“Stop, Elijah!” the older boy cried.
Young Elijah lifted his hand, grabbing little Tristan’s shirt with his fist, but only hovered his hand above his brother’s face. Still, he did not throw the punch. Just waited, with Tristan shielding his face from the blow which never came.
The young prince lowered his tightly clenched fist and backed up. “They won't let me see her,” young Elijah said as tears welled in his eyes. “Not without Father’s order.”
Elijah held out his hand to help Tristan up.
“Then we need to ask him. He did this to our mother. He owes us a moment to say our goodbyes,” Tristan said.
The young boys nodded to each other, then headed down the hallway to their father’s chamber.
“I don't understand.” Elijah turned to Nola. “Why didn’t it work?”
The siren placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You went back where your heart desired.”
He lowered his brows.
“Perhaps, Elijah, killing your father was never what your heart desired.”
The prince looked down at his feet and closed his eyes. For the first time, she saw real pain on his face. A tear left his eye and rolled down his cheek. Nola reached up to wipe it as he opened his eyes, but he gripped her wrist, stopping her. It was a rough touch, but he lowered his hand and stepped in her direction, pinning her against the wall. The way Elijah looked at her made her heart jump. But all he did was stare blankly into her eyes, then looked over at his mother’s room.
He released her but did not open the space between them. “I never told my mum that I loved her before she passed.” The prince ran his hand down his face wiping away the few tears on his cheek. “In fact, I don’t think I ever told her.”
Nola sucked in a breath and moved to the side, no longer feeling trapped by his body in the corner. “Go, Elijah. Tell her now.”
He shook his head. “We don’t have time.”
“What happens after this?” she asked.
“We’re asking our father if we can see her, then he sends us off, allowing for our goodbyes. Mason takes us to her chambers, but she had already slipped away. Then, they take Tristan.”
The siren placed her hand on his. “You may still have time. Tell her.”
He nodded quickly and then rushed to her room.
A guard was standing in the corner, but they did not halt.
“Don't move!” the guard shouted, unsheathing his sword. Nola looked into the guard’s eyes and began to sing. She sang until the guard dropped his sword and collapsed into a dreamless slumber.
Elijah stepped over the guard and entered his mother’s room.
He quickly knelt by her bed, placing a hand on the woman’s weak and frail arm.
“My queen,” he said. Her eyes were closed, but when she looked up, they went wide. She did not flinch or move away, just stared up at him as her mouth gaped open.
“Elijah?” she whispered. “Elijah, my boy.”
Nola let out a breath. Twenty years of aging, and she still knew her son.
“How?” the queen asked. “I do not understand. How is this possible?”
Elijah sat on the mattress next to her and gripped her hand. “I don’t have much time, Mother. You’re going to die, and I can’t save you.”
The dying queen lifted her hand slowly and placed it on her son’s cheek. “Oh, my child. What a handsome man you have become.” She muttered slowly, just seconds before white foam came dripping from her lips.
Elijah let out a hard sob, reaching up and wiping it away. Tears fell down his face. “I love you, Mother. I am sorry I never told you sooner. I love you.”
The woman’s smile was weak but pure. “You do not have to say the words for me to feel them, my son.”