Rewriting His Past

She Knows

He turned, his thoughts racing. How? Dusk took a look at the woman in front of him. How? Her waist-length black hair fell in ringlets. A black fan feathering her lower face. She did not look like she could be a mother—her pale skin was flawless, and her thin brows arched defiantly. She shouldn't be a mother. Every breath felt thin and difficult for Dusk to inhale, causing him to choke back his breath.

Such an unpleasant little place. She stood out when she took a look around. There was a calm and happy atmosphere all around them. She was so dark that a cloak-like shadow appeared to fall around her, destroying everything Dusk had liked about the location. Even the atmosphere that once attracted him. He was swiftly sent back in time. Her aura had made his day miserable.

He was unable to concentrate because his mind was racing with ideas. He had no idea how this was possible. How was she able to cross the border? How did she discover his location? His world was torn apart, and questions destroyed his peace. His quick eyes swept the area of his cramped spot. Like he was unaware that he was being obstructed by delicate, tiny roses and their dense bushes. He could not get around her because she was standing in the way of the only exit: the door.

"To think you were capable of this." She spoke clearly, but due to the blood flowing over his eardrums, Dusk could not hear her. "You would have impressed me had you used that strength to fight." After she finished speaking, she turned her body to face the door after catching his fleeting thoughts of leaving. She was now blocking it with the width of her dress and the mere act of her presence.

"How?" Dusk wanted to know and managed to speak despite not being able to feel his tongue. Even though his mouth felt stuffed and unrecognizable, he still spoke. Even though the world he has built is collapsing around him, Dusk made an effort to advance. In search of a path made free by the woman in front of him. Even though she was not yet pulling on his chains, he felt as though she had the reins once more.

"Did you believe that you could leave?" The soft grass prevented her heel from clicking as she moved forward, but Dusk was certain he could hear it. Her heels caused the wooden floor to reverberate. His memory of that sound is ingrained. She pulled on those reins while ignoring his inquiry. It caused a wave of physically damaging shivers to sweep through his body. His mind relived his past with each physical tremor. A minute was a day; a second was an hour. Dusk was unaware of how quickly his time was passing.

"How disrespectful are you to the family name?" Her fan fluttered with her words. Her black petticoat swept along the grass. When his eyes shook, Dusk's vision became blurry and black. His heart was taking over his body. Its swiftness shook it and sent tremors through his body. He was icy cold. Why was he so cold? "Did you think I would allow it?"

"How?" Despite his fear's attempts to keep him from hearing, Dusk whispered. He needed to speak and act. The latter felt impossible to accomplish. His vision became clearer after blinking, and both his heart and pulse improved. Although his stomach was turning and his head was spinning, it was better than before. Micah. He needed to be a little bit like Micah in attitude. Having the strength to resist his mother's wishes. Micah would not leave him either. He would come back. Pyrite would come back. He needed to have faith in them.

"Did you believe that leaving the country would enable you to hide from your obvious failures?" Duchess Black, and his former mother. He inhaled, but he was unable to control the rattling in his lungs or the paralyzing fear that gripped his legs. Once more, he had thoughts unrelated to fear. Was it influenced by Pyrite? Dusk had to question whether or not his being on his feet rather than the ground was due to their mate bond.

"Failures?" Dusk frowned. That sounded strange to him, despite the disarray in his mind. She never referred to him as that. He had witnessed disgust, rage, and hatred, among other emotions. Although he had experienced all of those emotions, she never once used the word "failure." She did not think people could fail. Dusk noticed a flame of courage igniting. He needed to think and get past his fear because something did not seem right.

"A failure, indeed. You truly are that." In front of her face, she snapped the fan shut. In an effort to deal with this unexpected appearance, Dusk's body was working nonstop. Compared to any nightmares he had about this specific situation, he was doing better. It was a bond between mates. Although he could not feel it, nor could he see that tie, his skin began to feel warm in an ethereal way at that precise moment. He was warmed from his icy fear. He could do this.

"I am not a failure." With his attention on the toes of her shoes and the swaying hem of her dress, Dusk muttered. He was not. A hand reached down and slapped his face to the side. Pain cut through the cloud of fear. He was not shattered; he was only broken. The person in front of him didn't know that. Dusk took a look at the woman in front of him. She was stunning, just like the painting that was displayed in the Blacks' house's portrait hall. That is how she felt—like a painting. Dusk could feel a slight movement in the air, but he could not see any of it on her because she was flawless.

