128

Sycamore and I found ourselves in the tranquil embrace of the royal gardens. The air was filled with the fragrance of blooming flowers, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze provided a soothing backdrop to our clandestine meeting.

As soon as I stepped into the gardens, Sycamore greeted me with a kiss that was both passionate and longing. My heart raced as I wound my arms around his neck, surrendering to the intensity of the moment. Our lips met in a profound connection, igniting a fire that had been smoldering between us for far too long.

The kiss was electrifying, the profoundness of our lips touching and our tongues pressing together made it impossible to think of anything else. In that stolen moment, my hand instinctively cupped his cheek, drawing us closer together. The world outside ceased to exist as we immersed ourselves in the intoxicating dance of our desires.

However, our stolen moment was soon interrupted by Sycamore's voice, filled with a mixture of frustration and accusation. "You stood me up," he accused, his azure eyes locked onto mine. "I almost thought you weren't coming."

I released my grip on him, reluctantly breaking our kiss. "I overslept. Sorry," I apologized, my voice tinged with regret as I sat down beside him on the soft grass.

Sycamore's gaze remained fixed on me, his jaw clenched with an undeniable tension. "Where's your amulet?"

I laughed nervously, my fingers instinctively reaching for my bare neck. "You don't answer a question with a question, Sycamore. Surely your mother must have told you that."

His frustration simmered beneath the surface, and he spoke tersely, "Don't. I didn't call you here to discuss my mother."

My patience was wearing thin. "Then why did you call me here?" I fired back, my annoyance becoming evident.

"To give you this," Sycamore replied, finally handing over a sealed envelope. I took it from him, my curiosity piqued.

"What's this?" I asked, examining the envelope in my hands.

"I wish I knew. I didn't stick around for long enough to find out."

I carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the letter inside.

*Dear Crinka,

The early passing of Sleepy Joe and his son has left Bluestone without a leader and protector. I brought up the issue with the council and they decided that an eligible youth should be elected. We followed their advice, hoping that the youth we had chosen would have been perfect for the position, but he abused the power given to him. He traded our lands for money, causing our number to reduce drastically. I sent word to the Icelandic council, asking the Icelanders for help but they never replied. We’re at war within ourselves, simply because everyone wants to be a leader and not a follower. Alpha Beckett saw out internal disintegration as a chance to invade. He raped our women, killed our people and seized the rest of the lands we had left. A majority of us fled and those who couldn’t, died.

The pack needs a leader Crinka, and I can’t think of one better than you.

Yours sincerely,

Lukas.***

The weight of guilt settled heavily on my shoulders as I read Lukas's words. I realized that I had inadvertently set these tragic events in motion when I killed Sleepy Joe and his son. Folding the paper as neatly as my trembling hands would allow, I placed it in my pocket, my heart heavy with the knowledge that my actions had played a part in this tragedy.

“Where are you going?”, Sycamore asks, looking up at me as I rise.

“Home,” I reply. “My pack needs me and….”

“Your pack?”, he asks, standing up. “Rogues don’t have packs Crimson. Surely you haven’t forgotten what you are in the time you have spent here?”

“I haven’t. they need my help Sycamore! I’m the only one who can help them. Save then!”

“You cannot leave the kingdom Crinka. Thjis would never allow it once he learns of your pregnancy.”

“I have to leave Sycamore. Sneak out or something.”

“You are of no help to them Crinka. Not when you’re pregnant.”

“Stop saying that! I can help. I know I can. Please understand.”

He looked me in the eye. “They’d kill you once you step foot on their lands.”

“Those are my lands too!”, I yell, frustrated. “Yes, I am a rogue, but Bluestone is the only home I have ever known!”

He laughed. It was dark. “Bluestone didn’t even want you!”

“The same way the devil didn’t want you!”, I yelled at him.

He blinked a few times, and retreated. It was then I knew that I had hurt him. “Sycamore…”, I call out softly. He didn’t even spare me a glance.

“I know you want to help Crinka, and I totally understand. But your safety can’t be guaranteed once you leave the Icelands. As it is, here is the safest place now for your kind.”

“Safest? They don’t even want me here.”

"He wants you here, and that's all that matters," Sycamore replied, his voice holding a note of finality.

"He?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.

He met my gaze, his voice solemn. "Sia."

My confusion deepened. "How...what...what do you mean? Sia isn't even the king. His wants aren't that important."

Sycamore chuckled softly; his eyes filled with a distant sadness. "Nasia Lancaster might be a bit clueless at times, but he's the sole reason why the ice on the Icelands hasn't cracked."

I frowned, struggling to grasp the significance of his words. "I don't understand."

"He's the guardian," Sycamore explained. "I'll tell you more about it later. For now, just know that leaving the Icelands would put you in grave danger."

Frustration gnawed at me, and I couldn't help but voice my concerns. "You're an asshole. I fucking hate you."

"You're not the first to say that, and you won't be the last," Sycamore replied with a wry smile.

I continued to press him for answers, refusing to back down. "Talk to me, Sycamore. What happens if the ice cracks?"

He shivered involuntarily, the memory of past horrors etched across his face. "The ice first cracked a millennium ago, and I was only a young boy then. Let's just say it's not something you want to see again."

"That doesn't really tell me much," I pressed further.

"It wasn't supposed to. This conversation is over," he declared, turning away from me.

"No, it's not!" I insisted, not willing to let go. "Not when I have a thousand questions to ask!"

Sycamore continued to walk away from me, his footsteps echoing through the gardens. Desperate to make him stay, I blurted out a revelation that had been haunting me.

"I've been seeing things!"

He halted in his tracks, a mixture of curiosity and concern flashing across his face. "What things?"

Tattoos," I confessed.

He turned around to face me once more. "Tattoos? What kind of tattoos?"

“I was hoping you could tell me after you join me in the shower,” I say coyly.

He shot me a look. “We will have this conversation later,” he said and resumed walking.

“We’re just going to shower. It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked!”

He kept walking.

“You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to Sycamore.”

“That’s the problem Crimson,” he said, facing me. “I want to.”

“If touching me is what you want then do it.”

He approached me. “I would have, only that touching you isn’t what I want. At least not now. Tell me about the tattoos.”

I hold his gaze. “I will after you fulfil my request.”

“Crimson, tell me about the tattoos.”

“Join me in the shower and we’ll talk about it.”

He eyed me. “You’re not going to stand down, are you?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Very well then. I suppose this body needs to be cleaned. Lead the way Crimson.”