Chapter 4 #2
For the first time since arriving in this world, something like control settles into place. This is not panic. Not instinct. Not blind flight. This is strategy. A problem I can solve. A path forward I can hold in my hands.
We reach the egg. We seal the door. Arm ourselves.
I save Nora.
And my kingdom.
Simple.
***
Nora
The botanical garden is over two hours away by car. I move quickly with Sorren trailing me from room to room as I grab clothes from my dresser and stuff them into a duffel bag without taking the time to fold them.
“My dad was big, not quite as big as you, but hopefully close enough,” I tell Sorren as I lead him upstairs to my mother’s bedroom.
In the closet, there’s a stash of clothing left over from my father.
Pieces Mom and I couldn’t bear to part with.
“You can’t walk around in a glittery sweatshirt with your belly button sticking out. ”
He plucks at the hem of the shirt, tugs it down. “Is it really a problem?”
I slam to a halt, and he almost plows into me.
“Wait.” I turn around slowly. “You do wear clothing where you’re from, right? Like people don’t just go around…naked?”
Sorren looks offended. “Of course we wear clothing.”
I exhale. “Oh, thank God.”
A beat passes. “Sometimes,” he adds.
“What does that mean?”
“There’s no need in our rabbit form, because, you know, the fur.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, nodding slowly.
Sorren’s attention shifts past me to the closet, to the shirts and jackets hanging inside.
“These belonged to your father,” he says quietly.
It’s not a question.
I follow his gaze. Seeing them still catches me off guard. Memories roll over me, the slow tide of grief. “Yeah.”
His hand brushes over the sleeve of one of the jackets with surprising care, like the fabric might be fragile.
Like he understands the weight of touching something that mattered to someone who’s gone.
“Clothes carry memory,” he says softly. “They remember the shape of the person who wore them.” His hand stills, and he looks back at me. “Thank you for sharing these with me.”
“You’re welcome.” A strange thought comes to me. Unexpected, but solid.
Dad would have liked him.
Sorren.
My dad respected people who meant what they said. People who didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t.
And when I really think about it…
Sorren hasn’t lied to me.
Not even when I laughed at him. Didn’t believe him.
By the time I’m done getting Sorren dressed and the suitcase packed, the sides strain like I’ve packed for a trip around the world rather than an overnight stay in Annapolis. I tug at the zipper, but it doesn’t budge.
“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the bag.
I almost tell him no, but he’s already taken the weight from my hands. The fabric strains between his fingers as he zips it.
“You’re going to rip that,” I say.
“I am not,” he replies evenly.
It does not tear.
“Oh. Uh, thanks.”
He lifts the bag like it weighs nothing and waits for me to grab my keys before heading for the door.
Then we’re at my car.
Sorren sits in the front passenger seat this time. I watch from the corner of my eye as he folds himself into the car. His knees jam against the dashboard until he adjusts, angling his legs carefully.
The space suddenly feels much smaller than it did a minute ago.
Warmer.
His gaze moves slowly to my neck, my wrist, my chest. Like he’s tracking something.
“Your heart is beating faster,” he says with a thoughtful expression.
I nearly plow into the mailbox at the end of my driveway.
“It’s, uh, warm in here.” To prove my point, I turn on the air conditioner, directing the vents toward my face like that will do anything to stop the burn spreading up my chest and neck.
“Uh-huh,” he says mildly, like he doesn’t quite believe me.
“You can hear it? My heart?”
Please say no.
Please say no.
“Yes,” he answers like it’s no big deal.
Damnit.
“My senses are much stronger than yours,” he says. “More refined.”
“Great.” I roll my eyes. “Because that’s not creepy at all.”
“For example, you smell different when you’re nervous,” he adds, like he’s being helpful.
“That’s horrifying information.” I press my hand to my forehead and rub it. I don’t dare look over at him. “Please keep that to yourself.”
He chuckles softly under his breath, like even he understands why I might think it’s weird.
Unfortunately, the rough sound of that laugh does absolutely nothing to slow my heart down.
I tighten my grip on the wheel and focus on calming all my bodily functions so they won’t give me away. So he won’t know how aware of him I am right now.
For a second, I can still feel his gaze on me.
Studying.
He finally looks back out the windshield.
My signal clicks as I merge into traffic heading toward the highway.
