Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Mister Wolf and the little warrior 6.3

She was lovelier than ever. Fiery curls framing soft cheeks, wild around her shoulders. Powder lilac dress rumpled and stained with grass. A sun-dappled hand went to her throat, slender and graceful like a swan, where it clutched at a single necklace from which hung a ring. Violet and shining like a bleeding heart.

The space between them stretched and ached, that cord that tied them together tensed, finally closing after such a time. The air between them vibrated. Everything had gone still--the birds quiet, the wind hushed, the sun static. All that existed for Callan was Minna.

"Mummy, this is my dear friend, Mister Wolf! He's a real-life elf, like in your stories!" Elowen broke in, seemingly unaware of the scene unfolding before her. "And this," she waved towards Minna with a proud flourish, "Is my mummy. Isn't she so pretty?"

Still holding Minna's hand, she grabbed Callan's and pulled him forward, all while grinning like a loon. If Callan hadn't been absolutely petrified, he might have laughed at her blatant attempts at matchmaking. As it was, he could hardly breathe, entirely focused on Minna.

"Hello, Minna," Callan uttered, his voice sounding warbled in his ears.

Minna was so still, she seemed like a marble statue. Pinned to the spot, save for the trembling of her hand and the frantic pulse beating at the hollow of her throat.

"Callan," she breathed, the sound like a broken whisper.

"Wait, who's Callan?" Elowen frowned, looking between them. "Do you know each other? I don't understand..."

"You shouldn't be here," Minna whispered, a glazed, horrified look crossing her eyes. "Oh, dear, you truly shouldn't be here," she wheezed more anxiously, attempting to pull away. "I should have known better, oh gods."

"Minna, please," Callan interjected, reaching a hand forward. "I know you want nothing to do with me, but I need you to listen for a moment. A moment of your time is all I ask of you."

"You can't be here," she repeated, shaking her head. Then, she looked down at Elowen's wide gaze and blanched. "Winnie, sweetheart, go back inside with your brother, yes? I need you to stay inside."

"No, I want to stay here," she threw back, glancing between them with a stubborn expression. "Why can't I stay? And how do you know each other?"

"Your mother is right," Callan tried gently. "You should go back inside, little one. I'm very sorry, but this is a conversation for grown-ups."

"I'm big enough to understand!" She yanked free from both their grips, bottom lip trembling, eyes wet with confused fear and anger.

It ached Callan terribly. Though she was too young to fully understand what was happening, she knew something was wrong. It was the reason he'd wanted to wait, she deserved to have the situation calmly explained to her, well after her parents had disentangled it. She didn't need to witness eight years of miscommunication and estrangement.

Minna looked on the verge of fainting. A sickly sheen coated her waxy complexion. "Elowen, please go back inside, sweetheart. I promise I'll explain everything."

"And you," she looked at Callan, before turning away, as if it burned her. "You need to leave, now."

"I can't," he choked out, taking only one step forward. She raised her hands, almost shielding herself, holding him back. It broke his heart into a thousand shards. "I've been searching for you for so many years, I can't leave before you listen to me."

"You were supposed to stay away!" she finally broke, tears spilling down her cheeks like a torrent. "You should have stayed away, oh gods, you have no idea what you've done!"