Page 37 of Kiss of Death
I felt the same way, almost unable to believe that we had succeeded, that my father had woken up from the coma that took months from his life, surviving an injury that would have taken someone else because the dragons wouldn’t have loaned their strength to anyone but him.
Everything that had happened was a blur in my mind. I would always remember it as a time when I had to carry on without my father’s guidance—and it was something I never wanted to live through again.
After what felt like hours, Mom stepped into the sitting room. “Hawk, your father wants to see you.”
He jumped off his end of the couch and hurried down the hallway to join him.
I was slightly stung that he’d asked for my brother instead of me, but then I remembered how happy I was that my father was alive and I couldn’t care less about the preferential treatment.
My mother took the seat beside me, grabbed my hand, and held it on her thigh.
I stared at the fire, my heart beating the slowest it had in a very long time. The last time it had felt this calm was when Callum slept beside me, and that felt like forever ago. My mother’s hand was warm for the first time in months. When I looked at her, I saw the moisture still coating the surface of her eyes.
“He’s alive because of you,” she said quietly. “Because you didn’t give up, Lily.”
“You wouldn’t have given up either, Mom. If I weren’t here, you would have figured it out.”
“I hope so, but I really don’t know. And I’m glad I’ll never know.” She gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
We sat together for a long time, what felt like an hour, maybe more, letting the silence pass like the soft waves on the shore at midnight.
Then Hawk stepped out, eyes bloodshot from the tears. “Lily.” He walked behind the couch and sat in the armchair near the fire, his shoulders dropping the second he was seated, as if that conversation had emptied his cup rather than filled it.
I should run into my father’s room the way Hawk did, but my body suddenly felt heavy and my heart even heavier. The moment was tumultuous, like I was on the precipice of irrevocable change. What I wanted more than anything was formy father to rise once again, and now that it had come to pass, I didn’t know how to accept it.
It felt like a dream.
I left the couch and entered the hallway before I approached his open doorway.
He had adjusted himself, so he sat up against the headboard, the sheets at the top of his stomach, his wound visible because he was shirtless. His eyes were on the window, the glow of the sunshine striking his espresso-colored eyes, the light reflecting the hint of moisture that sat there. He continued to stare like he was in the same level of disbelief as I was.
Then he felt me there and slowly turned to look at me.
My eyes locked on his for the first time since the battle of Riviana Star, when I’d rushed to him after I’d made the Barbarians flee and found the enormous golden sword piercing his exposed shoulder. The look of anger and fear and pride was one I would never forget.
His stare was different now, full of wonder and love and admiration.
Then his eyes started to glisten as the tears welled up, as he looked at me like it was the first time he’d ever seen me. Seen me as his daughter, seen me as Queen of the Southern Isles, as the little girl he’d raised to be as strong as a man. He took a deep breath, and then the tears broke the surface and poured down his cheeks.
He didn’t wipe them away. He stared at me without blinking, without shame for the emotion he carried in his heart. “Zunieth…”
I didn’t feel my own tears until I moved to his side, until I felt their weight streaking down my cheeks. I reached for his hand so I could hold it as I sat at his bedside, but he tugged me into him like he didn’t still carry a mortal wound in his shoulder. He pulled me into him, smothered me with both of his arms like I was still his little girl, and he squeezed me against him as he rested his chin on my head.
I knew he was still crying when I felt the tears soak into my hair, when I felt his hands tremble as he held me.
“I’m so proud—” His words were cut off by the tears in his voice. “So—so proud to call you my daughter.”
9
LILY
“Your father requests your presence, Queen Rothschild,” the guard said outside my door.
My mother dismissed us after our reunion and helped my father take the first bath he’d had in months. He went back to bed shortly afterward, still needing rest to heal the gruesome wound that would forever scar him—mentally and physically.
I had my first night of true rest in a long time, relieved that my father was still here with us. I was also relieved to shed my title as monarch and give it back to the person it truly belonged to.
I answered the door. “It’s Princess Rothschild from now on.”