Long minutes pass with neither of us saying anything.
It’s not a peaceful silence. Not the kind you sink into with someone you know. This one is crowded, like the air between us is full of things neither of us knows how to say.
I shift in my seat, tighten my grip on the steering wheel, then loosen it again when my knuckles start to ache.
“So,” I say finally. “Your uncle.”
Sorren goes very still beside me, and I wish I hadn’t brought it up. But still, I need to understand. To know what I’m up against.
“He attacked me,” he says after a moment.
“Yeah, you mentioned that part. Left you for dead, tried to steal your crown, etcetera.” I glance over. “Why?”
A beat passes.
“Because he could not take it from my father,” Sorren replies.
“He waited until your dad died?” I ask.
Silence.
I glance over again.
Sorren is staring straight ahead.
“He did not wait,” he says, his voice flat. “He killed him, my father. Murdered him,” Sorren continues. “Three nights ago. In the throne room.”
My foot lifts from the gas without me meaning to do it.
“Uncle Rion wanted witnesses,” Sorren adds after a moment. “To make it clear the line had ended. That there would be no one left to challenge him.”
My stomach turns over, nauseated.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
My throat tightens. “What were you doing?”
“Watching,” he says.
“You didn’t,” I stop myself. “You didn’t try to stop it?”
His expression hardens, a muscle ticking near his temple.
“I did.” The words are flat. Controlled.
“And?”
“He wanted me to. My uncle.”
That makes no sense. “Why?”
Sorren’s gaze fixes on the road ahead. “Because if I had struck him first, even in defense of my father, it would have been seen as a challenge for the throne. An act of ambition.”
I swallow. “So?”
“So the court would have split. Blood would have followed. Houses would have chosen sides.” His voice remains even, but there’s something under it now. Something raw, wounded, angry. “My uncle was prepared for that.”
“And you weren’t?”
“I was prepared to win,” he says. “Not to burn my kingdom down in the process.”
The weight of that settles in the car.
“You just…let it happen?” I ask softly.
“No.” His hand curls into a fist against his thigh. “I was restrained.”
That gets my attention.
“By who?”
“My father.”
I glance over.
Sorren’s profile is carved in stone.
“He ordered me not to interfere,” he says. “He bound me with his magic. Said if I respected him, I would let him die cleanly.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My grip tightens on the wheel.
“Oh, my God.”
“I could not move,” he says. “Could not speak. I could only watch.” His voice is still even. Too even. Too calm. But when I glance over, his body is rigid, every muscle drawn tight, every line of his body sharply carved.
“The first strike took his hand.”
I swallow the queasy feeling I get from those words.
Sorren’s gaze never leaves the windshield. “The second split him open. Throat to groin.”
Blood roars in my ears.
“The third—” Sorren’s throat works. “The third took his head.”
A sound leaks out of me, even though I hide it. Like I’m the one who was wounded.
“He bled out at my feet,” Sorren says quietly.
“While I remained standing exactly where he left me. It wasn’t until his lifeblood was fully drained that his magic released me.
” He looks away from me, out the window.
“That’s when I knew I had no other choice but to run.
My uncle is stronger than I or my father ever realized.
He must have been training with winter’s magic.
Dark magic, to be able to kill my father like that. ”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, the words coming out like a whisper because what do you say to something like that?
Without thinking, I reach across the console and rest my hand briefly on his forearm. It’s tense beneath my palm. Firm and warm.
Sorren stills at my touch. Hesitantly, he places his hand over mine. He squeezes my fingers lightly. An acknowledgment.
After a long second, I pull my hand back so I can turn onto the freeway.
Sorren exhales slowly, staring out the windshield.
Even though I'm no longer touching him, I’m still aware of the warmth of his hand over mine. The weight of it. The quiet strength in his grip.
His voice breaks the silence. “Grieve for him if you wish. As I do,” he says quietly. Then his jaw tightens. “But do not pity me.”
I glance over. His eyes are darker now. Narrowed.
“My uncle took my father,” he continues.
A beat.
“But he will not take my kingdom.” His hands tighten into fists. “That’s why I seek the weapons in the armory. Thornreaper. It’s the only thing strong enough to bring Rion to justice.”
The silence that follows is different this time.
Quieter.
More tense and also more fragile.
