Serena

A MORBID SADNESS HAS BLED INTO and settled across the once vibrant realm. It feels the same as when a deep freeze seeps into the humans’ world. Coldness and gloom crawls into every living thing. Every flower petal, each blade of grass, all the leaves, everything in the land has turned dull and lifeless. It feels as if when Rionach was killed, the realm’s spirit disappeared along with his existence.

The castle is no longer warm and filled with life and light. It’s cold, damp, and dreary. It’s mourning. Along with all the beings in it. It’s a shell of what it once was.

After the battle, Zander and Tristan carried Rionach’s body back to the castle. The queen followed regally, but all signs of life had disappeared from her. She’s numb.

The moment we stepped into the castle, Ophelia began her husband’s funeral arrangements, as well as arrangements for the guards who were lost during the battle.

Standing in the castle entryway, I watch as the staff move about quietly and solemnly, so as not to disturb the ghosts and emptiness filling the halls. Freya’s mother was right about one thing: it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Witnessing this terrifies me. The possibility crosses my mind that this is what it would be like if it were Tristan who was taken from me, after I’d loved him so hard. My eyes fill with tears, as I question whether I’m worthy of his love after all this.

A throat being cleared pulls my attention.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Highness,” the page says, Freya’s glamour now gone. “The queen requires your presence in her chambers.”

I dip my chin and follow him to Ophelia’s doors. He opens them, letting me into the darkness, and closes them behind me. I inhale. Black fabric now drapes over the mirrors and oil paintings, covering them out of respect for the queen’s bereavement.

Ophelia stands by the window. A sliver of light shines on her black satin dress, giving the appearance she’s spotlighted on a dark stage. She looks too young and beautiful to be a widow. Sadness clogs my throat.

“Your Majesty,” I croak out. “You asked to see me?”

Ophelia doesn’t look at me; instead she studies the realm from the window. When she speaks, it’s low and clear.

“I see the glamour has worn off.”

I fall silent and still at her words. She knew?

She turns to me and offers me a pitiful look, then turns back to the window. “You flinched, in my son’s cabin when I called you princess. I knew at that moment.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Ophelia repeats, void of emotion. “Take comfort. That is not why you are here, Serena. Though, it should be,” she adds, harshly. “You and my two sons have shown a great deal of courage this week.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

She sighs. “You’ve also shown a great deal of stupidity.”

I flinch.

Ophelia swallows a few times, having difficulty speaking. Her hands flatten on her stomach as she inhales twice, composing herself, before straightening her spine.

“War. Death.” She squeezes her eyes closed before opening them. “These are the burdens, Serena, that come with the royal titles we carry. Men and women give their lives so that we may rule.” She turns and faces me with a pale, drawn look, and tears in her eyes. “Love has no place when you become queen. It blinds you. It changes how you reign. And most of all, it makes you weak. A lesson I’m afraid Tristan has learned the hard way. As have we all.”

“Weak?” I whisper. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You see, Serena,” she takes a step toward me. “Oren would never have overthrown me. Our realm is too strong. The emperor lacked the army that my husband built and commanded. Oren was power-hungry and his ego got in his way on more than one occasion. Over the years, Oren was nothing more an annoying nuisance. A pest who, after his daughter’s wedding, was slated to die by wine poisoning.”

I ponder her words and my brows draw together.

“Freya was Oren’s only heir and female. The rules of the water realm state that she is required to have a king by her side to reign. It’s archaic, but realms’ decrees are just that—decrees—which we must follow and respect.”

Unable to speak, I stand motionless.

Ophelia takes another step toward me.

“Tristan’s marriage to Freya would have allowed her to become queen of the water realm and rule with her mother’s guidance. Lily happened to be a very good friend of mine over the years, as I’m sure you are aware of now. There would have been peace. The realms equal. She and I had been planning this before any of you were even born.”

Ophelia takes the final step in my direction, leaving no space between us. With a sad smile, she takes my chin in one hand, tilting my head to the side, and with the other, she brushes my hair over my shoulder, exposing Tristan’s mark. When she sees the insignia, she inhales. “It is true.”

“Yes, it is.” I speak the words quietly.

“Lily and I thought it was a perfectly laid out plan, really.” She steps back and releases my face. “One that Tristan never wanted any part of. As children, Freya would chase him around the castle and forest. Lily and I delighted in seeing this. Until one day, Rionach pointed out—” she stops again, taking a breath at the memory. “He pointed out that Tristan was in actuality running away from Freya, not trying to make her catch him. As he got older, Tristan’s pull to something unknown outside of the realm grew. We thought perhaps it was his protector blood calling to him. After his brief stint at the Academy, and with Gage, we knew it wasn’t. Still, he yearned for something. After you joined our son the first time in our realm, my husband saw it. He said Tristan was in love with you. Perhaps I didn’t want to see it, knowing our plan was in motion to dispose of Oren. But then, that night you walked into the party, and your bond severed, I saw it. Plain as day on his face. And yours. Your love for one another. It was blinding.”

