15. Prince Grouchy
Wilder rested against a colossal yew tree on the outskirts of the clearing, watching Lyra stare up at the sky. The hard bark of the twisting and bulging trunk bit into the thin linen of his shirt, but he welcomed the pain. Anything to keep his mind off the female before him.
“We have a problem,” Maelys said from behind him.
He was startled, not realizing she had crept up behind him after she had walked off the clearing from the opposite side.
“What problem is that?” he replied, regrettably taking his eyes off Lyra.
“She’s unusual, that mermaid,” Maelys jerked her chin in Lyra’s direction. “I like her.”
Wilder glowered at her. “She’s more than unusual.” He shook his head in an attempt to clear the thoughts from his mind. “She’s incredibly powerful. I worry about the plans my father has in store for her.”
“You should ask Otto about that.”
Wilder shook his head. “His sight around her is not as reliable as we’ve grown accustomed to.”
“Since when?”
Wilder sighed and turned to look back at Lyra. “Since he didn’t see the wulvers until they were upon us.”
“What are our orders, then?” Ridge asked, materializing out of thin air on the other side of the tree. His appearance didn’t startle Wilder. If anything, he was curious about what took him so long. He was never a step away from Maelys.
“Don’t get too close. I don’t trust her. No one should have power like that.”
“There’s something good in her. I’m sure of it,” Maelys murmured. “And there’s always a balance.”
Wilder shrugged and stepped back into the clearing, heading for Lyra. “I’m not sure if there is—this time.”
Otto was standing beside her, offering her a hand up. The sight of it stirred something in Wilder. They had to stop helping her and being kind to her. It wouldn’t serve anyone well.
She had to become stronger, and to do that, she needed to walk. His father be damned. They’d make it to the Wilds when they made it to the Wilds.
“You’re walking on your own,” he said to Lyra in a way that brooked no argument.
She seemed resigned to his order.
“That’s fine,” she murmured, taking Otto’s hand and standing with a wobble.
Otto’s eyes darkened. “That will delay us two days.”
Wilder jerked his chin down. “Then we’ll be late.” He turned on a heel and walked out of the clearing and into the forest once more. Maelys and Ridge close behind him.
Lyra and Otto followed behind them, but at a much slower pace.
An acidic taste wet Wilder’s tongue. It was pain—her pain.
“Pinna is not too much further away,” Otto said to Lyra.
Wilder strained his ears for her response but heard nothing.
Ridge hummed a tune as they walked, a flower unfurling and furling in his hand.
The sun was low on the horizon, a light chill settling over the land.
Birds followed them, feeling a pull towards Maelys.
Wilder found himself glancing back at Lyra.
There was pain on her face. A tightness to her mouth and a divot to her brow.
The flower that Ridge had given her was tucked in her fist. But the multitude of birds that swarmed was keeping and holding her attention.
That small glimpse of wonder in her eyes had his chest aching. He didn’t like to be cruel.
But life was cruel. The quicker she learned that, the better.
They walked the winding path through the forest. Their footsteps were silent, and then there was Lyra’s. Newborn animals walked with more grace than she did.
“How far did you say it was to Pinna?” Wilder heard her ask Otto.
“We should be there by sunrise,” Otto replied.
Wilder could feel Maelys staring sidelong at him. He had ordered them to stay away—but that didn’t apply to Otto.
Nothing ever seemed to apply to him. It wasn’t because he was closer to Wilder than the others, but the nature of his gift gave him an advantage.
After all these years, Wilder still wasn’t sure how it worked. Sometimes it was so strong, Otto could answer your question before you asked. Sometimes the vision changed in the middle. Wilder thought it had to do with the person’s choice, or maybe the threads of fate were always changing.
That seemed to be the case with Lyra. Fate didn’t quite know what lay in wait for her yet. And that made him even more wary of her.
He’d known as a child what his future would hold. The only son of King Oberon, he would assume the throne when his father ever tired of it. But in the meantime, he would serve his father and their court.
It wasn’t a particularly difficult job. He trained with the guard, was often a liaison to the Mannereds, and completed every other task his father felt was beneath his power as king. And lately, that seemed to be more and more.
He hated the lack of freedom. His decisions weren’t ever his own; his image had to be upheld within his court, and he could never tell his father no. Not that there had been too many times he wanted to.
Although some days he would have preferred to do nothing. To lie on the edge of the Valewood and listen to the ancient willow sing, to paddle through the Three Sisters Swamp with no need to hurry, to take a dip in the ocean for the hell of it.
Lyra lurched and then fell behind him, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Are you alright?” Otto was already at her side.
“It’s these godsdamned boots,” she whined, squeezing them.
Otto shot Wilder a look before turning back to Lyra. “Let me see.”
Lyra froze, biting her lip and shaking her head.
“Let him see,” Wilder ordered.
His concern for her was overwhelming, and he hated it.
With his barked order, Lyra huffed a sigh and began untying her laces. When she pulled the first boot off, his heart sank.
Blood.
Her boot was full of blood. Worn skin down nearly to the bone on her heel and a few of her toes.
“Good gods.” Maelys pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Ridge added.
Lyra shrugged.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Wilder asked.
Lyra met his stare head-on.
“You wanted no more delays.”
This was all his fault. His coldness and cruelty had pushed her to this. He was rotten, to his very core, for allowing it.
“What do you need?” he asked, knowing she would know exactly what kind of plant would heal the open wounds.
“Marigold,” she said, looking around. “It’s a yellow flower with—”
“I know what a marigold is,” Wilder retorted. “Ridge, Otto, help me find some. Maelys, stay with her.”
Wilder didn’t wait for a response before he set off to find her the fucking flowers.