Wilder

"Lydia!"

Wilder bolted awake, slicing the air with his dagger, his heart slamming against his rib cage, his breathing coming fast. He blinked, trying to make sense of the world around him as the image of Lydia being dragged off - by the men he'd killed - fizzled from his mind. Shaky and sweaty, he lowered the knife and looked around. He lay on an elegant settee in a lavish sitting room. Arched windows allowed morning light to spill inside.

Wilder staggered to his feet and moved to the bedroom door across the way. Cracking it open, he peered in. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior but once they did, he saw Lydia peacefully sleeping in the bed. He released a steadying breath and eased the door closed.

Safe. She was safe. He relaxed his death grip on the dagger's handle, willing his heart to calm down. When it still beat frantically, Wilder entered the suite's washroom. He set the knife down and filled the basin, splashing his face, letting the cool water trickle down his neck. He met the gaze of his reflection and realized he didn't know the man staring back at him.

A day's worth of scruff marred his jaw, his eyes were hooded and tired. He bore a new scar along his neck, one he couldn't even remember getting. He stared down at his hands, then to his fingers, wrapped around the edge of the basin, to the dagger. Neither his hands nor the dagger looked dangerous resting there. But they were.

The shame of all the death and destruction he could cause weighed on him. He lifted his head. His father's eyes looked back at him. He'd never known what it was about his father's eyes that made them seem different, even though they shared the same hazel color, but now he knew. Killing changed a man.

Not for the first time and Wilder knew not for the last, he wished his father were here. Wished he could ask him how he handled the burden of death.

But he wasn't.

Wilder was alone with his struggle.

Straightening his shoulders, he took in a deep breath, burying his emotions. He dried his face and neck, then returned to the sitting room. He sheathed his dagger, strapped his sword around his waist, and tugged on his boots.

At the doors to the sitting door, he peeked out, wondering how many in the palace were awake. Two guards stationed on either side of the door nodded greeting to Wilder. They were in their forties and Wilder appreciated the King's choice in men. Age meant they'd served long, strengthening their loyalty to the crown.

As Wilder stepped out of the room, he glanced across the hall. Through a set of open double doors ran a balcony and at the railing, leaning on his cane, stood Zavier. Wilder joined the Prince, surveying the palace grounds but most of all the high wall surrounding it, the guard towers, and the guards that patrolled the battlement.

The sight reassured Wilder, still he faced away from it all to watch the door to Lydia's sitting room. The one entrance to the suite.

Zavier didn't look at Wilder or speak, he kept his focus towards the city, the sea. Further along the balcony, Wilder spotted an open set of doors and figured that must be Zavier's rooms.

"Your Highness," Wilder said. Zavier closed his eyes longer than a second and Wilder corrected himself. "Zavier."

The Prince turned his head towards Wilder. He seemed weary. Wilder wondered if the feeling came from more than the wound he had.

"I wanted to express my gratitude," Wilder said, moving his attention back to the doorway. "You have shown Princess Lydia kindness when she's needed it the most."

"I did what anyone would do," he said.

"That maybe so, but you chose to do it even when it meant angering Alwyn."

The two young men locked eyes then and a quiet understanding passed between them. Zavier broke away first, tapping his cane against the marble floor, his brow wrinkled.

"Did it happen after the betrothal?" Wilder asked.

Zavier gripped the top of the cane. "No. Before." He raised his head. "I traveled with her family as an ambassador. My parents never knew. I am the fifth son. There are four heirs to the throne before me. I thought I could..." He let out a small self-deprecating chuckle. "I thought wrong."

Wilder didn't need more than that. Duty before self. A lesson his father tried to teach him over and over again. Wilder crossed his arms and rested back against the railing, feeling as if he were on even footing with the Prince, even if their positions in life hadn't changed and never would.

"What of you and Princess Lydia?" Zavier asked, gazing over his shoulder towards the sitting room doors before looking to Wilder.

