Chapter 18
Lyra
The television played softly in the background, its flickering light casting shadows across the small living room while snow drifted steadily beyond the frosted windows. For the first time in what felt like endless days, Lyra realized her pulse was no longer racing hard enough to hurt.
The quiet almost felt unnatural.
Beckett slept curled against her side beneath the old knitted blanket she had dragged over both of them earlier. One small hand fisted tightly in the fabric near her waist as though even asleep he feared waking to discover she had disappeared.
His breathing had finally evened out sometime during the last hour, and now the only sounds in the cottage were the muted voices from the television, the crackling fire, and the occasional groan of winter wind against the roof.
Peace, at least a little bit of it. Enough that exhaustion had begun settling heavily into her bones now that survival no longer demanded every ounce of her focus.
Lyra stared blankly at the television without truly seeing it while her thoughts circled the same impossible question over and over again.
What now?
For years her life had revolved around simple purposes that included surviving quietly and avoiding attention. Do good deeds without sticking around afterwards.
Now everything had shattered apart so completely that she no longer knew what direction remained. Between Beckett’s father searching for him and Dag crawling straight out of her nightmares, it was like the last many years of her life had just disappeared.
And Mikael complicated everything.
She glanced toward the small bottle resting on the coffee table beside the untouched mug of tea she had forgotten to drink hours ago.
Blysemberry root.
The ugly little glass container suddenly seemed to dominate the entire room. Lyra reached for it slowly and turned it between her fingers while unease curled through her chest yet again. No matter how many times she tried to piece together the events in her head, nothing made sense.
There were so many questions that she might never have answers to. How had he ended up in the snow? How had he been poisoned? More importantly, who had poisoned him?
None of it fit together properly.
If he had truly fallen from the upper mountain trails, then why had no one searched near the cliffs immediately? Why had Dag seemed more focused on accusing her than actually finding the king alive, but then had acted like he’d known Mikael had been there the whole time?
The thoughts twisted uneasily through her mind. What should—
BANG.
The pounding against the front door nearly stopped her heart. Lyra jerked so hard she almost dropped the bottle while Beckett shot upright beside her with a terrified scream.
“He found us!”
Panic flooded the room instantly. Beckett scrambled backward off the couch so quickly he tangled himself in the blanket, his face white with terror.
“Get in your safe place in the closet,” Lyra ordered immediately, already reaching for the baseball bat leaning beside the fireplace. “Go. Right now.”
He disappeared down the hallway seconds later while another heavy bang rattled the front door hard enough to shake the frame.
Lyra’s pulse exploded back into chaos.
Her hands trembled violently around the baseball bat as she moved carefully toward the entrance, every terrible possibility crashing through her head at once.
Dag.
Royal guards.
Beckett’s father.
The pounding came again.
“Lyra, open up!”
The deep voice froze her instantly.
Mikael.
Fear still hit her anyway. Her throat tightened painfully.
She edged closer to the door but did not unlock it.
“What do you want?” she asked shakily.
For several seconds only silence answered her before Mikael finally spoke again, his voice lower now, calmer.
“I’m here to help you.”
Her grip tightened harder on the bat. “That’s not what happened last time.”
A pause followed that statement, and somehow the silence behind the door sounded almost guilty.
“You’re right,” Mikael admitted quietly. “But I swear to you, Lyra, I am not here to harm you.”
Another voice spoke then, female this time.
“We also froze half to death getting here,” the woman added dryly. “So if you could decide whether we’re murderers soon, that’d be great.”
Lyra blinked in confusion.
Slowly, cautiously, she moved toward the window near the entrance and pulled the curtain aside just enough to see outside.
Mikael stood on the porch with snow dusting his dark coat and hair, his broad frame tense in a way that made him look barely restrained. Beside him stood a tall dark-haired woman bundled against the cold with obvious impatience written across her face.
Not guards, just them. Lyra slowly unlocked the door. The moment it opened, Mikael moved.
One second he stood outside, the next his hands framed her face and his mouth crashed against hers with such sudden intensity that the baseball bat slipped from her fingers entirely and clattered forgotten onto the floor.
