was an enemy and nobody could be trusted. His mother had appointed Lukas as his guard, and there had to have been a real reason why—one different than the one she told him. But no matter how much he wanted to dismiss Lukas right then and there, he would do as the saying said and keep his enemies close.

"Then do as I say and go away."

Michael turned to continue down the corridor, but was stopped again.

"If there is something to be handled out there, I will handle it. If there is something you wish me to take care of, I will take care of it."

He whirled around and walked up to Lukas, reminding himself to use his words and not his hands as he got in the guard's face. He knew what 'handled' meant, and the thought of Lukas anywhere near Ellette made him see red.

"You are my guard only because I allow it. If you no longer serve a purpose, I have no qualms about getting rid of you."

As to not draw attention to the contrary, Michael did not come out and say there was nothing to be 'handled'in the Woodlands. But despite knowing Ellette had taken precautions to protect herself, he had to eliminate all risks of her being discovered.

"As you said, you serve me, so you will do nothing I have not commanded you to do. Do I make myself clear?"

Lukas nodded, but Michael was no longer naive enough to trust or believe him. Now more than ever, he had to be careful.

"Good. You may leave. I am off to see my mother and wish not to be disturbed."

Michael did not wait to see if Lukas obeyed his command before turning and walking off.

There were no further interruptions on his way to his mother's chambers. Not even a guard stationed at the entrance of the corridor where her chambers were located, nor a single attendant outside of her door.

It was not unheard of for her to dismiss them when she wanted to be alone, but he did find it odd that she seemed to prefer solitude more often these days.

He knocked on her door rather loudly. It was late, and the lack of light coming from the crack underneath the door could have meant she was asleep, but he did not care.

"You may enter," her voice called out.

He opened the door and walked into the dark room. He immediately zoned in on her as he closed the door behind him. Dressed in a dark night gown, she was seated at her vanity across the room, her back to him. Because the curtains over her large windows were only half drawn, the bit of moonlight able to infiltrate the room barely illuminated her.

Her eyes widened when their eyes connected through her vanity mirror, but then she smiled. "Michael, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

He slowly ventured further into the room, trailing his eyes over nothing in particular as discreetly as possible. Now that the veil had been lifted from over his eyes, he wondered if he would now see all the lies and secrets he could not see before.

He stopped a few feet behind her, staring at her directly rather than through the mirror. "I had a dream, mother. One I thought I might share with you as you were very much a part of it."

"Go on."

"Well, it takes place in the Woodlands. Night surrounds me as I am laying on the cold snowy ground. My wolf is wheezing, my breaths slow. Painful. I feel like all of my energy has been drained, but I am determined to not give up. To not let him—Gabriel, who is towering over me in wolf form—win. The only thought on my mind as he is staring down at me with rage and bloodlust in his eyes is to protect something I cherish against his thirst to destroy it.

"But I fear I am going to fail when I see in his eyes the moment he makes the decision to kill me and lunges at me to do just that. I close my eyes and wait to be killed by my brother, but the moment never comes. I then hear a voice—your voice—telling me not to worry, and when I open my eyes, 'tis not Gabriel I see over me but you. Your face close to mine, the tips of your hair brushing against my left cheek as your cold hand cups the right. And then the dream ends there."

He moved in closer until he was pressed against the back of her chair, and looked down at her through the mirror. "So, what do you think? Is it just a dream, or is there something you would like to tell me?"

She stared directly into his eyes. "You remember."

"I remember."

"How?"

"Does it matter?"

"What is it you wish to hear? That I know the fairy in the Woodlands is your mate? Or that on the night of the almost war, I found you and Gabriel fighting over that fairy, and the only way for me to end it was to put your brother down?"

The unexpected blow from her words made Michael stumble backwards. He shook his head as he continued to stare at her. He had come for the truth, but that was a revelation he had not been prepared to hear.

"You—" He could not even bring himself to say the words aloud.

She stood up, grabbed the silk robe off the back of her chair and slipped it on before facing him. "I told you that you were not responsible for his death."

"What are you saying? You killed him to save me?"

"I chose to put him out of his misery. We both know death was going to be his fate one way or another. Aria and her witches saw to that."

"Aria? Is that why you were so adamant the Fae were blameless when I woke up after that night. You knew?"

"That she used us—used Gabriel—to start a war against the Fae? Yes, I knew."

"You knew and did nothing? Said nothing? Dared to let her step foot in this castle and entertain her daysago?"

"Who says I am doing nothing? I once promised you those responsible for Gabriel's death will be punished. I intend to keep that promise with the help of Moreena. She and other rebel witches have been planning Aria'stake down."

He thought back to the fight Zanna had mentioned. Was that why she had been hesitant to help when he first asked for help to get Ellette home? Or had it been her guilt that made her reluctant?

"Was it Zanna you had lock away my memories?"

"We did what was necessary to protect you—"

"Was it Zanna?" He demanded.

"Yes."

Michael turned away, fists balled at his sides.

Learning everybody around him had been pretending was a hard pill to swallow, but it was not the worst realization to hit him that night. No, the hardest thing for him to accept was the fact that 'protecting' him came at the expense of Ellette being left alone and unprotected in the Woodlands. To him, that was worse than learning his mother had killed Gabriel, and he was unsure how or if he could forgive any of them for that.

"You had no right to have my memories taken."

"Would you have been able to look her in the eyes knowing you chose her over Gabriel? Be honest, Michael."