“I lost my dad too,” I add after a moment, then wince, wondering why I brought it up. It’s not the same. Not even close. But still, I have to say something. I can’t stand the way Sorren stares out the window, eyes dry but bloodshot, like he’s wrung himself out.
He turns his head, just slightly.
“Not to a magical coup or anything,” I say, huffing out a weak breath. “Heart attack. When I was in Colorado. Teaching.”
Another pause.
“I wasn’t there when it happened,” I admit. “Which I thought would make it easier, but it didn’t.”
“It was not easier to witness it,” Sorren says, and I feel stupid for bringing it up.
“Was your father kind?” he asks, surprising me.
“Yes, very.” I pass a car, then merge back into the fast lane. I’m eager to get to Annapolis, even if we can’t get to the egg yet. “How about yours?”
A faint smile passes over his face, more of a twitch of his lips than anything else. “My father was fair. He kept me by his side always and tried to pass his knowledge to me every day. He loved his kingdom.”
There’s something tucked into that sentence. I search for it. “Loved the kingdom more than you?”
“As he should.”
The answer is immediate. Automatic.
My chest aches for him. My father had always put me and my mom before everything else.
Sorren’s gaze drifts toward the horizon.
“There was a time,” he says slowly, “when I preferred the training yard to the council chamber.” His fingers flex absently, like they’re remembering. “The feel of a sword in my hand over the weight of a crown on my head.”
He exhales. “My uncle taught me that. How to fight.”
I jolt at the word. This is the first time he’s spoken of his uncle without blood and betrayal tangled in the sentence.
“Uncle Rion said steel never hesitates,” Sorren continues. “Steel never doubts. Steel never begs to be loved. He trained me. Made me stronger.”
A quiet realization settles over me with those words. Sorren didn’t just know his uncle. He grew up with him. Worked beside him. Looked up to him. Trusted him.
This betrayal isn’t only political. It’s personal.
My heart aches at that truth. At just how much Sorren has lost.
A stoplight turns green as I slowly accelerate.
“But my father…” His voice softens. “My father said a ruler must be more than a weapon.” His eyes meet mine. “He said the kingdom needs softness more than steel. Compassion before judgment.”
“What do you think?” I ask, carefully.
Sorren sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe it takes both. When I was younger, I wanted my uncle to be right.”
He pauses, looks down at his hands, which are folded neatly in his lap.
“But as I grew…I found myself hoping it was my father who was wiser.”
Quiet settles between us again, not quite as sharp or echoing this time. Just thoughtful.
“Why do you teach?” Sorren asks abruptly, like he wants to change the subject.
“What?”
“You work with children. They called you teacher. The ones who petted me and squealed when I sniffed them,” he says. “Why?”
I glance over, surprised to find him watching me instead of the road.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I like them.”
“You like small humans?”
I laugh, my eyes bouncing between him and the road. “That sounds weird when you say it like that.”
“It is what they are,” he replies in a matter-of-fact way.
I pause, thinking about his question. “I like helping them,” I try again. “Watching them figure things out. Seeing who they’re going to become.” I shrug one shoulder. “Plus, I want a big family someday.”
Sorren goes very still beside me.
“How many is…big?” he asks after a moment.
“I don’t know. Four? Five?” I make a face. “Maybe more, if I don’t completely lose my mind first.”
He considers that. “In my world, we produce larger litters,” he says gravely.
I choke on a laugh. “Good to know.”
My body heats before I can stop it, my brain helpfully supplying an image of Sorren shirtless in my kitchen. Of his hands on my hips. Of—
Oh, my God.
The thought derails so hard I drift toward the next lane before jerking the wheel back.
Rabbit shifters and humans can’t even…can they?
I mean. Logistically.
Can they have sex? Have babies?
My stomach dips, a skydiving, free-fall kind of feeling.
I want to ask him, but then…
No.
Absolutely not.
I will not be considering the possibility of having hybrid rabbit children with the magical man sitting in my passenger seat.
I crack the window and gulp down fresh air like it’ll help.
It does not.
“Are you well?” Sorren asks, his tone concerned, and I remember what he said earlier. About how he can hear me. Smell me.
“How about some music?” I practically shout, reaching for the radio. Anything to drown out the mental images my mind is still generating.
The sooner he gets back to Bunnyland, the better.