Lucien paid those men to keep me prisoner. To hurt me. He hated me so much he delivered me to them. He hated my mother as much. But I think he also always wanted her. He blackmailed her into leaving her lover. Did he rape her? Or did he blackmail her into sleeping with him? Either way, it’s rape. She didn’t want him. But the result is Emma, and my mother adored Emma. She took so much care with her. She didn’t hate her as the product of that sort of coupling.

Then there is Dmitri Anders. He loved my mother. I could see that in his eyes. If he’d stayed with her, if he’d made her stay, would she be here today?

At that, my mind wanders to my father. Lucien accused him of my mother’s murder, but can I trust anything he says? They’re all dead now, so I may never know the truth. Was my father truly capable of violence like that? He hated Emma. I saw that for myself. I saw how ugly he could be to her.

“Get out of your head, Dandelion,” Bastian says, taking one of my hands and weaving his fingers with mine.

I look over at him. My dragon. One of two. Emma trusts him. I trust him. I trust them both. What will we do now that it’s over? Now that there truly is nothing more I can give them? Will they let us go? Do I want them to?

He squeezes that hand, and I look down at his lap, at our hands together. My right in his left. And I lay my head on his shoulder and fit myself into him.

Hours must pass because the sun has broken the horizon, turning the sky a deep orange before we hear the sound of tires crunching gravel. Keeping my hand in his, Bastian is on his feet, and I am on mine. My heart is in my stomach, and when the door opens, and Amadeo walks in looking like he’s walked through hell, I feel a release so overwhelming, so emotionally charged, I cry out as fresh warm tears of relief stream down my face. I exhale. I finally exhale. And when my knees buckle with the emotion of it all, I know I’m only upright because Bastian is holding me.

“You look like shit,” Bastian says, releasing me to hug his brother.

“Thanks,” Amadeo says, hugging him back. They pat each other on the back the way men do, and when they pull away, Amadeo’s eyes land on me. He glances at Bastian, and they share some silent exchange before Amadeo steps toward me. I think he must be able to hear my heartbeat because it’s pounding so hard it’s all I can hear.

“Dandelion,” he says. I missed his voice. The assurance of it. The strength of it.