CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Steam rose in slow drifts from the tea kettle.

My pour over dripped in the kitchen.

Directly across from me, looking perfectly posh in a flowing dress and heels, sat Gretchen. I was in my training fatigues, already dressed for my first class after my appointment. Early morning pigeons swooped over the city, and the sun shed golden rays over the beach in the far distance.

“How was your first week?” Gretchen asked, flipping her pad open.

I thought back. My first week learning about myself had been tough. It felt like untangling a mess of threads. I’d spent my nights staring up at the ceiling and running over every memory I had, trying to understand what was my fault and what was just part of how my mind worked. The conclusion I’d come to was that I’d never know the answer to every question, but I had to forgive myself before forgiving anyone else.

That was the hardest part.

I’d never wanted to be a victim, and yet, I was.

I opened my mouth to tell Gretchen it went fine, and everything spilled out, all my realizations that not everything bad in my life was my fault. She listened without moving, giving me every bit of her attention.

When I was done, she cleared her throat.

“You never deserved your childhood,” she said. “And that’s the hardest thing for people to grasp. For some reason, we’re all wired to be ashamed when it’s the people who failed or abused us who should feel shame.”

I turned, staring past her head, unable to meet her gaze anymore.

“I should have been cared for properly,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I was just a kid.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I didn’t deserve abuse and neglect.”

“No, you didn’t.”

My chest hurt so fucking much. I cleared my throat and forced my eyes back to hers. “I’m getting married, and I want kids. I’ve always wanted kids. But now that it’s actually going to happen, all I can think about is…how could the adults in my life be so negligent? I can’t imagine looking at my child and just…choosing fucking drugs over them. I know it’s an addiction, but I can’t fucking imagine it, even at my absolute lowest. And my fucking stepdad…what kind of monster looks at a kid and decides to beat the fuck out of them?”

She smiled and her eyes softened.

“You’re breaking a terrible cycle, Caden,” she said. “All of your thoughts are very normal things to struggle with at this stage.”

“The realization is hard,” I said flatly.

“But it’s necessary for forgiveness.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive the people who were supposed to raise me.”

“No, I mean forgiving yourself is hard, but it’s necessary. For not knowing, for needing time to heal. It’s called grace,” she said, setting her pad aside and folding her hands.

“Grace?”

She nodded. “It’s a word often associated with religion, but you’ll find that it’s just as necessary outside of that. Your path to healing yourself won’t be easy or linear, but you have to just keep giving yourself grace, even when you don’t feel like it.”

I swallowed past my dry throat. “How many times?”

“I’ve found you never really stop needing to give yourself grace,” she said.

“I’m not sure if I deserve that,” I said.

“Would you give Circe the same grace?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Then give it to yourself too. You’re the person she loves most in this world, so be kind to that man,” she said, getting to her feet. “And you don’t have to forgive the people who hurt you. Some people don’t forgive and forget. They just walk away and heal themselves.”

I ran a hand over my face. “I don’t think I can anymore. Forgive them, I mean.”

“That’s your choice,” she said. “Whatever you choose, it serves only to help you move forward. Now, let’s talk about Circe.”

She went to open the balcony door, letting the warm morning air pour through. I stayed where I was as her heels clicked around the kitchen. In a few minutes, I heard a frying pan hit the stove and a steak sizzle. My stomach growled.

“What about Circe?” I asked finally.

“How’s the sex?”

My brows rose and I got up, joining her in the kitchen. “A bit bold, no?”

“I’m your therapist, darling,” she said, dusting off her hands. “But it’s up to you how intimate you want to get in therapy.”

I thought it over and decided I didn’t care that much. “The sex is great. Why?”

“Good. Best you’ve ever had?”

“Yeah, it is.”

She flipped the steak and went to get eggs from the fridge. “That’s good. You two seem like a good match.”

“Do we?”

She returned. “I know on paper you don’t, but you have very compatible traits. And I think it works out for you that she’s very well adjusted mentally. She seems competent, driven, but unsure of what she wants.”

“That’s a solid assessment,” I said.

Gretchen pulled the steak off the stove to rest and started cracking eggs. “Is she reconciling with her father?”

“She wants to,” I said.

My mind went back to the other night when I’d gotten home late to find Circe already in bed. She was asleep, and her phone screen was still on. I’d picked it up to set it aside, and my heart sank as my eyes moved over the unsent message meant for her father.

She missed him. She missed Delaney.

“I’m going to speak with her father,” I said. “I think I can make a deal.”

Gretchen set my steak and eggs down before me and handed me a fork and knife. “What kind of deal?”

“One where I talk to his daughter and help them reconcile, and he writes a check for what he owes us so we can fully fund the training base,” I said.

Gretchen leaned on the counter, crossing her arms. “You think he’d be amenable?”

