Page 4

WES

T wenty-four hours later, I was back in Sasha’s office.

“We have little time to organize a coup, let alone manage battle on the front lines.” Sasha remained stoic as she sat behind her desk. Back straight. Hands folded neatly on top. Sergeant Major Anthony Giza and I sat on the other side.

Giza rubbed his chin as a frown bowed the corners of his lips. “This is dangerous, Sasha. If word gets out to anyone, we risk the lives of all our soldiers.”

“Precisely,” she said as she leaned back in her chair. “That’s why we must involve only the necessary parties and move as quickly as we can. The sooner we remove Charles, the less risk of our plans getting out.”

I stayed silent. Watching. Listening.

Giza shifted in his chair. “We’ll need someone else on the inside. Someone higher up who can help us depose him.” He pulled on the strands of his graying goatee. “Do you think Fisher would assist?”

Sasha laughed quietly. “First Commander Fisher has less of a backbone than a slug. It’s why he’s in the position and not someone else. Charles is no fool.”

“Bynes? ”

“No.” I didn’t shout. Just a simple, plainly spoken sound. “She’s too loyal to my father.”

Giza nodded, then asked, “What about the Lieutenant General?”

“Krous?” She tapped her lips with a pointed finger. “Krous is a possibility.” She looked at me, eyes whispering. Then she asked, “What are your thoughts?”

I rested my chin on my fist. Thought about what I knew of Lieutenant General Michael Krous. He wasn’t meek, not like Fisher. And he had no love for Bynes. She treated him like dirt. Decent head on his shoulders. Decent morals. Decent man. “I think he might help.”

“Good,” Sasha said as she sat up straight once again, her eyes still on me. “You’ll need to speak to him. See if you can gauge his willingness to betray Charles before you reveal your cards. I cannot afford you winding up behind bars for treason.”

I nodded. Shifted my gaze to the blank surface of her desk.

“Wes?”

I looked up. Sasha De’vor—mother of the rebellion, leader of the Free People of Telvia—asked me a question without ever opening her mouth.

But she spoke anyway. “Gary Fisher cannot assume control of the North. As the First in Command, it would be his duty to serve as interim president until you could be formally installed as Commander in Chief of the North. He cannot step into that role, not when everything stands on the edge of a knife. Raúl would slaughter us before the week’s end.

” Her eyes spoke volumes. “You understand this, yes?”

***

February—Eight Months Prior

“I brought you something.” I smiled. It always came easily when I was with her. Because she made me soft. Flexuous. Lithe .

Wood made pliable.

Steel made malleable.

A supple white petal from a fresh white rose.

She lit up. Her dark brown eyes turned bright, like the full moon casting away shadow. “What is it?”

“You have to promise me you’ll never show anyone, okay? You can’t talk about it either. Never. Not even with me after today. Got it?”

Curiosity. Intrigue. Interest. That’s what her eyes told me.

“What do you mean, I can’t talk to you about it?” She tipped her head to the side, hair falling forward over her shoulder.

“You can’t. Promise me or I won’t give it to you.”

Her brows pinched, then softened. The corners of her mouth pulling and hedging with that tentative grin that always felt like her lips were teasing me. “But, Chase, that doesn’t even make sense. It’s weird.”

A needle.

His name was a needle. A nail. A stake.

Right through my heart.

My smile faltered.

“Chase?”

I cleared my throat. Shoved down the sound of his name. “ Please . Promise me?”

I don’t understand , her eyes said to me. But she nodded.

I breathed in deeply. Looked around. Stepped to the side to make sure the cameras got my back and couldn’t record what I was about to produce from inside my coat.

Slowly.

Gently.

Don’t wreck it.

Don’t ruin it.

Don’t spoil what she means to you.

I pulled out one single white rose.

Her eyes lit up like a shooting star .

“Oh my god.” She looked over her shoulders. Stepped closer to me. Whispered to keep our secret. “Is it…is it real ?” She reached for the flower. Caressed the soft folds of the fresh white rose I held in my hand. And her eyes…her eyes sang to me of wonder and magic and joy and delight.

I lowered my voice. Drew my face closer to hers. Grazed my forehead along her crown under the pretense of hushed secrets. “It’s real. It’s a rose.”

She looked at me under hooded eyes, still touching the petals. “But how ?”

There were no roses in Telvia. No foliage other than the succulents allowed by the Telvian Council. For all intents and purposes, roses were forbidden.

Her lips were so close to mine. It would be so easy. Too easy. “I have my secrets.”

She looked up then. Mischief alight in the deep sea of her eyes. “Will you tell me your secrets?”

Idle hands love to keep themselves entertained, and my idle hand found its way to her cheek, stroking it with the back of my fingers. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

She shivered under my touch. Her eyes flickered under my gaze. But she held her tongue. Mara was a treasure trove of secrets. And I wanted her to trust me. To tell me the truth about her life. To let me see her the way I so desperately wanted her to see me.

The real me.

She brought her lips close to mine. Only an inch remained between us. “Keep your secrets,” her voice sang to me. “And I’ll keep my rose.” She pulled back, smiling, taking the rose from our shared grasp, and hid it for the rest of forever.

** *

April—Six Months Prior

“You deserve better than living in that house.” It killed me to know they were hurting her. That every time I left her at the gates of the Presidential Palace, it could be the last time I ever saw her.