He turned and glared at her. "Whether I could or not, you took away my choice. You let me live in ignorance and let her suffer after saving her."

Knowing Ellette was his mate, how could she have done that? And why the ruse now? Why push him into taking responsibility of her? Was it guilt? If so, she should have never had his memories taken away in the first place.

"Do you know what that girl did for me? What she sacrificed for me? If I died a thousand deaths it would still not be enough to pay back what I owe her. Even when she was going to die that night to save her people, she still made sure I was protected. And you left her out there alone for nearly a year. Were you punishing her because she was a reminder of the son you had to put down? Or were you punishing me because if I had never gone to the Woodlands, if I had never fallen in love with that fairy, none of this would have happened?"

He watched as tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. What he needed from her were answers not tears, but the more they came, the angrier and more conflicted he felt.

She had no right to cry, and, yet, he supposed she had every right. Just as he had every right to not allow the faint tingle of empathy conjured by her weeping make him feel sorry for her.

He could not. Not yet.

And before he did or said something he might later regret, the best thing he could do for them both was leave, and he did just that by turning his back on her and walking away. But just as he placed his hand on her chamber door, she spoke and he paused.

"I do not expect you to forgive me, Michael, only that you understand. We all had choices to make that night. Hard choices. But choices we all made believing they were for the greater good. You may not see it now, but you will."

* * *

The walk to his chambers was rushed, not because Michael was desperate to get far away from his mother, but desperate to retrieve his moonstone. The night's interrogations were far from over, and the next person to confront on his list was Zanna.

He had just turned down his corridor when he spotted Danica leaning against the wall next to his door and staring at the floor.

Her unexpected appearance did not catch him off guard, but made him realize she was comfortable coming to him as she pleased because he had failed to draw a clear and uncrossable line between them. But doing soright then and there would waste time he did not have.

When he was close enough to draw her attention, she smiled and pushed herself from the wall. He did not return the smile, but did greet her once he reached his door.

"Hello." She tucked a loose auburn strand behind her ear before tugging at the sleeves of her long white silk robe.

Since she was obviously dressed to retire for the night, he was confused as to why she was at his chambers and not her own. "'Tis late. You should return to your chambers."

"I could not sleep."

How that was his problem, he did not know. But to avoid letting his annoyance show, he looked away from her and reached for his door handle. "I apologize, but I am very tired and am not in the greatest of moods to talk right now. So, if you will excuse me."

"Would you like to have breakfast together tomorrow morning? Maybe we can walk the castle grounds again afterwards."

Although a date with her was the last thing Michael wanted or on his mind, it was obvious agreeing would be the only one way to get her to leave. "Sure. I will see you in the morning."

"Great! Good night!"

To ensure the conversation ended, he opened his door, stepped inside his room and closed it a bit more harshly than he probably should have. But whether he was being rude or not was not his current concern.

He ventured further into the moonlit room, intending to head straight for his bedside table to retrieve the moonstone. However, his gaze immediately fixated on the red cloak left laying at the foot of his bed. In his haste to get to the Woodlands, he had forgotten to lock it away in his wardrobe—a mistake he had never made before.

Deviating from his original path, he inched closer to his bed. He stared down at the cloak for a few seconds before slowly reaching out to it. His hand trembled as it slowly neared it, and the closer it got, the faster his heart pounded. When his fingers were just shy of touching it, memories swirled around inside his head.

Ellette draping the cloak over his bloodied body in the cabin.

Catching a glimpse of her flushed cheeks when she had pulled down the cloak over his naked human form to clean his wound.

Secretly packing the cloak away in the bag he would take with him whenever he decided to leave the Woodlands and return home because he knew when that time came around, it was the only way to take a piece of Ellette with him.

When the memories ceased, he picked up the cloak and clutched it to his chest. He then turned around and lowered himself to the floor with his back propped up against the bed. And for the first time that night, Michael broke down.

Now that he was alone, he was finally able to just allow himself to feel. He did not have to pretend as he had done with Ellette, nor hide his feelings as he had done with his mother. There, in his dark room with only the moonlight as a companion, he was allowed to let it all out.

And so he cried.

For Ellette.

For Gabriel.

For his mother.

For himself.

For nearly a year, Michael had believed the bloodied cloak was evidence of a secret so shameful he had blocked it from his memory—that his love for his brother might have driven him to do something unspeakable to protect him. But remembering the truth came at the cost of realizing another: that everything that happened a year ago could have been prevented had he only spoken up about Gabriel sooner.

And the pain that came with that realization was so unbearable that he understood why his mother chose to lock away his memories. One could not hurt if one did not remember.

And, for a second, wondered if he could—should go back. If, instead of confronting Zanna, he could ask her to take away his memories again just so he would not have to feel that pain any longer.

But he realized he had no right.

Pain was his punishment, one he deserved and could not run away from. And he would have to use that pain to fuel him into moving forward and making things right. He would never be able to undo what he had done, he could only take responsibility.

But he could only do that with the help of one person in particular.

Michael turned his head to the right to look at his bedside table.

Originally, he had all intention of confronting Zanna, but it was no longer just about that. All he wanted now was more time and she could provide that for him—surely her guilty conscious would not allow her to refuse his request.

She owed him at least that much.

A/N: Poor Reina. Poor Michael. Poor Gabriel. Do we think Reina made the right choice by having Michael's memories locked away?

P.S. Shout out to those who suspected Reina might have had something to do with Gabriel's death:

RoscoSe7en

_domestos_SA

rmkeys