"Trying to cuddle up with a prince?" The only way he had ever heard his mother speak was in a condescending tone, and that was how she spoke here. But her hand felt light, which was incorrect. He raised his eyes and stared into her eyes. He was afraid of those red eyes. Eyes that He was more familiar with it than any other because of the fear they instilled in him. When his brother's actions did not, that kept him up at night. "Before you destroy the lives of another family, it is time for you to get up and leave."

"How?" He could feel the tingle in his chest that he experienced when feeling magic as Dusk narrowed his vision. "How did you find out?" Nobody should have access to his records. The exception has always been royalty, but others should not be.

"I am a Duchess? Did you really believe you could escape me if I did not let you?" She raised her brow, but Dusk noticed a flash of purple in her solid red eye. Illusion. She would never use language that denigrated herself or referred to herself as a duchess. Even so, she framed it as a question rather than a statement of fact. People would either know her or fall at her feet and learn. She was entitled to be arrogant, but it was inappropriate given the true horror of his former mother.

"You did a good job of mimicking her, but your rage falls short of her majesty's." He was still breathing quickly and shallowly as dusk approached, and he realized he was dealing with a fake. It was familiar to him, just like the scars on his back. Even so, he trembled as he reached out and yanked the fan from her slack hold. It was a good fake. "She was never this weak." Despite the fact that giving birth to him had brought her back to her childhood levels, the genius of a child should never be underrated.

"After all," Dusk said, raising his hand as his entire body tingled. "You missed the most crucial detail." He threw the fan at her, striking her in the face. "Black's are always ready." Dusk uttered that hurtful phrase. She had allowed a brief period to pass before reminding him of that. Had he not let his mind become so frazzled, it would have been his first hint. By the lay lines, he was weak.

"Damn you!" The truth was revealed in a poorly phrased utterance that came from those lips beneath the fake, gloomy beauty. "Garnet!" She screamed and turned, her long, black hair fading into a short, vivid purple bob. Dusk instantly recognized that hair.

Dusk uttered her name, "Miss Thyst," and a whip fell on his still-held arm. A sharp, implacable pain encircled his arm. He let out a loud yell and tried to back away from the pain with his stumbling. The whip holder had other ideas, and instead he flew forward. He fell and ate the grass that had once been under his feet. Piling up around her as she stands up in an ill-fitting black dress. Miss Thyst towered over him and had a radiant smile on her face. Her smile and gaze assumed monstrous proportions in the darkness. From his arm, the whip dropped. The result was that his arm was in excruciating, never-ending pain.

"Garnet, hit him until he gives his oath. " She looked down at him while picking up the dress in the area. She was calling to someone; he could not see who was hiding in the doorways' shadows. "Only his promise to leave will set him free from your whip and all those unpleasant memories," she said. Dusk was kneeling in front of her, trying to stand, but he struck him with a thick, powerful whip, and he fell to the ground. He bit his lip and held back a scream.

"You will pay for this." With another crack of that excruciating whip, Dusk attempted to stand back up, but his arm gave way. Blood was dripping from his arm as he grunted through the pain, and he was certain it was getting on his school robe and other clothes.

"Let us include your oath of silence. Use your magic to make this oath, then." When the whip struck him once more, her grin grew. Dusk glared up at her. His fear had almost completely vanished, and he was beginning to feel angry. "Swear to leave Micah alone and that this little lesson between us is just that—between us."

"I swear." Dusk saw the smile dimple her face; his vision blurred, and his chest tingled. "Nothing." Dusk was unsure of what he summoned; all she knew was that he let go of the tension and tingle. "You should leave if anyone should." After he had finished speaking, a light appeared and blinded both him and their combined yells.

"They're gone." Dusk peered around; he had no idea where they had gone. He only wanted them gone, and his magic made it happen. "Thank the lay lines." Dusk lay back on the ground. All the tension left him, and he laid on the ground. Even though his back, shoulder, and arm hurt, he could still handle it. He had a few breaths to spare to collect his thoughts.

"Young man, are you okay?" From the door, a rough voice was audible. He looked up and saw the proprietor of the café. Dusk could not even make out the round of his bear ears through the sheets of blood matting his gray hair, which was a sight. His clothes were torn and tattered, and his face was covered in fresh blood. He had fought back.

"Sir, how are you?" When Dusk saw the signs of a beating, he attempted to stand up. When Dusk fell on his right arm, it caused a sharp hiss of pain. His right arm had folded beneath him.

