Chapter 27 #2
“Four and three-quarters,” Logan corrects, his eyes dancing with amusement. “The three-quarters is very important, as she’ll be quick to inform you.”
As we approach the elaborate block construction, Elise looks up at me with undisguised curiosity. “Your hair really is purple,” she says, sounding impressed. “Great-Grandmother said it was, but I thought she might be making it up.”
“The Queen Mother rarely makes things up,” I say, kneeling down beside her on the carpet. “She doesn’t need to, the truth is usually interesting enough.”
Elise considers this, her small face serious. “That’s what she says too.” She picks up a block and holds it out to me. “Do you want to help with the dragon’s cave? Uncle Logan keeps making it too small, but dragons need lots of space for their treasures.”
“Of course they do,” I agree, accepting the block. “Dragons are notorious collectors. They need proper storage.”
Elise beams at me, clearly pleased to have found someone who understands the spatial requirements of mythical creatures. “That’s what I keep telling him!”
Logan settles back onto the carpet across from us, his golden eyes warm as he watches our interaction. “I stand corrected,” he says solemnly. “Clearly my dragon architecture expertise is lacking.”
“Clearly,” I agree, unable to suppress a smile at his playful tone.
For the next half-hour, I find myself drawn into Elise’s elaborate fantasy world, where dragons and princesses negotiate complex peace treaties rather than engaging in traditional kidnapping scenarios.
Logan plays along, occasionally catching my eye with looks of amusement or exaggerated despair as Elise rewrites the rules of her game every few minutes.
It’s fun. Genuinely, unexpectedly fun. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to play, to imagine, to exist without constant vigilance. Even at the Enclave, leisure activities were structured and evaluated, designed to showcase Omega grace and charm rather than genuine enjoyment.
“No, no, Auntie Maya,” Elise corrects me earnestly as I place a block in the wrong position. “The princess’s library has to face north, so she can see the stars while she reads.”
“Of course,” I say, adjusting the block. “How thoughtless of me.”
“It’s okay,” she assures me with the magnanimity of a child. “Uncle Logan makes mistakes too, and Great-Grandmother says he’s going to be the best king ever.”
I glance at Logan, curious about his reaction to this casual pronouncement of his future. His expression is carefully neutral, but I catch a flicker of something in his eyes—discomfort, perhaps, or uncertainty.
“Being king is a big responsibility,” I say, watching Logan as I speak. “Even the best kings make mistakes sometimes.”
“That’s why they need good people to help them,” Elise says, repeating what is clearly a lesson she’s been taught. “Great-Grandmother says a wise king listens more than he speaks.”
Logan’s mouth quirks in a half-smile. “Great-Grandmother has many opinions on what makes a wise king,” he observes. “Most of which involve me doing exactly as she advises.”
“She is very smart,” Elise says loyally. “And very old. Old people know lots of things.”
“They certainly do,” I agree, fighting back a smile at her earnest assessment. “Though sometimes they forget that new ideas can be valuable too.”
Logan’s eyes meet mine across the block castle, something like surprise flickering in their golden depths. Did he expect me to side with the Queen Mother’s traditional views? To advocate for the status quo that has kept Omegas like me subordinate for generations?
“New ideas like princesses who read astronomy and negotiate with dragons?” he suggests, his tone light but his gaze intent on my face.
“Exactly,” I reply, holding his gaze. “The old stories don’t always have to end the same way.”
Something passes between us in that moment—an understanding, perhaps, or at least the beginning of one. For all our differences, for all the hurt and anger that still simmers between us, we both want change. We both envision a Melilla different from the one ruled by King Leopold.
The question is whether our visions are compatible. Whether the change Logan seeks as a future king aligns with the freedom I crave as an Omega.
Elise, oblivious to the undercurrents of our exchange, yawns widely, the late afternoon catching up with her boundless energy. “I’m tired,” she announces. “Will you both be here when I wake up?”
“Nanny will have to take over,” Logan tells her. “But I’ll certainly visit again soon.”
