She wants to throw the wine in his face. He won’t convince her that he cares about her. That he wouldn’t have taken her parent from her if he’d known.

Maybe the rebels are right. Maybe Eric Elysian is a monster.

Eric Elysian’s face falls and his eyes start to water. His voice breaks as he speaks. “I loved my brother, but I had to stop him from ruining everything our father created. Please believe me when I say I didn’t know about you. I never want to hurt my own family. He should have told me,” he nearly begs. “You and your mother could have come to live with us. With Eli. You all could have been a family. Happy and safe and healthy. With me and my son. We would have found a way.”

Family.

Eric Elysian killed his own brother. His brother was Eli. Eli was her father.

This would have been her family, if Eli hadn’t left her mother. If Eric hadn’t killed him. If everything had been different.

Lynell was lying on her stomach on her childhood bed, an old, crinkled paper held tightly between her small fists. Alan had been gone all day. Lynell didn’t miss him when he was gone. Not anymore. Not since he’d become so unpredictable.

“You’re reading that old letter again?” Elizabeth asked, standing in the doorway. Lynell jumped, stuffed the page under her pillow, and sat up. Her mom chuckled, stepped in and closed the door behind her. “You should memorize it.”

Her mom sat next to her and pulled the letter out from under her pillow. She held it in trembling hands as her eyes scanned it. Lynell watched, biting her lip, trying to fight the urge to take it back.

“‘Know that your father will always love you,’” Elizabeth read. “He did, honey.” She sighed and set the page down, leaning over to kiss the top of Lynell’s head. “I can’t believe he’s been gone for almost five years.” She squeezed Lynell’s shoulders and said, “Or that you’re going to be nine tomorrow.”

Lynell grinned and her mom pulled away, touching the corner of the paper. “Have I ever told you about how I met your father?”

Lynell shook her head. Elizabeth frowned and leaned back on Lynell’s bed. She patted the blanket next to her and Lynell crawled to join her.

“You know he was a king.”

Lynell nodded. That, she’d heard before. The older she got the less she believed that her father had a royal bloodline. Elizabeth continued, stretching her arm out in front to mime her story. “He was a strong and mighty king with a million lives in his hand. But how did I meet him, such a powerful man?” Elizabeth looked down at Lynell and tapped her nose. “Scrabble.”

Lynell frowned, her nose crinkling. “The game?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I was at this little coffee shop playing Scrabble with a friend, but she had to leave. So, your father, the king, came over and said, ‘Mind if I have this game?’” She smiled in reminiscence. “I said yes. We played five games. I kept winning and he refused to stop playing until he’d win a game. Hours later, he still hadn’t won, and he insisted we meet again. I think at that point it was less about the game and more about just being together. We met again the very next day. Thus, began our romance.”