"I am a bear folk, so do not push yourself. I am already fifty percent better." The older man tried to reassure him, but he had mixed feelings about leaving an elder, whether they were of the beast folk or not. He was, however, helpless due to his weakness. The beating should not have knocked him to the ground. What was wrong with him? As Dusk's world began to constrict, his breathing became labored and ragged. He was in such a state, and all he had was the image of his mother and a faceless stranger brandishing a whip. Did leaving make him a weaker man instead of the stronger one he intended?

"Breath; take deep, even breaths." Dusk did not extend a hand; one was extended to him. The older man supported him off his arm. Having him flat on his stomach. "Hang in there, young man; I have a healing token." Dusk heard the snap of the token but felt nothing. "Bless it!" Dusk looked up into fading gray eyes that tightened into closed crow's feet. The man pulled out another token, and Dusk breathed loudly. Attempting to engulf himself in the lingering warmth that had earlier given him his strength.

"Only cursed weapons can dispel a token's magic, so it had to be a whip." The elderly man appeared to have grayed a little. Dusk was aware of cursed weapons, which usually possessed the people who owned them. They appeared to operate differently in this place, much like he did, as did many other things.

"I have experienced this in the past without using tokens." Dusk could not believe how much it hurt, but he was able to cope. It hurt and throbbed with every breath, and he could feel blood seeping from his wounds. "Would you please apply pressure to the deepest areas for me?" The whip had been used most heavily on his back, causing him the most discomfort. He had blood all over his arm, but it was shallow. If it was bleeding as badly as it felt, blood loss would be a problem.

"Young man, things do not seem good. I can't lie." True to his word, he observed the older man remove his shirt and press it on his back. The wounds he saw on him were knitting together, like he had never been whipped. "Curses are ineffective against beast folk." The moment the owner's hands touched his back, Dusk hissed through his teeth.

Dusk grunted, relieved that the owner of the café was not in worse shape. "That is good," he said.

"For me, yes." Those hands covered his back and stopped the blood flow, putting his back through a painful, uncontrollable cultivation. "Here comes your mates."

Dusk said, still having trouble accepting the notion that not just one but two people would care about him, "My mates." He was distracted from his thoughts by those young men.

"Dusk!" Word flew behind Micah as he charged at him. Word landed by his arm, and rubbing it with his check, soft as he was, didn't stop it from being painful. "Oh, Gods. Dusk." Large tears streamed freely from Micah's eyes. Dropping like opals from his eyes. His back and arm hurt, but those eyes on him hurt worse. Dusk experienced a wave of relief upon seeing them because what he had hoped for had materialized. Part of him still doubted, but they had come.

"Over here!" Pyrite entered the building. Followed by a few guards who appeared to be in uniform. When Pyrite saw him, he looked at him and knelt down in front of him. "Who hurt you?"

"Miss Thyst," Dusk told him without giving any details. Micah wiped his eyes before grabbing a token and going to his side. "That will not work," he said, but Micah paid no attention to him. Pyrite growled.

"I can attest that she has a distinct odor, and no student illusion can deceive a beast folk's nose." The proprietor of the café informed the guards, but Dusk was concentrating on Micah. "I have a recording crystal, and it would have captured the entire event." Micah, who was snapping tokens, was told, "They used a cursed whip." Whispering broke out between the three guards that Pyrite had brought with him.

"Can you get us that crystal?" One of the guards moved forward. Compared to the others, he appeared a little older. With lines crinkling his eyes and gray piercing through his dark eyes. His attention briefly shifted to the café owner and Dusk. "We'll continue our investigation at the hospital."

"Shouldn't ya be looking for Thyst?" Pyrite said, looking up. "She couldn't have gotten far."

"I used magic to send her away; I have no idea where she went." Dusk fell into a hiss, and his head tilted. Word drew nearer and pressed against his face. He was cooing and appeared to be trying to comfort himself as well as Dusk.

"The bleeding is getting worse!" The owner yelled, "Do any of you have an ambulance token?" One of the two guards, who was the only blonde, pulled out a red and white token, and with a snap, they were whisked away. Dusk immediately vanished into a hospital room. Pyrite, Word, and Micah all desired to remain close to him. It turned out that the strong male nurse who was blocking the door was stronger than a prince and a legendary beast combined.

Curse-removal magic was used to undo the effects, and Dusk recovered without leaving any scars. The mage cursed the healing powers of Redneval as he examined his old scars. Due to their advanced age, there was nothing they could do to help them. Dusk ignored it; he had his own scars, and he was not able to see them. He would worry about them in the future if they bothered Micah and Pyrite.