Elise turns to me, her dark eyes serious. “Will you? I want to show you my books about dragons. They have pictures.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at her simple request. “I’d like that,” I say, surprised to find I mean it. “Perhaps tomorrow?”
She nods, satisfied with this arrangement, then holds up her arms to Logan in a clear request to be carried. He complies with practiced ease, lifting her as he rises to his feet. I notice he’s careful to use his left arm, sparing his injured ribs on the right side.
“Time for your nap, my lady,” he says, carrying her to a small bed in the corner of the nursery. “Dream of dragons and stars.”
“And princesses who read,” Elise mumbles, already half-asleep as Logan tucks a blanket around her.
“And princesses who read,” he agrees softly, brushing a curl from her forehead with unexpected tenderness.
I watch from a distance, struck by this gentle side of Logan I’ve never witnessed before. The care with which he handles Elise, the genuine affection in his voice—it’s at odds with everything I thought I knew about him. About Alphas in general, if I’m being honest.
Once Elise is settled, Logan returns to where I stand by the abandoned block castle. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For indulging her. She doesn’t have many people to play with here.”
“She’s a remarkable child,” I reply truthfully. “The Queen Mother is raising her to question traditional stories. That’s... unexpected.”
Logan’s expression turns thoughtful. “My grandmother has always been more progressive than she appears. She plays the role of traditional royal dowager in public, but in private...” He shrugs. “Let’s just say her views on Omega education and autonomy would shock most of the court.”
“Then why hasn’t she pushed for change?” I ask, genuinely curious. “She clearly has influence.”
“She has,” Logan says, surprising me. “In small ways, over decades. The Omega scholarship program at the Royal University? That was her initiative, though the king takes credit for it. The reforms to Omega inheritance law five years ago? Her work, though she let the Minister of Justice believe it was his idea.”
I absorb this information, reassessing what I thought I knew about the Queen Mother. “She plays a long game.”
“The longest,” Logan agrees. “She believes lasting change comes slowly, through careful maneuvering rather than dramatic gestures.” His expression turns wry. “Which is why she’s so frustrated with my current approach.”
“The rebellion, you mean.” I glance toward the sleeping child, lowering my voice further. “She thinks it’s too indirect? Too slow?”
Logan nods, moving toward the door and gesturing for me to follow. We step into the hallway, closing the nursery door softly behind us.
“She wants to risk everything on a single throw of the dice,” he explains as we walk. “I want to build support carefully and quietly, over years or months, rather than weeks.”
“You really think we can hold out that long?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I can’t challenge my father directly,” he says quietly. “I won’t win. He’d tear me apart. The only way to beat him is through political maneuvering."
It’s impossible to miss the change in Logan's voice. There's a vulnerability there, a rawness that I've never heard from him before.
"You're afraid of your father," I say, the realization dawning on me.
It's strange to think of Logan being afraid of anyone. But there it is, written in the tight lines around his eyes, in the careful way he holds himself despite his injuries.
He looks away, jaw working as if chewing on words he doesn't want to say. "I'm Realistic. My father destroyed everyone who ever challenged him directly. Mercilessly, violently..." He trails off, swallowing whatever he was about to say.
I study him, seeing him properly perhaps for the first time. Not the monster who haunted my nightmares after he forced our bond, nor the calculating prince plotting rebellion. Just a man – flawed, wounded, trying to navigate impossible choices.
"I don't want to watch you die," I admit, the words surprising even me with their honesty.
Logan's head snaps up, his golden eyes searching my face with almost painful intensity. "Is that all?" he asks, a hint of his old teasing humor returning. "Just an aversion to witnessing my murder?"
I roll my eyes, oddly grateful for the break in tension. "Maybe a few inches past that. Maybe. Don't push your luck."
"I'll take what I can get." He laughs, wincing slightly as the movement jostles his ribs. "For what it's worth, I don't particularly want to die either. Not before I've had the chance to make things right."
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard again. This new Logan, the one who acknowledges his mistakes, who speaks of making amends rather than simply taking what he wants, is harder to hate.
Harder to keep at a distance.
Enough that I have to ask myself if that's even what I want anymore.