Page 39 of Dalla’s Royal Guards (Second Chance #3)

Nasser stopped walking. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He lifted his head and met his father’s eyes, his voice breaking on the words.

“She’s gone.”

Hari’s face drained of color. “No…”

“We couldn’t protect her,” Nasser bit out. “We promised we would—but we couldn’t.”

Musad turned away, his entire body a taut coil of grief. He didn’t follow Nasser when he veered toward the sitting room. Instead, he disappeared down the hallway, the sharp echo of his boots swallowed quickly by the silence.

Hari watched him go, then turned to his youngest son.

Nasser stood before the window, staring out at the sea. The soft lapping of the waves beyond the palace echoed in his memory, but there was no beauty in it now. Only the hollow ache of failure.

“She died saving us,” he said hoarsely. “She pushed Musad out of the way. Took the bullet herself.”

Hari stepped forward, his voice gentle. “And she would do it again, Nasser. That was who she was. She lived to protect.”

“I should have told her,” Nasser whispered, his voice cracking. “I should have told her I loved her. Maybe… maybe if I had, she would have stayed.”

Hari moved to his son and rested his hand on his shoulder, then slowly turned him around. Nasser’s face crumpled, his composure slipping as the grief finally broke free.

“She knew, my son,” Hari murmured, pulling Nasser into a fierce embrace. “She knew. And if there is a way—any way at all—to return—Dalla will find it. She came once. She can return. You have to believe.”

Nasser trembled in his arms.

Hari’s voice dropped to a whisper. “When I heard the gunfire in the comms when you and Musad went to rescue Cianna… I thought I had lost you both. I was devastated. I couldn’t think. I turned to the mural and I prayed that Dalla would protect you, and she did.”

Nasser stiffened slightly, lifting his head.

“I begged her,” Hari whispered, voice raw. “I stood before the image of her, and I begged her to protect you. I asked her to come… and she did. You believe that. Dalla is not gone—not truly. You have to tell her. She needs to hear that you need her so she can find her way back.”

Nasser drew in a shuddering breath, tears still burning behind his eyes. “The mural…”

Hari nodded. “After Donovan called and told me what happened at the old fort… I went back. Only the outline of her has returned, but her depiction has changed.”

The room was still, save for the crashing of waves outside the palace.

“I don’t know what that means,” Nasser said.

“I do,” Hari whispered. “It means don’t give up.”

A long moment passed. Then Nasser nodded slowly.

Not in agreement.

But in hope.

Hope, thin as thread—but still unbroken.

Musad stood alone in the garden, swallowed by silence.

He stared up at the stars, tears streaming down his face. The seax trembled in his hand, the blade turned inward. Grief clawed at his chest like fire.

“She deserved better,” he whispered. “A thousand lifetimes, and the curse still took her.”

He raised the blade?—

“Don’t.”

Musad turned. Harlem stood beneath the olive tree, his voice low.

Musad’s hand dropped. “Why? I couldn’t save her.”

“No one could,” Harlem said. He stepped closer, his eyes shadowed with memories. “She came into my life centuries ago… in that cave in the desert. I was lost. Angry. She brought me peace. And she has been bringing moments of peace again for a long time.“

Musad listened as Harlem spoke of lifetimes, pain, and quiet conversations shared between two broken souls. Musad drew in a shuddering breath and looked up at the night sky. Stars twinkled down, almost as if they were trying to whisper to him.

“Where do you go when you die?” Musad asked in a choked voice.

Harlem’s lips curled into a wistful smile. “Home.”

Musad looked away. “Do you think she’s gone home?”

“I do,” Harlem said. “Maybe she went to say goodbye this time. Don’t give up on her yet. Help her find her way back.”

“Do you think—?” Musad turned back, his eyes searching the garden.

The garden was empty, except for him. Harlem was gone.

He looked up.

“Come home to us, Dalla,” Musad whispered into the stars. “We need you… I need you.”

Dalla sat beneath the twisted branches of the old Wyche elm tree overlooking the sea, the wind threading through her golden braid. It had been two days since she had returned to this place—her first home. The one that time could not erase. She hadn’t moved from this spot since she had arrived.