It took Wilder longer than Zavier to respond. How did he put into words what he and Lydia were to each other?

"We grew up together," Wilder finally said. "She was the wild, fourth child and I was the Commander's son. She wanted to be an ambassador and I wanted..." He swallowed at the thought of how many times he'd thought of sailing away with Lydia, standing by her side on the deck of a ship. Now they had, but it wasn't what they'd planned. "Now she is to be Queen."

He unfolded his arms and set one hand on the hilt of his sword, tightening his fingers around it. This was what he was, this was what his place was.

Standing nearby but never standing by her side.

Next to him, Zavier reached out and laid a hand on the marble railing and slowly curling his fingers into a fist as he stared at the palace walls. They remained frozen that way as the sun cast longer rays across the sky and their thoughts held them captive. Eventually, Zavier dropped his hand on top of his other on top of the cane.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

"No," Wilder said. "But I don't want to leave Lydia."

"I will have food brought to you then."

Zavier turned and made his way inside, still needing the support of the cane. But he paused when Wilder spoke.

"Thank you," he said. "For providing a safe place for Lydia."

Zavier twisted around. "I hope you know that I would do anything to help protect the Princess."

Despite Zavier only having met Lydia over two weeks ago, Wilder believed him. It made the pressure of having to watch over her all by himself feel a little less heavy.

As Zavier headed away, Wilder returned to the sitting room. The door to the bedchamber remained closed and he hoped it was peaceful dreams keeping Lydia company. Standing before the windows overlooking the grounds, Wilder struck with the question: what next?

Against a lot of struggles, they'd made it to Loria. The focus had been on this one task for so long it felt strange now that it was complete. But it was only the start, the West Isles needed their Princess back.

A soft knocking pulled Wilder from his thoughts. He opened the door, allowing a servant to roll a trolley into the room. The servant quickly arranged dishes on the sitting room's table before ducking out. Wilder sat, but only poured himself coffee, not having a mind to eat.

Before Wilder could turn over what came next, the bedchamber door opened. He leapt to his feet as Lydia emerged, a silken dressing gown wrapped around her. Wilder froze. Where others would see the tangled hair and marks on her cheek from a pillow, all he saw was the lack of tear stains on her face and clarity in her eyes. She looked beautiful.

"You slept," Wilder said, stupidly.

Lydia nodded, understanding what he meant. It wasn't that she'd slept. It was that she'd slept well. No nightmares.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, noticing how the dressing gown hung on her. She hadn't been eating enough.

When she nodded again, Wilder wanted to sink to the ground in relief. He hurriedly fixed her a plate of food, almost as if he were afraid she'd change her mind in the time it took her to sit down. She started to eat but paused, seeing Wilder's lone cup of coffee.

"You need to eat too," she said.

Wilder filled his plate but still didn't have to stomach to eat, there were too many unknowns swirling through his mind. When Lydia finished, she curled her hands around her cup and stared out the window. Wilder studied her profile, noting the softness around her eyes and lips.

"I dreamt of the day of the attack," she said.

"Ly-"

Lydia held up her hands pushing back the tide of sympathy he sent her.

"Not of the attack, but everything that came before."

When she locked eyes with him, Wilder was thrown into his memory.

After that morning's training session, Wilder headed towards the palace. Knowing with everyone preparing for the welcoming ball for the foreign prince, Lydia was likely to be bored. And when she was bored interesting things happened. He wanted to be part of it.

Inside, the number of people working in the palace seemed to have doubled. Servants hurried from place to place, crowding the hallways, racing up and downstairs. The pattern of their footsteps rang in Wilder's ears. And with each face, he searched for Lydia's but couldn't find her. Instead, she found him.

He passed by a curtained archway when a hand seized his arm and yanked him into the curtains' folds. Lydia beamed up at him, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

He had no clue what she meant but when she looked at him like that there was only one answer he would ever give.

"Always," he said.

