Page 2 of Destined Dawn

My sister considers my face. Goodness knows what she must think. Goodness knows how many questions she must have about what has passed between me and the Black Prince. But my sister is stoic and unshakeable. She keeps her curiosity to herself. It’s why I trust her with Rhianna’s life.

And her silence is for the best. How would I ever explain it? The Black Prince – leader of the so-called dark forces in the West, our mortal enemy – the man we have been fighting these past years. He disarmed me completely. Made me fall so hopelessly in love with him. Made me believe all his promises, all his visions for the future – a future of peace, of no more war, of no more fighting.

I have been such a fool.

My daughter snuffles in her sleep, her tiny nose wrinkling.

I have made mistakes, but I can make amends now, make amends by ensuring Rhianna is protected.

“But how?” my sister says. “How will I do it? I’m no seer. I have no special powers. Surely, there is someone better equipped to care for her than me.”

I shake my head adamantly. “There isn’t.”

My sister peers down into the sleeping face of my daughter, and her face lights up with affection. There is no one but me who loves Rhianna as much as Mabel does.

She lifts her arms, the tears now flowing freely from her eyes, and carefully, I lay my daughter in her hold. I am trusting her with the most precious thing I have in the world and though I know that my child is safer with her than she is with me, I have to force myself not to scream and snatch her right back.

“What if I can’t? What if I fail?” my sister asks. “What if I fail you, Bronwyn?”

“You won’t. You are stronger than me.” Better than me too. She always said I was too trusting, too quick to follow my heart and not my head. Not this time. This time, I ignore my broken heart. “And I will always be here. We all will. You can always call on us for help.”

I stroke my finger down the face of my daughter, her skin so soft, so new, so fragile, like the petals of a flower. Not yet blemished by the sun, ravished by the wind, marked by time.

“What will I tell her?” Mabel asks.

“What?” I say, too mesmerized by my daughter’s face – a face I am committing to memory – every line, every color, every expression, every sound, even the milky smell of her. I will remember it all. I will think of it when the final blow hits. My last thought will be of her. This beautiful, precious creature.

“When she’s older, Bronwyn? Old enough to know, to understand? What should I tell her?”

I press my lips to my daughter’s warm forehead, inhaling the scent of her one last time. “Tell her that I love her. That I love her so, so much. And that I will always be close by.”

1

Rhi

“What memories?”Tristan asks, swinging his gaze from me to Stone as we glare at each other across the bedroom.

“The ones locked inside her head,” Azlan says. “We tried to open them once before, but it caused Rhianna too much pain. We had to abort.”

“Why are there memories locked inside your head?” Spencer asks.

I shrug. Exactly. Why? Stone has always believed they were locked away to protect me from them, and while that may be true, I think they may hold answers, clues as to why I – a girl from nowhere, a nobody, a no one – has been plucked by fate and bound to these five men. Men more powerful, knowledgeable, and resourceful than I am.

Stone stares at me over the length of the bedroom and I know him well enough to read the expression on his face,even if — unlike him — I can’t read the thoughts in his head. He doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want to search through those memories again. He hasn’t changed his mind on this.

“It’s a bad idea,” he says, “and look what yesterday’s bad idea cost us.”

“It didn’t cost us anything. We’re all here,” I say. “We’re all safe, alive.”

He turns his head to glare at the assassin. “Just.”

“You think they’re going to help in some way?” Spencer asks me.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But maybe and if so, I don’t want to miss out on a source of information that might give us answers.”

“This is all based on the premise that you think fate is a logical force,” Stone says, sounding more like his professor-self than he usually does, “and not a random one. The forces that have bound us together may be little more than chance. There may be no other reason for it.”

“You don’t really believe that,” I tell him.