The cliffs were the same, the wildflowers still bloomed in patches of stubborn color, and the air held the same sharp, salt-laced scent of her childhood.

She drew her knees to her chest, watching the waves break far below, trying to make sense of the ache inside her. Even in death, her soul ached for Musad and Nasser. For the touch of their hands. The sound of their voices. The way their laughter filled up the silence.

The grass rustled behind her.

“You always liked this spot,” Olaf said, stepping into view.

Dalla smiled faintly. Her little brother was no longer little. He stood tall now, a young man with her father’s strong build and their mother’s thoughtful eyes. He came to sit beside her, arms resting over his knees.

“Remember when you and Aesa dared me to jump from that rock into the tide pool?” he asked, pointing to a spot down below them.

She laughed, the sound quiet but warm. “You cried halfway down.”

“I was six!” He grinned. Then his smile faded, and he looked sideways at her. “Have you seen them? Runa and Aesa?”

Dalla shook her head. “No.”

Olaf nodded. “Runa returned here for a short time. She lives again. With the ones she loves. Mor says Aesa will come. One day.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“ Mor asks that you come see her and Far. They miss you. I missed you, too,” Olaf said.

Tears burned her eyes, clouding her vision as she nodded, her eyes still locked on the horizon. He rose, held out his hand, and she took it.

The walk back to the hut was quiet. Horses grazed nearby, and the familiar bark of dogs greeted them as they neared. Olaf murmured a word, and the dogs lay back down, tails thumping.

The door opened. Her mother stood there—with the same beautiful smile, the same thick blonde hair braided, her eyes still as blue as Dalla remembered. She opened her arms when she noticed Dalla’s trembling lips.

Dalla collapsed into her mother’s embrace.

“ Mor …” she sobbed. “It hurts. It hurts so much.”

Asta held her, rocking her gently. “You’ve carried too much, my heart. Come. Your Far is waiting.”

Inside, Sven stood, tall and quiet. His arms enfolded her, strong and safe.

“They loved me, Far . They still do. But I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to leave them.”

“Everything will be alright,” he said softly. “Come, tell us about them.”

And she did. She told her mother and father about the two men who had captured her heart.

Filled her soul. She shared about their father, Hari, who made cookies with Cianna.

She told them about the beauty of Narva and the fight for freedom in Kashir.

Olaf was captivated by all the changes, sighing as he listened.

Yet none of her memories could fill the hole in her heart.

Over the next few weeks, she worked beside her mother in the gardens, helped her father brush the horses, and rode along the cliffs with Olaf.

She slept in her old bed, listened to the howling of the wind at night, and watched the sun rise every morning over the same stretch of ocean she had known as a child.

But the ache remained.

Four months later, she sat on the cliff again, waiting.

Olaf came to her, barefoot and quiet. He dropped beside her, staring at the horizon.

“Is the world below as scary as it seems?” he asked.

Dalla smiled. “No. Not if you find someone to walk it with you.”

“Look, the sun is waking up,” Olaf exclaimed, rising to his feet.

Dalla reluctantly rose to her feet and watched as the first rays of sunlight touched the water, turning the sea into molten gold.

“You know, I’ll see you again,” Olaf said. “You, Runa, Aesa. One day. Down there. Until then… I’ll watch over you.”

Dalla turned to him, surprised. “Olaf, what do you?—”

Her breath caught in her throat as he stepped forward and pushed her.

“Olaf!” she cried as she fell over the edge of the cliff.

“I love you, Dalla. Protect them,” he called as she fell.

The wind whipped past her. Light flared around her. And then she was gone.

Asta and Sven joined Olaf.

They stood together, watching the sunrise.

“She’s going back,” Asta whispered.

Sven wrapped an arm around her. “Yes.”

Olaf wiped at his cheeks. “I’ll miss her.”

“She’ll carry our love with her,” Sven said.

Together, they watched the shimmer of light illuminate the sky.

Dalla was going home.

Back to where love waited. Back to where she belonged.