27. No King of Mine
Every disturbance in the night had Wilder staring at his bedroom door. Surely she wouldn’t try to escape on her first night, especially after the toll the venom had taken on her body.
Another creaking noise in the hall had Wilder striding to his bedroom door.
Dust and Oron, guards Wilder knew and respected, were posted outside her door.
“Did you need something, Wilder?” Dust asked, trying to conceal the smirk on his face as he took in Wilder’s nightclothes.
“Has she attempted anything?” Wilder asked, squaring his shoulders.
“No,” Oron replied.
Wilder liked Oron the best; he was a male of few words.
“She fell asleep right after she ate. We’ll let you know if we hear anything,” Dust offered, with a dip of his chin.
“I appreciate that,” Wilder replied, before slipping back into his room.
He had slept little while in the mortal realm, and though he rarely required much, he suffered from a bone-deep exhaustion. The meeting tomorrow would take all of his energy, so he would need to at least get a few hours.
But he couldn’t get Lyra off his mind.
It took a few more hours, but sleep took him.
The following morning, Wilder paced outside Lyra’s door. The guards had switched out already, and the morning duty took over their watches. Wilder didn’t recognize these guards, and he was in no mood for conversation.
The blue-haired servant had curtsied as she passed him earlier before entering Lyra’s room to help her ready for her audience with the King.
“How long does it take one female to get ready?” Wilder grumbled under his breath.
The guards on either side of the door didn’t acknowledge his rhetorical question or react to his rising frustration at all. They were well-trained.
Lyra’s door opened, and Wilder lurched to a stop.
He was done for. She was a creature of infinite beauty and his most achingly intimate desires.
A long gown of purple clung to her body and accentuated all of her curves. The long column of her neck looked even longer beside the thin straps that held the dress.
If he had been a painter, he would have tried all his life to paint her as he saw her now. She was exquisite.
Her eyes blazed brighter as she beheld him, and a small smirk tugged up her lips. She had left her hair down, and the auburn tresses floated up around her face. His magic reached for her and stirred the air.
Time stopped, and Wilder drew a slow, deep breath.
Lyra pressed her lips together.
“We’re going to be late.”
The small bit of delight on Lyra’s face vanished. Like wind snuffing out a flame.
He turned, giving her his back, and strode down the hall. Leaving her, flanked by two guards, to follow him.
“Do you know the reason for this meeting?” Lyra called after Wilder.
He slowed then, if only so he didn’t have to yell through the palace.
“One would assume it’s the negotiation part of your kidnapping.”
Lyra snorted, and he clenched his jaw.
“Obviously—but do you know why?”
Wilder thought back to what Otto had told him. His father was going to offer her a deal. He wouldn’t like it, and she would agree.
This meeting was as life-altering for him as it would be for her, it seemed. He kept walking without answering her, and he could feel her impatience growing.
“Swell conversation,” she muttered.
Wilder ground his teeth to staunch the well of emotions that bubbled up. She could get under his skin quicker than anyone he had ever met.
“Even if I did know, I couldn’t tell you. I have or—”
“Orders,” Lyra huffed. “You’re so honorable in your duty, Prince.”
He didn’t know why that bothered him so much. Of course, he was honorable and followed the orders his father handed him. But that didn’t mean that’s all he was. He had thoughts and ideas of his own—even if he didn’t listen to them.
The doorway to the throne room loomed ahead. Wilder straightened his spine and squared his shoulders.
He knew he would not like this, but he liked little of what he had to do daily. What was one more thing?
The guards on either side of the grand, arched doorway left their positions to pull the golden antler door handles open.
Wilder could hear Lyra’s breath catch as the room opened up before them. His father’s throne room was the Wilds personified.
Evergreen trees held up the domed ceiling. The floor was the same glittering stone that had made up the foundation of the hill the castle was built on, and it sparkled like the sun upon the sea.
Hundreds of elves turned to stare at them as they walked on the dark green runner that lay the length of the colossal room.
He turned and glanced at Lyra, who kept pace beside him. Her chin raised as she held her head high despite the malevolent glares from those they passed. Curses were hissed at her and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a few of them spat at the train of her purple gown.
Fury surged through his veins at that offense. He caught the eye of a noble-born elf. Her ethereal glow and flowing gown were covered in glittering jewels. The glare he gave her had the flowers in her hair shriveling up and dying.
Wilder raised a hand, letting his magic flow. The wind carved a path through the room so that no one else could spit or hiss curses at her as they passed.
A page dressed in evergreen robes moved from beside his father’s dais.
The throne sat high up on the wide stairs.
Two massive emerald trees, with their trunks bent and split, created the seat of the chair and towering back.
Bushels of heather frozen in time, and other flora native to the Wilds, sprouted around it.
They appeared to have been carved from the land and dropped into the room.
It was transcendent and savage.
“His Majesty, Oberon, High King of the Wilds!” the page called.
Everyone in the room bowed. Wilder could feel his father’s heavy gaze on him before it settled onto a still-standing Lyra.
“Bow,” Wilder hissed under his breath. Lyra slid her gaze to him, and he watched as her upper lip curled back from her teeth.
“Do you not feel it necessary to bow to the King?” Oberon’s voice thundered through the hall, similar to a thousand charging horses.
Wilder squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. She was going to die within the first few moments of ever meeting his father. It had been pointless to work so tirelessly to keep her on this side of the ground when she was adamant to be laid beneath it.
“You’re no King of mine,” Lyra replied, her voice was so steady, as if she were merely discussing the weather.
Gasps swelled throughout the elves gathered.
“Leave us!”