She laughed, a sound bubbling with giddiness and a touch of something wild.

"Good. Since tonight I'll be stuck at the ball we must take part in our last adventure now," she said. "Because tomorrow you leave me."

Though she held firmly to her smile, Wilder saw how her eyes dimmed.

"What are we doing then?" he asked, trying not to think of leaving and how it felt more painful with each passing moment.

"We are stealing almond cakes," she said.

Wilder didn't point out the fact that Lydia could walk into the kitchen and simply ask for almond cakes, that would be too simple.

"All right then."

Lydia turned to slip out of the archway, but Wilder caught her arm, gripped by a reckless spirit. He drew her back and did the dumbest thing he'd ever done.

He kissed her.

For a heartbeat, Lydia didn't react and Wilder pulled back, realizing how idiotic he was being.

But then Lydia dove headfirst into idiocy with him, she kissed him back.

Right then nothing else in the world existed except them two, locked together.

One perfect moment.

Wilder broke away from Lydia's gaze. He still remembered how she tasted like the sweet citrus fruit she'd eaten. It was the best and worst decision he'd ever made.

"As I got ready, Vienna and I talked," Lydia said. "One of the few times we had recently, where she wasn't scolding me. I dreamt of that."

Wilder rotated his cup around, not looking at her, embarrassed at where his memory had taken him.

"I'm happy it was a pleasant dream," he said.

Lydia sipped her coffee. "Wilder?" He raised his head. "What are we going to do?"

He was surprised to find there wasn't as much fear in her eyes as he expected there to be. Instead, she looked torn between uncertainty and something that looked like need.

"Today we will talk to the King and Queen, tell them everything that has happened. From there we will devise a plan on what to do. You need to reclaim the throne, but before that, we need to understand what state the West Isles are in."

Lydia nodded. "All right. I should-"

"We don't need to go right now."

With a soft sigh, Lydia sank back in her chair, staring out the window.

"Okay."

They sat like that for a long while, neither speaking, both aware of the shift life would take with the meeting. Eventually, Lydia set her cold cup of tea down and stood. "I'll get ready."

Though too thin and with traces of exhaustion under her eyes, she looked determined. It was a spark of her old self that made Wilder simply stare at her.

"Can you see if there is anyone who can run a bath for me?" she asked.

"Of course."

Outside the room, the two guards still stood sentry. "Can one of you send for a maid? Princess Lydia would like a bath."

The guard on the left ducked his head and headed down the hallway. A few minutes later a gentle knock came. When Wilder opened it, two maidservants waited on the other side. In one of the maid's arms was an assortment of garments. Wilder ushered them in. They both curtsied to Lydia then went to work, one of them moving to the washroom, the other laying out clothes on the settee. A pointed cough caught Wilder's attention.

"Sir," a manservant said, just beyond the door. "His Highness, Zavier, made mention that you might like a bath and change of clothes as well. I'm here to assist you. There is a room down the hall that is available."

Wilder focused back on Lydia, not wanting to leave her alone. But she waved him off.

"You need a bath as much as I do," she said.

The hint of a teasing note almost made Wilder smile, but there were enough burdens on his mind that it didn't appear.

"There are guards outside to protect you," he said. "And I'll be right down the hall."

"I'll be all right, Wilder," Lydia said, encouragingly.

Wilder didn't know if it was the night of restful sleep or the protection of the palace, but it felt nice to see this old side of Lydia. She would be herself again. She was going to be okay.

He followed the manservant down the hall and eyed the washroom as the man filled the tub and bustled about, setting out a new set of clothes for Wilder. The mirror was edged with gold, the ceiling lined with intricate crown moldings, and the towels were soft as velvet. All this luxury for one washroom. It made him think of the soldiers' barracks where he'd grown up. How far from home he was?

"Do you need assistance with undressing, sir?" the servant asked.

Wilder nearly jerked away in reply but managed to stop himself. He was a soldier, not a royal.