“Please don’t…I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” A tear slipped from her grieving eyes.

I grimaced. Contained the fire. Shoved back the tempest. With a trembling finger, I brushed the tear away. “You know, you’re beautiful.”

The most beautiful thing.

The most tender thing.

The most precious thing.

Her cheeks flushed, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Stop,” she said, “you’re just trying to make me feel better.”

I lay down beside her, feeling the artificial turf give little under my weight as I rested on my side. I couldn’t help myself. Seeing her brokenness…seeing her pain…

It undid me.

Crushed me.

Pulverized me.

Turned me to dust.

I leaned towards her. Felt her warmth. Heard the stories her eyes sang. So close I could almost taste her breath.

Gently. Softly. Slowly. I bumped her nose with mine. “Yes,” I said in hushed tones, “and it’s the truth.” Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes opened. My chest tightened. And I was lost.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

I couldn’t hold back the want threatening to swallow me whole.

Because I wanted to live in the sea of her eyes. Swim for ages and never take a breath. I wanted to hear the stories she refused to tell me. To know her anguish, her fear, and the nightmares of her waking hours.

I wanted to fill her with hope. To slay the demons of her heart and shield her from their wicked ways. To raise her up into the sky and let her dance among the stars. Let her rest in the Milky Way, in satin sheets of moonlight and pillows made of stardust.

Because I needed her more than my breath.

I needed her more than the blood pumping in my veins.

I needed her more than my soul.

Because I was fucking Romeo, in love with a forbidden Juliet.

And I didn’t care anymore what was wrong and what was right.

And I couldn’t remember why this was supposed to be mistaken. Forbidden. Sinful.

I was caving. I was pleating. I was folding in two.

I was bowing and curving and bending.

I was shaping, and molding, and my fucking god, what was happening to me?

Because I was the supple white petal of a fresh white rose. A rose that needed sun, and air, and the kiss of dew in the secret light of dawn.

I. Needed. Her.

I kissed her.

My lips grazed her cheek first, tasting the salt of her tears.

My lips danced along her jawline, molding to her curves.

My lips caressed the corner of her mouth, loving the feel of it pressed against mine.

Her eyes were that of a doe, frightened in the most gorgeous way.

Chase never dared to put his lips on her.

Too worried about getting caught.

Too scared to be bold .

But I wasn’t Chase.

My eyes drifted to her lips. Watched them part under my gaze. Saw her head tip back in invitation. She wanted this. She wanted me .

And I wanted to be hers .

I leaned. I delivered. I brushed my lips against hers, feeling them give way to the gentlest pressure I could offer her.

She’s not yours to love, Wes.

I stopped.

She doesn’t belong to you.

I stiffened. I pulled back.

“Chase? Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Cold.

I was cold. Rigid. Granite.

I looked at her. Read her eyes. Heard them tell me tales of tenderness and desire and skin and hands and lips and everything else that she craved.

But not from me.

Her eyes weren’t speaking to me. They were calling out for someone else. They weren’t saying my name. Because all she ever knew was him . He was the only one she cared about. The only one anyone ever cared about.

Be inconspicuous. Be respectful. Be refined.

Smile.

I smiled.

Forced. Brittle. Fake. “We just have an audience, is all.” I looked away from her, eyeing the cameras in the park. Understanding whispered in her eyes. But I wasn’t lithe anymore.

Nothing but stone.

***

October—Present Day

“Wes? You understand, don’t you?”

My mind shifted back into Sasha’s office. She waited patiently. I admired President De’vor. She single-handedly began and ran a rebellion spanning almost twenty years. Age only made her wiser. “You’ll need to take control of the North.”

My gaze landed on the polished surface of her desk. The North didn’t need another Calvernon. The North needed someone better. It wasn’t my job anyhow. It was never my place. Chase was supposed to do it— wanted it. But my fucking idiocy, my fucking stupidity, brought him to his grave.

Because I was too rough.

Too crude.

Too brass.

Too bold .

“I’ll help take him out, but someone else needs to lead,” I responded.

She shook her head. “No. If we do this, it must be you. We don’t have the luxury of beginning a new regime in the North in the middle of a war. The North will need someone to take control immediately, and that cannot be Fisher.”

I glared at her. “Then you do it. I don’t want it.”

“ Wes .” One syllable. Said like I was a petulant child.

I raised my voice. “I’m not Chase , Sasha. I’m tired of being Chase. I’m tired of being expected to play his role, to be him . Because I’m not. Fucking. Chase .”

“Mind your tone, Mr. Calvernon,” Giza admonished. Sasha lifted a hand. Her eyes told him to settle down. Be calm. Be still.

“Chase is dead, Wes.”

My brows drew forward. Eyes trained on the desk once more.

“He died. And when he died, he ceased to exist. And that placed you in the position of assuming the responsibilities that would have been his .”

My fingers curled into fists. Nails bit into flesh .

“You are not your brother, Mr. Calvernon. Not even a little. Your DNA might be the same, but you are nothing alike.”

I grimaced.

“And yet you find yourself now with a decision to make. One that will determine not only your fate, but the fate of this faction, and that of Miss de la Puente’s.”

Ice. Drenched in ice.

“If we remove your father from power, you must become the new leader of the North.”

I met her stare.

Firm.

Unbending.

Unyielding.

“I will not become my father, Sasha. I will not be Chase.”