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is it not possible for you to be civil?” Theseus snapped at her.
“When it comes to my children, why use civility?” She snapped right back. “She does not care. How can I accept that?”
I hung my head...she wasn’t exactly wrong.
“She is completely wrong, daughter,” Sigbjørn stated. “Now, do not hang your head in my presence.”
I lifted my chin and looked at him.
“Sigbjørn—”
“You have said your piece, Draka,” he interjected. “And I am disappointed that you think I’d allow my son, of my blood, of my line, to accept anyone so easily. Or that I would disregard your concern.” He looked directly to Theseus. “Or yours, my son.”
I turned to look at Theseus, who before did not seem to doubt at all that I would be his mate, to see him looking away from me, his jaw locking. He believed her. He didn’t want to admit it. He was going to ignore it, but he believed I was not ever going to love him.
That hurt.
“Do not take it to heart, daughter. They share a common distrust of things they do not understand as humans do, and for good reason,” Sigbjørn stated now on me again. “Just as you have your own. It must not be easy to be in such bondage with no explanation of how it occurred or how to free yourself.”
My eyes went wide, and my eyes welled up with tears again. I didn’t know why. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted answers. “Can you see her, too? In my mind?”
“See who?” Theseus and Rhea both asked.
Sigbjørn paid mind only to me. “Is it not her, but you; is it not?”
“Free us,” the voice in my head begged again.
“Draka, welcome your daughter.”
Rhea looked at him for a long time before letting go and stepping forward. Placing both hands on my cheeks, she leaned forward and kissed my forehead. Her lips on my skin were warm; it tingled. When she stepped back, Sigbjørn came forth and did the same, and again, I felt a tingle on my skin.
“Finally.” A woman with red hair, not red as in orange, but blood red, and large, soft-pink birthmark under her right eye that went to the top of her cheek, said, placing her hand over her chest. “I was starting to doubt for a moment.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Theseus spoke, staring at her perplexed. “Who is she?”
Ulrik and Hinrik broke out it a fit of laughter so loud it almost sounded like howling, leaning onto each other as their voices rumbled.
“She is my mate, brother.” A boyish man with a freckled face and brown hair frowned, putting his hand on her shoulder from behind the couch.
“Since when did you have a mate, Arsiein?” Theseus questioned.
So, this was Arsiein, the French prince and revolutionary. He looked so young, even younger than me.
“Since the Second World War, Theseus,” he said as if that would ring a bell.
“There was a second one?” He was both baffled and amused, but not more than Ulrik and Hinrik who had more fuel for their laughter. Ignoring them, he focused on his younger brother. “Last I remembered, they had just gotten out of one. Could they not agree on terms?”
“Completely new issues and much bloodier,” Arsiein stated seriously, and then he reached over to take his mates hand. “This is Atarah, whom you’ve met many times before.”
“Even saved my immortal life once,” she added, leaning onto her mate. “Though you did call me the most foolish young one in Ankeiros. And you still haven’t apologized, by the way.”
“I do not recall, but if it is as you say, I am sure it was warranted.”
“Theseus,” I snapped, yanking his arm.
“Oh, how I have missed you, Theseus.” Ulrik grinned. “With Hinrik gone, too, I’ve barely laughed.”
“Is that so?” Melora sneered, crossing her arms.