I exhale slowly and watch a tear escape her eye.

“So, you see, love has everything to do with this. The two of you have rewritten your fates. And that is commendable. The mother in me, Serena, wants to hold you and tell you to love him until your last breath, as I do.”

“And the queen in you?” I ask, already knowing.

Her hands lift and wipe the tear away, and with one deep inhale, her face becomes expressionless. “As queen, I cannot allow the future heir to the throne to have weaknesses.” My eyes meet hers. “If you truly love him, you will let him go.”

A light mist falls hauntingly from the gray sky into the lush realm. The trees lift and stretch their branches, embracing the droplets, grateful to be quenching their thirst. I inhale the smell of fresh rain. It’s been too long.

Tristan steps onto the balcony and takes the few steps to stand next to me. Leaning his elbows on the railing, he stares at the cloudy canopy that has settled over his realm.

“The rain will always fall.” He opens his hands and waits for a few droplets of water to collect and pool in the middle of his palms before he shows me. “We can either collect the raindrops and hold on to them,” he opens his palms and lets the water fall to the earth below us. “Or we can release them, and let them be free to do what they are meant to.”

The undertones in his words give his statement a deeper meaning. His cognac eyes linger on me. I want to tell him I love him. To hold on to me and not let me go. Before I met Tristan, all I wanted was to be free of who I am. Now, all I want is him. And yet, the irony of all this is that if I hold on to him, it’s he who won’t be free to become whom he must.

My knees go weak. A hard lump grows in my throat, making swallowing impossible as my deepest fears slam into me, clawing at my gut—I’m leaving, him, forever.

“I’m leaving,” I say, my voice falling into a whisper.

His expression is distant. “I know. Your things are already packed and your suitcase is by the door downstairs.”

“I need to get back to the Academy.” My voice is coming out fragmented and soft. “My clan was pissed I put myself in harm’s way with the dark army. Once again, they’re disappointed with my lack of commitment and consideration to my title and position with the protectors.”

Tristan exhales and stares at nothing and everything.

“I wish—” I start and his eyes hold mine.

“You wish what?”

My breath catches and I have to wait a moment before I can respond. The sheer desolation in his gaze is too much.

I part my lips to tell him, but then change my mind.

“How is Zander?” I ask, refocusing the conversation.

He stares at me for a long time, searching and waiting before he sighs and answers. “Sad. Lost. Angry. We all are.”

Tristan is silent as he studies me. The coldness between us is heavy. My nerves rattle around, clenching my chest.

Everything is uncomfortable and awkward between us now. I hate the sudden distance between us. I feel like we’re broken and I can’t put us back together. I fidget with my protector bracelet, rubbing my fingertips over the stones.

He focuses on my squirming. “Look at me,” he demands.

“I am looking at you.”

“No, raindrop, not like that.”

“I’m staring right at you.”

“No. You’re staring through me.”

He stands straight and cups my face. “I don’t want you to just see me. I want you to look at me the way you did yesterday, and the day before that. Like you’re trying to climb inside of me, craving the safety and security of being one with me. I need you to need me. Where did you go?”

“I’m right here.”

“No. You’re miles away.”

“I just—”

“You just what, raindrop?” He steps closer, his lips a sliver from mine. “Tell me.”

“I can’t,” I barely manage.

It hurts saying the words out loud; it hurts more than I realized it would. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I move forward and brush my lips against his. Our kiss is soft and sweet, just a tease. Tristan’s hands tighten on my face as the kiss becomes heated and urgent. It’s pleading.

He’s asking me to stay.

To be his.

The realization causes a ripple of fear to run though me, recalling Ophelia’s words. She’s right. I make him weak.

I jerk away from him and hug my stomach as I take in his confused expression. A sad smile crosses my lips.

“I’m sorry. I can’t,” I whisper, and start toward the door.

Tristan grabs my elbow and spins me around, his face in mine, his breath fanning me. Without a word, he places his palm against the base of my throat, reading my conflicted emotions. He eyes search mine for answers.

I just stand here, letting him do it, knowing he needs to.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he spits out.

“Tristan.”

His darkened gaze drops to my bracelet. “My father just died. And you’re running away from me.” He steps back and pins me with a cold glare. “Someday, you will trust in me.”

I stand there staring at him for a brief moment before bowing my head and, with a sigh, forcing myself to move toward the door. Taking one step at a time. With every inch of space that I put between us, I feel my heart crumble.

Right before I walk inside, his hoarse voice hits me.

“I told you once before, I don’t like to repeat myself. Let this be the last exception. I’m going to let you go. Let you walk away right now. Not because I want to, but because I have to. But you and I—we aren’t over. We’ve just begun.”

My heart tears into a million pieces.

“Goodbye, Tristan,” I say quietly.

“See you around, raindrop.”