OLIVIA’S POV.Sven’s story brings tears to my eyes and makes me cry miserably. I knew he has a deep-rooted hatred for my kind, but I never knew his own mother and grandfather were the architects behind it.“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking. “Sven, I’m so incredibly sorry.”He doesn’t answer immediately. He stands perfectly still in the center of the room, looking at me with dark green eyes that seem to hold the weight of centuries. The fierce, terrifying king who controls entire armies suddenly looks like nothing more than a ghost of that broken, twelve years old boy who fled down to Māui. The silence between us stretches, heavy and agonizing, filled only by the sound of my ragged breaths and the quiet dripping of my tears onto the cold stone floor.“I wish there was something I can do. I know I can’t erase a childhood trauma, but- i’m so sorry-”“Please, you do not need to apologize, Olivia,” he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that vibrates through the quiet spa
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