"No, thank you," he said his face flushing. "I can handle that myself."

When the man nodded and left, Wilder shook his head. How did royals endure someone undressing them and helping them bathe? Before his mind could turn in unwanted directions, he yanked his shirt off.

When he dropped into the hot water, he only realized then how knotted his entire body felt. With each scrub, he found new bruises and marks that he hadn't noticed there previously. It made him feel the weariness of the past weeks. At least here Lydia was safe. She was safe. He'd kept his word to his father. The Princess was safe.

Dressed in fresh clothes and clean-shaven, Wilder felt ready to face whatever came with this meeting. The war wasn't over, hadn't truly begun yet. They would get Lydia's kingdom back. They had to.

Lydia was still in her bedroom when Wilder reentered her sitting room. He walked to the windows and watched the guards on the wall make periodical rounds. It bolstered his confidence in the Lorian royal family. They understood protection.

The door behind Wilder opened and he turned around as Lydia glided out. Wilder choked on his breath. After seeing her in ragged clothes for so long, he'd almost forgotten how regal she looked. Her dark hair was elegantly swept up with loose curls framing her face and she wore a deep purple gown that hugged her torso and draped over her hips.

She looked like the girl she'd always tried to avoid being. She looked like a Princess...a Queen.

"I'm ready," she said.

There was a quiet certainty in her voice, though Wilder knew her well enough to see the hesitation in her eyes.

Wilder took the spot by her side. "Yes, you are."

She found a grateful smile to give him and he memorized the look.

They exited the room.

"Please show us to the royal family," he said.

The guards nodded and guided them through the maze of corridors. When they stopped before a set of double doors, inlaid with carvings of constellations, Lydia lifted her eyes to Wilder. He reached out and squeezed her hand once, reminding her she wasn't alone. Together they would get through this. They would make it to the end.

The doors were pushed open and Lydia tilted her chin up, portraying a confidence Wilder knew she didn't fully feel right then and strode into the sitting room. Wilder waited a breath, then followed, taking his rightful position.

All of the room's occupants rose to their feet. Besides the King, Queen, Zavier and Alwyn's and Cyrus's family, there were two other men. One was the man who'd charged his way onto the ship yesterday. Quinn, Wilder thought. The other man had the bearing of a soldier but from his appearance, Wilder took him to be another brother of Zavier's.

The Queen crossed over to Lydia, her face soft with sympathy and concern. "My dear, how are you doing? I hope you were able to sleep."

"I was, thank you," Lydia said, her voice taking on the inflection Wilder always called her royal voice.

"Have you eaten?" The Queen asked.

"Yes."

The Queen eyed Lydia as if gauging how her next question would affect Lydia. "Are you ready to talk over everything?"

Wilder felt a well of gratitude to this Queen who so genuinely seemed to care for Lydia and her wellbeing. One more boulder slipped from his shoulders. He wasn't alone. Not anymore.

"I am," Lydia said, showing only assurance. 

The Queen ushered Lydia over to the ring of chairs.

"Princess Lydia," The Queen said. "Before we begin let me introduce my second oldest and Loria's military commander, Nolan."

The Prince bowed to Lydia, his manner respectful and serious. Even without the title, it would be clear he was a man who commanded.

"You have my condolences, Your Highness."

"Thank you."

"And this is my fourth son, Quinn." The Queen smiled. "But I believe he has already made an impression on you with his wild actions."

Quinn threw his mother a quick grin before sobering as he bowed to Lydia.

"I am truly sorry for your loss, Your Highness," he said.

Lydia dipped her head.

"The Crown Prince Dimitrius," The Queen said. "Is away in Talvin with his wife. And as for the Killian, he is handling a dispute on the Varron border." She led Lydia to a seat next to hers and her husband's. As she sat down, she gestured to Alwyn and her family. "I hope you do not mind, this is Captain Isla and her husband, Raif. I invited them to join us because they have often helped our family in difficult matters and I thought their views on the whole situation would be insightful."

