Chapter 58: Chapter 58

LENORE

“Is everything okay?” I asked once the waiter was gone, and Killian tipped his head to the side before reaching over to take my hand in his, caressing the back of my palm.

“Everything is perfect,” he said, then flashed me a smile—a bright one this time—that elicited one of my own before I leaned forward, resting my other hand on the table.

“So…”

He raised a brow. “So?”

I pressed my lips together. He wanted to know more about me, but I’d never really had anyone that wanted to do that—the only people that frequently talked to me in the pack were my stepmother and my siblings and seeing as I’d spent all my life with them, they knew all there was to know about me—so I didn’t know how this was supposed to go. Was he going to quiz me or was I meant to just start talking about myself?

Killian gently squeezed my hand, pulling me back to the moment, and I blinked at him before the conversation he had with Fabien this morning popped into my mind.

“Oh. Fabien mentioned you were meeting a witch,” I said and he furrowed his brows, most likely wondering how I knew that. I drew my bottom lip between my teeth. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Killian hmmed, nodding. “…Well we’ve found one thing we have in common,” he replied, reminding me that he’d eavesdropped on my conversation with Cameron this morning.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, my lips twitching into a smile that instantly widened when  a husky laugh escaped him. It was on a fast track to becoming my favorite sound.

“It’s for the invitations.”

I’d guessed that was the reason—the tournament was starting in three weeks after all. Killian had firmly told me it wasn’t going to take place and I believed him, so I was holding onto that.

But witches weren’t friendly with werewolves and vampires, and vice versa. Would it be okay if he met one? Also—

“Won’t your stepmother tell the King if you tell her about it?”

Killian was trying to stop the tournament—something his father really wanted to take place, but Fabien had told him to ‘talk to Her Majesty’ before the meeting. I didn’t know much about the Queen but I knew the second prince was her son, so wouldn’t she be in support of the King’s plan seeing as it would lead to her son being the crown prince?

Killian raised a brow. “...I’m confused.”

“Fabien said you should talk to her before meeting the witch.”

His confusion only seemed to grow, but then a couple of seconds later, realization dawned on him and the corner of his mouth twitched. “He meant my mother, Lenore,” he said, and my eyes widened.

Oh! …Wait, what did Fabien mean then? The Queen was dead.

The fact echoed in my mind and it took me a moment to realize I’d just accidentally brought up his dead mother. I didn’t know much about dates seeing as this was my first one, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the way to start one.

I should have changed the topic, but instead as I stared at the amused expression on his face, I found myself asking, “What was she like?”

His expression dropped at that and a muscle in his jaw twitched before he averted his gaze.

Shit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” I quickly said, discomfort settling in my chest, and his hold on my hand tightened.

“No. Don’t—I…” He blew out a harsh breath, and dragged a hand down his face. He seemed overwhelmed. “I used to find her annoying… She wanted the best for me, and well… I rarely wanted the best for myself… She uh—loved gardening… Her favorite flowers were tulips, and um…” Swallowing, he averted his gaze again while his face contorted like speaking was growing increasingly difficult with every passing moment, so I squeezed his hand and spoke before he could keep forcing words out.

“I don’t know my mother.”

His gaze snapped back to mine, his expression softening.

“I never met her and my father has told me nothing about her.”

When I was younger, I asked him to tell me about her a couple of times—even if it was just to describe her—and was always met with an expression that somehow transcended anger. I’d seen a picture of her once though.

I don’t remember why I was in my father’s study that day or what I was looking for, but I found a picture of him and my mother in a book he frequently read. He was hugging her from behind and he had such a huge smile on his face that I thought I was hallucinating at first—I had never seen that man smile in my life after all, not to talk of beaming like he was in the picture—but after accepting that I wasn’t. I shifted my attention to the woman in the picture. I looked so much like her that it was easy to figure out she was my mother, and I’d gone through every inch of his office that day to try to find something else related to her. When I went to his office the next day, the picture was gone and so was the book it had been in. He never said anything to me, but I assumed he moved them because he figured out I’d seen the picture.

“Aimee—my stepmother—raised me,” I continued, “and she said my father brought me to the pack when I was a couple of months old because my mother no longer had the means to take care of me…” I worried at my lower lip and Killian resumed caressing the back of my palm, listening to me with rapt attention. “To her knowledge, my mother hasn’t reached out to my father since then, sooooooo…” I pressed my lips together and after a moment, I heaved a sigh as a lump formed in my throat. “I don’t know if she cares about me. I don’t know if she really gave me up to my father. I don’t even know if she truly hasn’t reached out to him.” And though I always told myself I wouldn’t care if the answers to those questions were negative or if I didn’t even get answers, it bothered me.

“Lenore,” Killian called, his voice so soft, and I hmmed, raising my brows slightly. “Do you want me to find her?”