Daughters of the King |✓|

Epilogue

Life in the mountains was quiet. Full of endless skies and forests and fields—days that stretched on and on and blended into each other—a house that carried many memories and ghosts, tucked far away from civilization. This is where I hid myself away from the rest of the world—a world that was almost as eager to forget me as I was to forget it.

This place was my escape now.

Near the cliffside, two gravestones stood on a patch of grass. Gunnar and Zelle. I visited when I could, even though they weren't really there. The soil beneath was empty. It was just a place I'd dedicated to their memory, but it was all I had. I spent entire afternoons there, sitting on the grass, remembering. It seemed like both a lifetime ago and just an instant ago that they'd been here. I'd only had them for such a short amount of time—too short—and the least I could do was keep their memory alive.

My mornings I spent with Ada. In the earliest hours, she pushed my eyes open with her tiny fists pressed solidly against my lids, and then she sat there, staring, as though contemplating me. The verdict was only ever disappointment, on both sides. We could not reach each other, just as my mother and I never could.

It terrified me, but having a daughter was terrifying no matter what. Not just because the entire world had gone insane, but because Ada herself was made of the most dangerous things in life—love and hope and Gunnar's eyes. I cried hard when she was born, feeling broken and put together at the same time. She changed everything when she came, even though the world around us continued to exist just as it always had, and the past remained untouched.

She changed everything even though she changed nothing. Life was different but the same. I was still me and yet I wasn't.

When Bjorn brought me and a newborn Ada home, he promised me I'd never have to worry about anything again. It made me feel like his dirty secret, being hidden far in the mountains so no one could see. Jai and Narumi came along, too, and Bo came often for visits. I guess the old house had become a bit like home for all of us, and I was grateful for their company, even though I was wrought with emptiness.

After staying for three days, Bjorn kissed me tenderly just before he left, and that's when I knew we wouldn't be seeing each other again. Not for a long time, anyway.

"It's better if you stay away," is what he told me. "Tensions are high—people are confused by what you did."

I knew it was the truth, but it made me sad to think that I would have to remain here where I belonged, while he would have to return—to his rightful place as the leader of the camp—where he belonged, and that we would live our lives separately from now on. It made me sad because he was one of the few people who understood me. There's nothing lonelier than living in a world you don't belong in. You can stand in a crowd full of people and feel completely isolated.

But that was my fate from now on. How could I expect any different?

After Bjorn was gone, I stayed up many nights, letting the isolation settle. I sat on the edge of my bed, one hand on Ada's cradle where she slept, staring out into the world beyond the window. I would replay the moments I'd had with Gunnar and let the misery come for me. I'd let myself feel it for as long as I could, as long as it took, and then I'd swallow it all back up again.

I cannot express the amount of relief I felt when Wolfe showed up weeks later, unannounced. I knew what it meant—what it signified. I knew he was coming here to offer himself to me, even though he never outright said so. In fact, he didn't say much at first. He quietly moved into one of the unoccupied rooms, and most days he took up residence by the fire. He never pressured me into anything, which I appreciated, and his company slowly became like a warm and comforting presence within the house.

I admit, it was what I needed in those deep and darkest days of my existence. We would often sit together by the roaring fireplace during the long and brutal winter, and whenever I looked up, he was always looking back at me, as if to say: I am here. Do not worry, you are not alone.