The hours passed in quiet agony. Elias stared at the ceiling without seeing the plain white panels. His mind was elsewhere, desperately trying to pull up memories that did not exist. He searched and searched through the endless gray and came up empty. Not even a flicker of his old life existed.

When he had exhausted himself thinking, he relented and allowed his mind to rest. He thought of current things then: the man who was his father, his mother, his siblings. His title. Latvala.

In the middle of wondering what the hell he was going to do if he could not remember anything of his past, the door opened and Chey came in.

His mother, he reminded himself. He found it easier to think of her as simply Chey rather than Mom, however, and addressed her as such.

“Hello, Chey.” He didn’t think he misunderstood the faint wince that touched her brow before she smiled.

“Hello, Elias. How are you feeling?” She set a white envelope on the side of his bed and reached out to gently touch his hand.

To his credit, he did not draw back or shake her off. “The same. What have you brought?”

“Pictures. I thought perhaps visuals would help better than explanations,” Chey said.

She wore jeans and a powder blue sweater that offset stunningly blue eyes. Elias was silently impressed with how together this woman seemed, how immaculate her makeup and hair despite having spent the past day walking the halls of a hospital or sitting vigil by his bedside. She looked fresh from a shower, ready to begin another lengthy session of visitation. That she’d thought to bring photos both pleased and alarmed him. What if he still felt nothing after looking upon actual proof of his life?

“Thanks,” he said. Chey must have sensed his discord. Her brows furrowed.

“You don’t have to look at them right now if you don’t want to,” she said with a light squeeze to his arm.

“It’s a good idea. I don’t mind.” He battled through unease as he used his uninjured hand to reach for the first photo she extended. Elias suffered a major emotional kick to the gut when he saw himself in the photo, dressed in a military uniform, standing next to a throne. Clearly, the throne must have been the one he was supposed to inherit one day. He thought he looked studious and serious in the picture, and quite comfortable in the role he’d been born into.

Inwardly, he connected with none of it. The picture did not jar his memory, only added to the growing anxiety he was consistently experiencing.

“Where is this?” he asked.

“The throne room in the family seat. It was one of the rooms not damaged in the bombing all those years ago,” Chey said. “You were caught in the blast. Do you remember any of it?”

He frowned. “No. I don’t.”

She said nothing and handed over another photo.

Elias accepted it after another glance at himself next to the throne. The image unsettled him for other reasons he could not name.

The next photo was a picture of him with a hard hat on his head, a backpack slung over his shoulder, and a map in hand. He appeared to have just glanced up at whoever had taken the picture, perhaps surprised to see the person there. The background looked gloomy, made of rock walls—tunnels, he realized.

This was what Sander had referred to when he’d mentioned the dungeon. One of his passions, if Sander was to be believed.

He set the photo down and reached for another. That one depicted him and his siblings in a state of hilarity. Something must have been incredibly funny. It seemed one of those rare, candid photos taken during a more serious photo shoot. The elaborate sunroom in the background was lush and perfectly decorated.

The next was a family shot outside a sprawling, impressive castle.

“Here. Let’s pause for now,” Chey said, interrupting his intense concentration.

He didn’t realize he was breathing shallowly and sweating until after he’d handed the pictures to Chey. When he made eye contact with her, there was an unspoken acknowledgement that he hadn’t recognized anything or anyone. Nothing had triggered his memory.

“I’ll let you rest a while. You look tired,” she said.

“I’ll see you later.” He was relieved when she left the room, pictures in tow.

As guilty as it made him feel, all he wanted at that moment was respite from his family’s presence.