Shock ripped through her first. Then heat and something far more dangerous.
Because she kissed him back. God help her, she kissed him back immediately.
Weeks of fear, confusion, loneliness, and relentless tension seemed to snap all at once beneath the force of it while Mikael pulled her tightly against him as though reassuring himself she truly existed, his kiss desperate enough to steal the breath from her lungs.
Lyra’s fingers twisted instinctively into the front of his coat. The cold air disappeared. The entire world disappeared.
Everything except him vanished so completely that she almost forgot herself entirely until a small frightened whimper came from the hallway.
Reality slammed back into place.
Lyra broke away sharply, breathing hard, her face burning while Beckett stood halfway out of the hallway staring at them with wide uncertain eyes. Mikael looked equally affected despite the fact that his expression tried very hard to remain controlled.
The woman beside him snorted softly. “Well. That answered several questions.”
Lyra blinked rapidly. “I… we…”
“Might want to breathe,” the woman suggested.
Lyra scooped up Beckett and held him tight while he buried his face in her neck. Mikael rubbed his back and murmured that they were safe. The little boy finally released his grip and turned to look at the visitors.
Mikael finally stepped back slightly, though his attention never fully left Lyra’s face. “Lyra, this is my sister, Malaya.”
Malaya lifted a hand casually. “Hi. Sorry about the whole arresting-you-for-poison thing. Our court is apparently overflowing with idiots lately.”
Lyra stared at her uncertainly before Beckett squirmed to be put down. He walked over to Mikael and stared up at him.
Mikael’s expression softened instantly. “There you are,” he murmured. The sheer gentleness in his voice startled Lyra almost more than the kiss had.
Mikael crouched slowly to Beckett’s level, careful not to move too quickly while the little boy watched him warily.
“You’re safe,” Mikael said quietly. “No one is taking you anywhere.”
Beckett hesitated before finally throwing himself against Mikael hard enough that the king nearly lost balance. Mikael caught him easily.
Something painfully warm tightened in Lyra’s chest watching the king wrap both arms protectively around the frightened little boy while Beckett clung to him with complete trust.
But even while comforting Beckett, Mikael’s attention kept returning to her. Lyra realized with growing alarm that Beckett was no longer the only reason he had come.
Mikael eventually rose again, Beckett still tucked securely against his side, before his expression gradually turned more serious.
“I need to ask you some questions,” he said gently.
Lyra’s stomach tightened. She nodded slowly and moved back toward the couch while Malaya moved closer to the fireplace. The cottage suddenly felt far too small.
“Is your sister a princess?” Beckett’s question made Malaya grimace.
“Technically, I could be a princess,” Malaya answered, “but I left that life behind a long time ago. I do everything I can to avoid the royal life.”
“But you’re helping Mikael now?” Lyra was intrigued.
“He trusts me, and someone has to help him when he gets himself in a mess.”
Lyra already liked the woman, and the teasing only solidified it.
Mikael sat on the sofa that he had recovered on. “What do you remember from the day you found me?”
Lyra explained carefully, starting with finding him injured in the snow and dragging him toward the cottage with Beckett’s help, then the fever, the suspicion of poisoning, and the fact that he just wouldn’t wake up.
Mikael listened without interrupting, though she could feel something relentless beneath the calmness in his expression now, something that wasn’t suspicion toward her.
Malaya leaned against the kitchen counter with crossed arms. “That tracks with what we know so far.”
Lyra stared at the bottle still sitting on the coffee table. “I still don’t know how he was poisoned. Or when. Or how he ended up in the snow where I found him.”
Malaya shared what she had learned from the guards on the hunting trip.
“The top of the mountain.” Lyra looked back at him slowly. “If you fell from the upper cliffs during the storm…” Her voice faltered slightly as the realization settled fully into place. “Then you were poisoned before you fell.”
Neither Mikael nor Malaya spoke. They didn’t need to.
Lyra’s pulse quickened again. “Dag was the last one with you,” she whispered.
Mikael’s expression darkened immediately. Lyra watched his reaction. He had already suspected it long before he came here.
He had only needed to hear her say it out loud.