Women in the small kingdom of Aeriana are disappearing.
Iris Daniels, a budding painter in the East Territory, is trying to keep her head down. In a kingdom filled with abilities, music, and Destined love, Iris is determined to build a career out of...
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"I had to let him go. Even though it killed me to do so."
—Audrey Lemmons, Ace to Be, Season 2, Episode 7
"Iris, we've got to go."
Blinking slowly out of her dream state, Iris glanced up at Wylan, who's gentle touch on her shoulder woke her up more than the words that slowly filtered through her brain.
"Mm, what?" She rubbed at her eye. Even the slight movement had the aches flaring up again. She idly wondered just how long the aches and stiff muscles would last.
Not that she would complain. There was nothing to complain about now. Not when she was alive.
Wylan helped her sit up, then disappeared and reappeared with a change of clothes, shoes, and a jacket about her size. When she raised an eyebrow at the jacket, Wylan explained, "this safe house has spare clothes for a variety of sizes." He held out the clothes. "Can you change?"
"I suppose so," she teased. As she sat up, she knew she'd be able to. Although she wasn't sure how long she'd been resting for, the blinds were still dark—which meant either she'd slept only a few minutes, or it was much, much longer than she'd wanted to. Already though, she felt more centered. More... healed.
As she changed in the bathroom, she heard Wylan speaking in the main room. "We'll be there in a few hours. Okay. Yes," an extended pause, "He has to hold out until then. Please."
"What's happening?" She asked as she exited the bathroom, straightening the navy long-sleeved shirt she'd been given.
"We need to get you to Redlian. Fast." He carefully yet swiftly ushered her back out to a waiting car outside. Two other cars were out there as well—one in front, one in back—with people inside. Guards.
Iris climbed into the back seat. Thoughts of the warehouse, the plane crash, and everything and anything in between had her palms getting sweaty. "Is everything okay?"
Wylan barely tucked himself in tight in the seat next to her before the car was in motion. His warm strength molded to her side. She found herself enjoying it even as the anxiety of her unanswered question churned her insides.
The clock on the dashboard read 8:42. She must've slept for a long time then.
"Wylan?"
"It's the king," he told her softly. So softly.
The king.
In all of this, how could she have forgotten? "Is he alright?"
Silence.
Painful, telling silence.
Because she was a masochist, she asked, "how long?"
He didn't answer her at first. As if releasing the information hurt him just as much as it hurt her hearing it. Finally, he said. "A day. Maybe."
