You Do Care

*Rowan*

I’m looking at a few strands of graying dark hair. It looks like next to nothing, and I wonder why it’s in this envelope on my desk.
Yes, I know it’s from Alpha King Solomon. I know they are for the DNA test. It just seems strange that this is all there is.
James walks in looking irritated. I’m sure he’s mad at me, but when he blows out a deep breath and sits across from me, shaking his head, I have to ask, “What’s the matter with you?”
He glares at me, reaffirming my idea that he’s angry at me for being a jackass, but then, that’s my job. “Nothing. Just spoke to Hezzlie is all.”
“Oh.” I want to ask him what they spoke about, how she’s doing, if she asked about me, but that’s fucking ridiculous. I can’t care about Hezzlie. “This is all we got.”
“That’s plenty,” he assures me, looking at the few strands of short hair. “I’m glad Curt was able to get it to us. Any idea if he’s been noticed yet?”
I shrug. “He just sent these hairs and a note that says, ‘Cleaned up after the dog.’” I chuckle at the implication that Alpha King Solomon is a dog. I can’t disagree.
James doesn’t find it funny. He swipes the hairs back into the envelope. “It’ll take a while.”
“How long?” That birthday party I keep hearing everyone chatter about is the day after tomorrow. I’d just as soon be rid of the girl by then, but I’m pretty sure that’s not possible. Everyone in the mansion would be pissed if they missed out on their party.
Not to mention we said we’d keep Hezzlie here through her first shift. It was part of the agreement I made with James. He knows she’ll be scared going through it, and he’s afraid it’ll freak her out even more if she’s in the other kingdom when it happens.
Not that I should care.
I don’t care.
“I don’t know. A day or two,” he says with a shrug, standing. “It depends on a few things.”
I want to ask, “Like what?” but I know he’ll start rattling off a bunch of scientific mumbo jumbo that I won’t understand, so I don’t. Instead, I bark, “Let me know as soon as you have a match.”
“Yes, Alpha.” James isn’t usually snarky, but that reply bit a little. I narrow my eyes, but he says nothing as he leaves the room.
I turn my attention back to the other information my people closer to the border have gathered. It isn’t much, but sometimes they are able to report on the number of warriors they see training, how many supplies they see being moved into the capital or out to the border, and other information that will be necessary if this all crumbles around me, and we have to go to war. Again.
I look at Mara’s picture and let out a sigh. She looks so happy in that photograph, so carefree. We had no idea that just a few days after it was taken, everything would fall apart.
I can’t let those thoughts bother me. I turn my attention back to the reports and swear I’ll stay focused on my work for the rest of the afternoon. I certainly won’t let the tug I feel on my heart pulling me down the hallway be a factor.
As soon as I know for certain that girl is King Solomon’s daughter, I can reject her.
The sooner the better.

***

*Hezzlie*

Mom is out of the room at the moment, and I’m glad. I hate to feel that way when I know she won’t be here much longer, but it’s true. She went to lie down for a while after lunch, saying her head was bothering her. I have that stupid romance book in my hand, but I’m not reading it.
I’m staring out the window at the spot where I saw that enormous wolf this morning, wondering how it is that I could feel like a wild animal was looking right back at me, like it knew who I was and could comprehend my emotions as I looked into its eyes. Everything about it was so strange.
I jump when there's a light knock on the door. “Yes?”
Wilma sticks her head in. “May I come in, dear?”
“Of course.”
She bustles in carrying a huge bundle of what looks like fabric at first until I realize it’s a dress. The light blue fabric looks expensive, but the cut of the gown is all wrong. It looks like something my grandmother might’ve chosen for her bridesmaids at her wedding. It has huge, poofy sleeves with lots of lace around the collar and all down the front. I try not to make a face. “Wh-what is that?”
“This is your dress for the party,” she proclaims, holding it up so I can get a better look. She’s short, so the bottom of it is all scrunched up on the floor.
But I get the gist. I burst out laughing, “Uhm no,” is all I can say.
Her face puckers into a frown. “What do you mean? Your mother said–”
“My mother chose that for me? It figures.” I shake my head and walk closer. “Can we change it?”
“Will, of course we can,” she says. “I was hoping you’d try it on for me so I could let the seamstress know about the fit. You’ve been eating so much better, you’re filling out nicely. We didn’t see a reason to measure just yet.”
With her comment, I find myself looking down at my body like I’ve never seen it before. I want to be offended, but I know I needed to gain weight when I arrived. I probably still do. I am beginning to get my boobs back, and I have a bit more roundness to my hips, but my legs still look like they belong on a chicken, and my arms resemble toothpicks.
“Can you ask the seamstress to make it a little more modern before I even try it on? Like… get rid of the poofy sleeves and the collar?” I ask, not wanting to have to drop that atrocity over my head.
“I suppose so,” Wilma says, her tone showing her disappointment. I wonder if she had some input into my mother’s terrible design.
“Thanks.” I force a smile.
She nods. “Is the color all right?”
I wouldn’t have picked it myself. It’s too light, and I’m already pale enough. I think it’ll wash me out, but I can’t tell her that because there’s nothing they can do about the color now. “Sure.” I force myself to sound chipper.
“Oh, good. Everyone is so excited about the ball. We haven’t had a party in… years. Not since before the war.” She starts to walk back to the door.
I remember what Dr. Bolton told me about not speaking to Wilma about anything anymore, but I feel like she owes me since she spread that rumor about Rowan and I kissing all over the kingdom. “The war must’ve been terrible, what with the king being killed and all.” I wait for her to confirm I’ve pieced that together correctly.
A forlorn look overtakes the older woman, and her shoulders slump. “It was dreadful. And then, with the princess taken, well, everything has been so tragic ever since. The queen never leaves her room, and Alpha King Rowan is doing everything he can to try and get her back.”
Confusion sweeps over me. “To get the queen back? Or the princess?”
“Well, both really. The queen is locked away in her own mind, and the princess is, well… over there.” She gestures at the castle across the way. “The king loves her so much. He’d do anything for his Mara, you know? Anything.”
My mind wanders back to that picture on James’s desk–the beautiful blonde woman in Rowan’s embrace. I didn’t get much of a look at it, but was that a romantic embrace? Were they… a couple?
“He loves her?” I ask, my voice breaking despite my best efforts to seem nonchalant.
“More than anything.” Wilma shakes her head and starts walking toward the door. “But we’re not supposed to talk about Princess Mara,” she reminds herself. “Every time he hears her name, he dies a little more.”
“Right.” She thanks me for my time and leaves, closing the door behind her. I mutter that she’s welcome and sink down in my chair.
So Rowan has a girlfriend? She must be his girlfriend and not his wife because she’s not the queen. Perhaps they were planning to get married before she was taken? I wonder if she is the daughter of the king from across the mountains, and he didn’t want her to marry Rowan or if there’s something else going on.
No one will tell me anything, except for Wilma, and she’s only giving me bits and pieces.
I’m not even sure why I want to know. It’s only that, the idea of Rowan marrying someone else makes my heart ache for reasons I can’t begin to explain. “I don’t even care,” I whisper.
*“You do,”* says that voice in my head. *“Oh, yes, you do.”*