His daughter’s cries tore him to his very core. Zevulun was surprised he stayed standing with how weak his knees felt, buckled under emotion. Yet for her, for Claret tucked up and crying against him, Zevulun stayed an immovable force. The beacon of strength and security that she needed in this moment. She had grown so much older, but to him she was still the wobbly-legged, darling little gift he felt lucky every day to have.

Guilt festered somewhere inside, knowing that if he had been enough he could have prevented this very thing from happening. He could have kept his daughter safe like he always promised he would and never let her know what that sort of fear was like. There were very few beings on this earth that Zevulun truly hated, but he hated the sleek brown stallion for what he had done and what he had exposed in Zevulun.

Concern folded Castillon’s expression as he looked worriedly on while Claret began to speak. He had been so young when all of this had happened, growing up in such a tumultuous state, Zevulun worried about the effect it might have on him when he was older. He had tried to make sure Castillon could spend time with the other mothers in the Prairie and their children, trying to fill his head with happy memories rather than the fear and worry over losing both his sister and then, for a time, his mother too as she remained in the Badlands.

Zevulun listened as Claret retold her memory of events, loving concern ever-present on his face but even more-so as she trailed off toward the end. The thought of her fearing that anyone on Luthien might hold her hostage confirmed many things for him. This island needed to be safe throughout, not just in the Prairie; they couldn’t have fear and the unknown lurking right at their doorstep. His daughter deserved to feel in control of her fate and not fearful that she would be bullied and forced to do what someone else demanded so cruelly. His failure had brought this lesson to her and he would never forgive himself for it.

“Evrain came to me,” he explained after her lapse in talking, “he told me a storm in the Badlands claimed Marceline’s life, and of his new role. I agreed to foster an alliance between us, and he promised to bring you home to me.” Evrain had held up his end of the bargain; as far as Zevulun was concerned, the boy-king could ask damn near anything of him in return. Despite that, though, he had to wonder if it really was a storm that had claimed Marceline’s life. It seemed too convenient that it had taken place in the Badlands and, remembering the rage that’d followed Rafe after the meeting with Marceline had gone sour… Zevulun had to wonder…

Whatever the case, he just tried to remember to be relieved that Claret was home and she was safe. The rest… the rest paled in comparison.

She asked after her mother and Zevulun thought briefly before saying, “I’m sure she’ll be home soon.” In truth a part of him wondered if Riesling would return from the Badlands. When she stayed with her brother, he wondered if she wouldn’t decide to stay by him and foster a kingdom where the ruler actually did as she knew to be right. Why would she come back home to him? His heart lamented, ever the fool wishing she might love him enough to heal the scars of her past and come to him, just him… but those were dreams. Dreams and follies.

“She wanted to remain with your uncle in the Badlands while you were in Salem.” He paused briefly before he said, “She’ll be relieved to see you home safe.”