"Survival of what?"
"A massacre," he said softly.
"What massacre?" she asked.
"One that took place nearly five thousand years ago in Storm Keep."
"There was no massacre in Storm Keep," she scoffed.
"There was," he insisted.
"I think I would remember reading about that," she replied.
"There was," he repeated calmly.
"There wasn't!" she shouted, frightening herself. "Micah? What just happened?"
"That, my one and only, is a conditioned response that has been passed down at a genetic level based on a citywide manipulation of the people's memory." He pointed around to the darkened room and down to where they lay. "Most people react better in a dark, quiet room where they aren't distracted by what they see or hear. Physical contact also helps." He gave a low chuckle. "Yet another reason why I prefer you naked."
"There was a massacre?" she asked, afraid to believe her own mind.
"Yes. Storm Keep's royal family was driven from the castle and their most loyal retainers killed when the manipulation failed to work on them."
"The king and queen left," she corrected.
"Why? Where did they go?"
"They..." She shook her head back and forth trying to clear the haze.
"Shush, it's okay. It will be harder for you to fight the manipulation since you left Storm Keep this morning."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Whatever altered the memories of our people five thousand years ago permeated the very stone of the castle turning it into a broadcast tower. The longer you are away from the city, the cl
earer your mind will become, it will also help if your memories are challenged on a regular basis."
"The people have the right to know," she started and he placed a finger on her lips. "Less than a dozen people know the truth. Any attempt to reveal what is going on will be shut down by innocent citizens. Remember your reaction."
"How do you know all this?"
He held her close. "My family served the Stormharts. The night it happened my great-grandparents were in the castle reporting to the king and queen."
"Reporting?"
He chuckled. "My family ran what would be equivalent to the intelligence service for the royal family back then. The Ashleighs were the sword, the Ironwoods the shield, but the Whiteoaks were the book."
"Whiteoaks?"
"My true last name, Whiteoak. Micah Whiteoak. My family is descended from the druidic line of the Darwids. Dar, means oak, wid roughly means to know. My people were scholars and seekers of knowledge. They used that knowledge to serve their king and queen."
"That's amazing."
"It was also a death sentence. Their minds were conditioned to question everything, to search out truths, and uncover secrets. None of the manipulation worked and they rose up to defend the king and queen. They're the ones who opened the way for them to escape. My grandmother lost everyone that night. Her parents, older brothers, uncles, aunts, the entire family gone, in eight blood filled hours."
"Oh your poor gran! How did she survive? How did she figure out what happened?" Serenity held him as he told his story.
"She badgered her parents into allowing her to train with the unit warriors. She wanted to hurry up and start field work. So she spent that weekend with the Nu unit. When she returned to the city and couldn't find her family she raced back to the units crying hysterically. They couldn't remember her family. To them, she had always been alone. Later she figured out that after she left the unit estate and was out of sight, the warriors' minds were altered," He took a shuddering breath. "The entire kingdom was gaslighted and my poor gran thought she was going mad. For the longest time she kept the truth to herself. She carved out a life and slowly began asking questions and gathering information. One by one she found other witches who had a different set of memories from what was generally accepted and they compiled all of what they learned into a book. One of those witches was in the castle that night and was able to tell my gran how bravely her family fought, but it was a cold comfort."