The nurse told him that his school robe needed to be fixed and that he would receive it back in an hour. Dusk understood that a prince's influence was supporting their actions. Those old scars had one of the younger girls in tears when they came to wrap his wounds, accepting the bandages that would aid in the deeper bruises that the healed whip marks had left behind. Along with the blonde guard, Dusk entered the private room where his mates were waiting.

"My lord, we have a few questions." Standing, he saluted Dusk.

"Quick questions." Pyrite was standing behind the man, and it seemed as though the surrounding air was growling and snapping at the guard. He trembled like a small, terrified child. Word flew into his chest. While holding Word close to his chest with his good arm, Dusk also petted him with the other. Although his body felt fine, the doctor advised him not to push himself too hard in the coming days. Story of his life.

"The best course of action is to start looking for Aimee Thyst immediately. Interfering with the teleportation token of royalty is a high offense." Micah was standing on the other side of the security guard when Dusk noticed a drop of perspiration running down his face. Micah applied pressure by making use of his position and his skills. In Dusk's opinion, the Thyst family should be the ones sweating.

"We will go back to the cabin after he finishes his questions." Dusk said, and despite the guard's tentative smile, his words failed to ease the tense situation.

"Thanks to the owner of the café, we have a recording of the events." He spoke while the slightest tremble could be seen in his arms. "We require an official record of the events."

"You shouldn't be standing," Micah said, glaring at the guard. Bypassing them, he led Dusk to a chair. Dusk accepted it and relaxed in the chair. "How are you doing?" On the arm of his chair, Micah sat down. Word rubbed his head, still trembling but settling onto his chest.

"I'm fine," Dusk said, and he was. He felt calm—almost too calm. "I am curious how a lower noble came into possession of my private, sealed information." Dusk turned to look at the trembling guard. Dusk experienced a range of emotions while getting his wounds treated. Hatred, confusion, and fear. She was not deserving of any kind of feeling. Hatred of himself. Why was he so feeble? Why wasn't he able to live a typical life? A normal life. Always, the solution came back to him and how frail he was. Would any of this occur if he were stronger? Dusk closed his eyes. The answer would always be no.

"You do not have the authority to respond because of your rank." Dusk was a baron, a lower noble. His standing was one level higher than the guard's. At that moment, he was relying on Micah and Pyrite's positions. He talked about breaking ties, but here he was leaning on them. Dusk shook his head and laughed sarcastically. He was a hypocrite, like all nobles. A weak hypocrite.

"That is true. Where is Granite?" Leaning against the back of his chair, Micah had his arms folded. He encircled Dusk's shoulders with his body. Like a great cat circling a favorite toy.

"Prince Micah, he is coming." The guard knelt down with his head bowed. He had to report to her majesty because he was sending men to the Thyst household. The mention of the queen made Dusk wince; he was not in the best condition to see her right now. By the lay lines, please don't let me see her today.

"Naturally, a prince's mate has been assaulted. Yet..." Dusk shivered when Micah stopped and looked at the guard. "There is no news,"

"Dusk needs rest; where are your questions?" Pyrite's words matched Micah's chilled expression. The guard was shaking, and even though he had sympathy for the man, the vast majority of him wanted to know what was going on.

"Second Prince Tourline," When the older guard entered again, he got down on one knee.

"Granite!" Dusk was still in awe of Micah's fluid grace as he rose from the chair with a more upbeat tone. "Say you have news, please."

"Miss Thyst is in court right now with her personal guard, Garnet." He raised his head, focusing solely on Micah. Not romantically, but with complete respect. Dusk had seen such devoted eyes on Duke Black. It was clear from his sparkling gaze what he would do for Micah. "Guards discovered him on the outskirts of town. Lord Wooddancer is required at the castle after she sustains serious injuries."

"What?" If Pyrite had a sword, it would have been in his hand as he growled. The sigh that was on the verge of leaving his mouth was contained by Dusk. He felt as though he knew how this would end. He found little solace in massaging Word's back. Could nothing go right in his life?

"Granite, what is the meaning of this?" Micah spoke, losing all warmth in his voice.

"The queen has been pushed for a hearing by Lord and Lady Thyst." Despite Pyrite's fury, Granite remained unmoved. "She has consented," He quickly rose to his feet and took a standing position. Upon rising, Granite turned to face Dusk. "Dusk, you must report to court at the queen's request. Effective immediately!"

"Damn it!" Pyrite swiveled around and slammed the coffee table across the room, smashing it against a wall. Dusk's thoughts resembled the table Pyrite kicked in many ways.