"Thank you for your help," Lydia said, as Wilder took up station right behind her chair.

"Don't thank us yet, Your Highness," Isla said. "We haven't don't anything worth praise."

Wilder liked this captain. Not proud, and straightforward. It seemed strange that her daughter should be so unlike her: rash and hotheaded. Though maybe it was Cyrus who had inherited his mother's traits. If he grew to know Raif, maybe he'd find Alwyn took after him.

"Why don't you tell us what happened?" The King said, starting the proceedings.

Lydia clasped her hands together on her lap and sat taller. She spoke with a clear, even voice, but Wilder knew the control it took. With each word, the horror of that night came back to him. He tried to force the gruesome images out but they were so vivid. He gripped his sword hilt, needing to stay out of the past.

As Lydia finished, there were tears in her throat and the last word came out as barely a whisper. The silence that invaded the room was thick with sympathy and outrage.

"You poor dear," The Queen said, reaching out and holding Lydia's hand. "You will have safety in Loria for as long as you wish it."

Lydia bobbled her head in acceptance but didn't seem able to speak.

"Zavier," The King said. "What did you face?"

With the focus taken away from Lydia, Wilder saw her relax. He touched the edge of her shoulder, and she let out a slow, shaky breath. Across the way, Zavier clutched the top of his cane, his face pale. The story he told held the same horror as Lydia's. But at the death of an advisor named Jayis, the King let out a broken, 'no'. Zavier dropped his head, not meeting his father's gaze as he continued.

By the time he came to the end, he had his eyes closed and the knuckles of the hand gripping the cane were white. More silence, this one weighted down with grief of ones everyone knew and lost.

Alwyn and Cyrus finished the account of their journey, giving Zavier a break from being the focus. Wilder broke in once to explain about the captain who was taken captive and was now in a Seau prison.

With each word of the telling, Wilder fought the urge to sit down. How much pain had they faced to make it here? How much more would they have to face to save the kingdom? Would there ever be an end to all the death?

"You have survived some impossible situations," King Thayer said. "I wish I could say now that it is over." He trained his eyes on Lydia. "But for there to be peace there first must be war. I am sorry, Your Highness. I wish you could stay here in comfort for always. But your people need you."

Wilder knew this, knew they weren't close to the end. But the pain of having Lydia face more hardship made him want to grab her hand, race out of the palace, and hide away.

"I understand," Lydia said. "But I don't know how to move forward."

The statement shifted the energy of the room as both Isla and Prince Nolan leaned forward. It was as if the grief and tragedy could be shuffled to the side and action could be brought in.

"We need to know what is going on in your kingdom," Isla said. "It's been nearly a week since-"

"Nearly three weeks since the attack," Alwyn cut in.

Isla turned to her daughter. "What do you mean? A journey from West Isles to Loria should have taken you a matter of days on the right Current."

Tension seemed to crackle between the family.

"We followed the Orion constellation Current then had to cut across to the Leo," Alwyn said. "In the two days between Currents, we were attacked and had to sail to Seau for a new mainsail."

The room seemed to shrink down until it was only Isla and Alwyn inside it.

"Why would you take the Orion Current?" Isla asked. "Though you have to cut West before going East, the Yuri Current would have brought you here in five days' time. The attack could have been avoided."

Wilder didn't hear Alwyn's response, his mind latching onto one thing: the attack could have been avoided. Avoided. Bates dying. The attackers Wilder had killed. Zavier being injured. All of it could have been avoided. Anger seared through him.

"Are you serious?" he asked, his voice low and thrumming with fury. Alwyn met his gaze but drew back at the rage she saw. "Why did you take the wrong Current?"

Lydia placed a hand on Wilder's arm, he hadn't realized he'd taken a step forward.

"Wilder," she murmured.

"No!" he shouted. "How many people could still have been alive if it weren't for your failure to be a good captain."

