I watch her step to the top.

Aster’s purple cloak is buttoned from knee to neck, barely concealing the swelling between her hips. Still, she is small, and it’s evident by the stretching fabric.

Impatient and protective, I scoop her into my arms and climb down with her.

The Guard takes my place, helping the other Silk Girl and a member of The Queen’s Army from the tank. And Kong waits for the queen—my sister. I don’t like this, any of it, but we have no choice.

The Common part for me.

Wide eyes tracking. Interested.

Every inch of muscle inside me is on edge—tightening, protective, warm, longing—for Aster’s soft body against mine as I carry her toward the man who waits, waving us over.

Ducking beneath the wooden door frame, I follow him into the church.

The wind’s fierce presence becomes a drone of white noise when the door closes behind us. An unavoidable sense of history replaces the storm’s angry energy. I couldn’t give a shit about it, but I am aware of it in the stained-glass windows and the high vaulted ceilings, nonetheless.

This place is old.

Pushing further into the vast space, I set Aster down on a pew. Guard her.

I look the man over. Salt and pepper hair. Fine lines beside his eyes. A casual linen shirt tucked into faded-dark trousers—aged clothing that he admires and cares for. “You open your gates without question,” I state smoothly, clasping my hands together and widening my stance. “Did you know who I was?”

“Sire.” He bows. “No. I couldn’t see the vehicles through the haze, only hear the horn blasting, but anyone outside in this weather would be welcome. Typically, we would offer aid from the boundary walls, but it’s life or death out there on days like these.”

I sneer; inconceivable. “You would risk your people’s lives for the lives of strangers?”

“People are inherently good.”

Imbecile.

Abruptly, Kong, my sister, and the others enter, the storm’s rage blasting until the door is pushed close again.

White noise.

The Silk Girl rushes to sit beside Aster, quick to fold my little creature’s cloak over her swollen abdomen, fussing, and I’m fucking jealous. Of every touch. Of Aster’s smile for her.

I haven’t had that smile.

Not for weeks.

I would drown in that smile…

Love sick fool.

“Where is Colt?” I ask, directing my attention to the man ahead of me, ignoring my twitching muscles, the ones that yearn for her attention.

“Sadly, we lost him to illness several months ago. I am Han. Did you know him well, Sire?”

I hum, locking my teeth.

Odette? Her name comes unbidden, but I do not utter it aloud. I want to wait out the storm without any further attention.

“We will wait out the storm within your walls,” I advise. “Then be on our way."

“The church is welcome to all.” Han opens his arms. “You can sleep on the pews, make yourselves comfortable.”

“What is this place?” Aster’s voice, a soft, breathy cadence, sails from behind me.

Aster…

When I turn, she is on her feet, mask hanging around her neck, purple-dusted eyes filled with awe.

“You have never seen a church before?” Han asks, taking a step closer.

Like hell, you can speak to her.

My eyes cut to him. “You don’t speak to⁠—”

“My king.” Her tone asks me to hold my temper, and I do. Her fingers slide along my flank, offering me the soothing touch I’ve been mourning. “Look.” She points.

I follow her soft gaze to a door cracked open with three girls peeking through, watching us.

“Hello,” Aster says to them. “Come.”

“You should be asleep, girls.” Han waves them in with a soft chuckle. “Since you’re awake, please, come in. Remember your manners. We bow for the King of The Cradle.”

“Rome of The Strait, The Cradle’s Monarch and Protector,” the Guard beside Kong announces.

Slowly, the small, frightened girls step from inside the room, one by one, bowing at me. Awkward. They vary in age. From mere children to Aster’s age and older. Moving closer to my little creature with skittish steps, they try to avoid stepping too close to me.

Too close.

Aster nods, encouraging. “We won’t hurt you. Come here.”

They are entering the clearing between pews, when one gasps, grips the arm of another, and squeezes it. “It’s the queen.”

Wonder-filled eyes shift to the door where Tuscany has lowered her hood to her shoulders, the fabric bunching around her neck.

The girls freeze when they see the looming presence behind her—Kong—and the Guard, holding rifles the size of their legs.

“Stay by the door,” Tuscany orders her two Xin De protectors. “You scare them.”

As my sister approaches, graceful and smiling softly, I watch Common girl after Common girl step from inside the door beyond the pews, dressed in nightgowns, holding each other, excitement and nervousness playing across their expressions.

“Oh, you’re all awake.” Han shakes his head, rolling his eyes before looking at me. “The girls like to sleep together in the church when there is a heavy storm, which is often.”

“We have seen your picture.” A girl gushes and curtsies—clearly for the first time. “You’re even more beautiful.”

Another flusters. “I made a crochet eagle for you when I was five. I still have it. Do you want me to get it? It is in my room.”

And another. "I heard you love chocolate. We have one block that we save for a special occasion. I can get it for you, my queen.”

A gush. “Oh, I love your hair.”

A swoon. “You’re so pretty.”

“Can we read to you?”

“Or dance for you?”

Fuck me…

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Thirteen

Aster

They adore her.

Their Queen of The Cradle.

While the men and the large woman from The Queen’s Army watch from a few benches away, Ana, Tuscany, the girls, and I huddle together, sharing stories and chocolate.

A slumber party, they call it; it should be called a ‘trying not to slumber party.’

Rome has his arms folded across his broad chest and his long legs stretch out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, refusing to sleep.

Kong’s deep voice vibrates through the room. “Sleep, Sire. We will take shifts.”

Rome stares at me and blinks his nictitating membrane once. “No.”

I glance back at the women and girls sprawled out, some on the floor, others on the benches. All want to be close to the queen.

The Common girls—Fur Born like me—know the wildest stories. Horrible stories and wonderful ones. Of spirits and devils. Of a man named Jesus who could turn water into wine. I would be beyond endeared by him had he turned water into honey, but it is a fancy story, nonetheless.

Hours pass.

The Missing Moon must be at its topmost perch in the night sky. Most of the girls have returned to the back room, a few others doze on blankets between the benches, close by. Ana is curled on her side, head on my lap, breathing deeply in the pit of sleep.

“I have a story,” a young girl with ashy-blonde hair says, leaning into the huddle, words low and careful. “But Han doesn’t like these ones. You know Endigos like to tell stories.”

The girls nod.

I knew that, too.

The Endigo boy liked hearing mine. As I told him about Odio, his eyes lit up like the lanes of The Estate during a carnival.

She hushes the quiet chatter. “There is an old Endigo legend that the elders tell the young ones. It is about an Endigo boy who ate his baby sister as she was being birthed.”

An older girl shuffles, uncomfortably. “We are in church, Colleen.”