“I think he loves his daughter,” I said.

“And you’d use that against him?”

I shook my head. “No, but I think a part of him loves her enough to realize that betraying our deal was his fuck up, and he needs to make up for it if he wants a good relationship with his daughter and grandchildren.”

“What if he doesn’t agree to it?”

“Then we reevaluate,” I said. “I’ll give her anything she wants.”

Gretchen”s face softened, and she leaned across the table and patted my arm. “Eat your breakfast, and we’ll wrap this session up. I know you have to be at work at nine.”

I left her office thirty minutes later feeling raw but hopeful. Part of me wished I could just skip ahead to the part where I was fixed.

When I got to the training center, the gun range was empty. I checked my phone, but I definitely wasn’t late. Frowning, I did a loop down the hall, but Maelon was nowhere to be found.

That was strange. From his first day here, he’d been nothing but punctual.

I was just passing the hallway that led to the arena when I saw a black pile on the floor. I paused, frowning. Was that a jacket? Stepping near, I kicked at it with my foot, and a silver mug rolled out from beneath. It was definitely Maelon’s jacket and thermos.

Quietly, I moved down the hall and stairs, entering the cool, underground tunnels. At the end, I could see the gates to the arena were open. When I drew near, I saw a lanky shape hunched at the center, arms wrapped around his knees, chin down.

“Maelon,” I said quietly.

My voice echoed. He lifted his head and turned.

“What are you doing?” I asked, stepping into the arena. “We have practice this morning.”

He nodded, getting to his feet slowly. He tucked his hands behind his back and dropped his eyes.

“I just wanted to look, sir,” he said.

I drew up beside him, scanning the stone sides of the arena. “At ease. You can speak.”

He relaxed, balling his fists, rubbing his knuckles. “You’re training me for this, aren’t you? Sir?”

Into my mind flashed an image of everything Maelon would go through if he chose this path, everything I’d go through at his side as his kingmaker. Merrick had spoken to me of his path in the arena, and I’d heard Daphne talk about how hard she’d trained him.

Years of blood, sweat, tears. Years of longing for glory, only for it to end in one day.

Was it worth it?

How much suffering and death did it take to produce a gentle king? A king who had tasted pain so thoroughly, he would do anything before he let one of his people feel the same?

And was Maelon that king?

Could I stand at his side and watch him suffer?

Part of me wanted to roll those questions around in my head forever so I didn’t have to make a final choice, but I was over deflecting. Truthfully, since meeting Maelon, I’d known deep down that I was in the presence of someone who would shift our world on its axis, perhaps just how Daphne knew by looking at Merrick that he would be the next Brenin.

“There was another boy like you, once upon a time,” I said, sinking down to a crouch in the sand.

“Are you talking about Merrick?” he asked.

I nodded. “Daphne believed he could be king, that he could be the one to lead us until another man took his place. But Merrick believed it too, and now, he’ll go down as the greatest Brenin in our history.”

“Why? Why do it?”

My eyes moved over the stands, over the stone benches. “Because when he’s gone, when I’m gone, our organization will still stand. Because he secured a future for not just my generation, but my children’s children.”

Maelon ran a hand over his face, wiping his nose.

“Merrick will never reap the crops he sows,” I said quietly. “But they’re worth planting all the same.”

Maelon glanced up, meeting my eyes. “I want this,” he said. “All my life, I’ve felt like I was different, like I was made to do more.”

“I felt that when I met you.”

“But I can’t do it alone,” he whispered. “I’m not brave enough.”

I straightened, reaching down to offer my hand. He grasped it, and I pulled him to his feet.

“If you want to be king, I will make you a king,” I said.

He lifted his chin, and I saw it flash through his face—a thousand years of kings and a thousand years more to come.

“I’m going to break you down and make something of you,” I said. “Some days you’ll hate me for it, but someday, you’ll stand in this arena, and Merrick will lift your arm for the crowd. Trust me that I’ll get you there.”

He nodded once. “I trust you.”

“Good, let’s begin,” I said.

I was halfway to the gates when I noticed he wasn’t with me. When I turned, he still stood at the center, but his chin was lifted, and his eyes were quiet.

“I’d like to see my mother this weekend,” he said.

I dipped my head. “You may.”

He cleared his throat, and his feet moved this time, carrying himself out of the arena at my side. “She’s going to cry when I tell her,” he said finally.

“That’s her right,” I said.

“Sir,” he said, his voice tight.

“Yes?”

“Do you believe I can do this?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I do.”

He nodded. We were both quiet as we moved up the hallway and entered the training center. There was an aura of finality around us that day, one that sobered us both. I pushed him hard and left him still working when the buzzer sounded to signal midday.

Tomorrow morning, we would start in earnest.