Page 102 of Trust In Love (Love Mark 2)

“I’m dying, boy.”

I blinked. “Ma’am?”

Staring at her, I could barely think as pain lacerated my chest.

She couldn’t die. She was all I had.

“I don’t have much time left,” she went on. “So you must go. Find your father. See if he will take you in.”

“My—my father?”

This was the first I’d ever heard of having a father.

My mother nodded. “The king,” she said. “He’s the one who sired you.”

My eyes widened. The king was my father? But that couldn’t be right. How?

“Take this,” she told me, holding up a thick gold band with rubies and emeralds encrusted into it. “It’s his signet ring. He will recognize it and know who you are. And maybe—maybe if the saints preserve, he’ll let you stay at the castle and give you work there.”

Maybe?

My fingers trembled as I slowly took the ring, gaping at its opulence. It was truly the ring of a ruler.

“You are a good boy,” my mother went on, seeming to grow weak again. “But a whore’s son, nonetheless. You’re too kind, too soft for this lot in life. Just a pearl in a pigsty. You will lose your shine under all the muck around you and be crushed under the swine hooves of the wicked if you don’t harden.” Her eyes closed briefly as if she’d already given up on my soul. But then she said, “Maybe he can harden you. So you can survive. Please, just survive, my son.”

“Yes, ma’am.” My eyes began to burn as I stared at her, then down to the ring in my hand.

“I don’t have much,” my mother said, her energy reaching its limit. “But I want you to take this.” She produced a small leather pouch. “Fill it with water, and you will never go thirsty. I can at least give you that.”

Slowly, I took the battered flagon.

“And now, I’ve seen to you all that I can. It’s time for you to see to yourself.”

With that, her face faded, blurring before me and another image grew into focus.

Still in Farrow’s skin and living in his memories, I looked up at a huge stone castle that loomed before me.

A heavy palm brutally cuffed me on the side of the head, making me wince and duck my chin before I peeked up at who’d hit me. The face of an irritated, armed guard scowled back. “I asked you a question, boy. Where did you get this ring?”

All I replied was, “I seek the king.”

He roughly seized my arm. “You seek the king, do you? Just who do you think you are?”

“I-I’m his son,” I stuttered fearfully.

The guard blinked at me for a moment, stunned silent. Then he threw back his head and shouted with laughter.

The scene morphed and suddenly I stood in a tall, long throne room next to the guard.

“The whelp claims he’s your progeny,” he explained to the great, hulking man who sat on the throne with a crown on his head. He wore a leather cape with a fur collar. “And he had this on him.”

When the guard held up my ring, the king’s eyes lit with recognition. He beckoned for it and once it was in his possession, he rolled it around in his palm before slipping it on his pinky. It slid into place perfectly. Wearing it, he curled his fingers into a fist, then opened them again, spreading the digits wide as if testing the fit. Satisfied, he lifted his gaze to me.

“Where did you get this?”

“From my mother,” I said.

He arched an eyebrow. “Gaina, the whore, is your mother?” he guessed. “From House Scott?”

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