Alwyn launched to her feet, face burning red. "I got you out of the West Isles when no one would have."

"Yes, and got Bates killed and almost Zavier as well!"

The strike knocked the fight from Alwyn and she stumbled back, looking to Zavier, then his cane. Cyrus rose and blocked his sister.

"It was our mistake," he said. "We're sorry."

Wilder didn't want Cyrus's apology, he didn't even want Alwyn's, he wanted all those lives returned. He wanted those men to leave his nightmares alone. He wanted to stop hating himself for what he could do.

"Wilder," Lydia said. "There is no way to undo the past. We need to focus on what we can do now."

Reining in his emotions, Wilder returned to his spot behind Lydia's chair. He kept his gaze away from Alwyn, knowing Lydia was right, they needed a plan to move forward. Wilder took in a deep breath, marshaling his emotions. Before the room could go quiet, Nolan spoke up.

"If it's been nearly two weeks the situation is more urgent than before. A ship needs to be sent out to access what damage has been done to the West Isles and what state the kingdom is in."

"It will be difficult," Wilder said. "Under the guise of searching for the assassins, the ports were all closed off. I imagine that has remained. For a spy to discover what is happening, they would have to dock at the Southern port and going through the Whispering Forest to enter the city."

Isla and Raif exchanged a glance. "We'll go. With the right Current, we'll be there in a few days. How long does it take to cross the forest?"

"Two days if you know the way."

Isla nodded and Wilder could see her mind working. "At the Southern port, we'll find someone to help us make the crossing." She turned her attention onto the King and Queen. "We'll get what information is needed."

"All right," King Thayer said. "Nolan, while that is being completed, you will need to get your men ready to sail once they return."

"I will see it done," Nolan said.

Idea followed decision so swiftly that Wilder felt weak with relief. Here were people who knew how to take charge of a problem and find a solution. The desire to have his father by his side dimmed a bit. He wasn't alone, he really wasn't.

"Your Highness," King Thayer said to Lydia. "What we must discuss next is a delicate matter and if it could wait, I would let it. But..." he hesitated, glancing at Zavier then back to Lydia. "I would offer you a treaty between our kingdoms. But I am aware that there was a treaty between the West Isles and the North Isles. But if all you have told us is true, that did not stop them from attacking."

Again the King paused. "I do not want to send soldiers into your kingdom when your kingdom has already been faced with an attack from another kingdom with only a piece of paper as proof we are not there to take over."

Wilder knew what was coming, sensed Lydia did as well. It made sense. Treaties could be broken, but there was something stronger than a treaty to join two kingdoms together. Hadn't his father told him this, warned him?

"Our family already planned to join with yours," King Thayer said. "I believe it was because your father feared the North Isles and wished for a strong alliance. We will still be that alliance to you. We can help stabilize your kingdom." He gazed at Lydia with kind eyes. "Through a marriage between you and Zavier."

The room stilled at the announcement. Zavier stared down at the floor. Alwyn curled her fists. Cyrus touched his sister's arm. Lydia took in one slow, steadying breath.

When Lydia spoke, Wilder learned that words could pierce his heart as easily as an arrow.

"I accept."

**********************************************************************

GREAT SEAS! WHAT WAS THAT!?!?

Tell me your thoughts are as chaotic as mine! 🏹⚔️🛡

I mean first we get the kiss in a flashback and now this! A new betrothal! I mean WHAT!!!

Where's the author! I demand a rewrite! What is this hogwash! I won't stand for it! Someone hold me back! When I find that accursed author she'd going to wish she'd eaten that ice cream instead of waiting!

There she is! *charges forward hits the mirror and blacks out*

Well while I'm getting over being dramatic I want to know what dramatics you have over this chapter? I'm guessing you didn't see that coming. Or did you?

Describe you emotions in five emojis!

These are mine. 😫😟🤯😏😎

Vote, comment, follow if you are still coherent.