Run Little Lost Girl

Prologue

"Amalia," he began, his look of sympathy became solemn, "you must promise me one thing and one thing only."

Young Amalia, known for short as Mia, nodded her head, eager to hear what her father, the king of her small world, had to say.

"Never ever forget who you are and always—always—believe."

Her eyebrows furrowed into a face of befuddlement, wondering if this was some kind of adult talk. "What do you mean? Who am I, Daddy?"

"To others you are my daughter, Amalia Grace, a beautiful, young woman with a bright future ahead of her," he responded, smiling as he cupped her soft, freckled cheek. "But to me, you're my princess and, like all princesses, you'll one day be a queen."

Mia smiled, liking the sound of that, and gave her dad yet another hug, a loud kiss on the cheek, and told him that she loved and would miss him until he returned.

The man walked into the entry hall, his heart shattering even more at the sight of his disheveled wife.

She ran up to him, hugged him around the waist, and cried into his chest.

"Please don't go," she begged rapidly once more in a hushed whisper, her voice cracking each word. Her tear-filled eyes met his own and his heart gave another jolt of guilt, sadness, and pure, utter anger. "I can't do this without you."

"You must," he whispered so his daughter couldn't hear. "For Amalia."

"Daddy?"

He looked up and covered up his brokenness with a fake smile. "Hey, Mia. Mommy and I were just having a quick chat before I left."

He gave his wife a loving look and kissed her soft, delicate lips and dragged out the moment as long as possible, not ever wanting to forget the feeling.

He looked up to see his daughter once more. "I love you, Princess," he told her.

Mia giggled. "I love you too, my King," she replied with a cheeky curtesy and ran back laughing into the living room.

If only she knew... he thought while glowering, hating that she didn't know the truth of his 'work'. But he knew what he was getting into marrying Abigail, a mortal, and having a child with her and he wouldn't exchange it for the world. No matter how little time they had.

As he shut the door closed, for all he knew the last time, he left his whole world behind indoors as a broken home. He felt a piece of himself die in his chest along with it.

To an onlooker it would've looked like he was muttering to himself stressfully while fumbling with his keys to get the right one for his car. But in reality, under his breath, he was chanting an ancient protection spell so that even when he was gone he could still protect his kingdom. It was weak, but it was enough to give him a little bit of comfort.

The man didn't dare look at in the bay window, where he knew his wife stood watching, scared he wouldn't be able to muster the strength to leave if he saw her tear stained face again.

It broke him to get into his car and drive away so he gripped the steering wheel until it hurt and his knuckles turned as white as snow, reminding himself who exactly was the cause of his leaving. Himself.

Mother Nature appeared to be just as upset with him, and made the drive to the forest in his large truck almost unbearable. He parked his vehicle on the side of the road, hands shaking as they turned off the ignition and he forced himself to get out of the car and start walking into the woods.

He trekked his way through the thickets and trees and into a clearing where an old, decaying shack sat, waiting. Its roof was caving in and the mold-infested walls were covered with bugs. If it wasn't for the distinct thrum of magic, which he hadn't felt in years since making his home on earth, he would've walked away.

Letting out a shaky breath, he made his way to the shack and pushed open the creaky door, having to literally force it to move since it was so off its hinge. He shoved it closed with an irritated grunt.

"Ow!" he hissed and stared at the small piece of wood from the door that had lodged itself into his finger.

"Don't bother," a voice drawled mockingly.

The source of the voice snapped his fingers and the splinter disappeared into a cloud of black smoke. The man merely blinked at his freshly healed appendage indifferently.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my brother, Merlin. Oh. Sorry. What do you go by now a days? Marcus? Malcolm? It's seemed to have slipped my mind."

"Cut it out," he said, annoyance clear in his voice. He walked closer to him, his stomach and the magic in his veins churning with each step. "We both know why you're here."

"Do we now?" the lad said with a crazed laugh. He leaned back in his office chair, propping his shiny black shoes on the large desk that took up nearly half of the shack's confined space.

"Yes. We do in fact. So I advise you hurry this up before I take matters into my own hands," he said, his wife and daughter and their safety the only things on his mind. I'll come back to you, he swore internally just as he'd sworn to Abigail earlier that morning. I promise.

"Now, now, don't get your pants in a twist," the other man drawled, leaning his head against the back of his chair lazily. "Then again, I was always the more down to earth brother, don't you think?" He laughed, tapping his fingers along the arms of the chair.

The man's brother was the complete opposite of down to earth, and he held back a growl.

"Yes," he responded through gritted teeth to appease him. Sarcasm laced in his voice. "Now would you mind explaining what exactly is so important that you see it necessary to drag me and my family into it?"

His brother smiled and his eyes widened with nothing but a crazed-like joy. "Oh. You've heard of the Amictus Decipula, right?"

The name—a name he hadn't heard in centuries—had the almighty Merlin blanching.

* * *

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