36. Romance Section
Something had shifted for Wilder during his talk with his father. Lyra could feel the ire wafting off of him. It was disappointing that he was so miserable now because she had had a lovely time conversing with Queen Aine.
It was strange having a conversation with another royal female so freely. Not only that, but the queen’s intellect and benevolence were endearing. The evidence of that was now being squeezed against Lyra’s chest.
The books around her were different and fragile, not like the stone or bewitched ones she was used to. It smelled of old parchment and oiled leather. She brought it up to her nose again and inhaled.
She could feel Wilder staring at her, but he did not comment. The only sounds in the empty hall were their footsteps and those of the guards escorting them.
It was quite annoying to be followed everywhere. Had it always been this way, or was it because of her?
Wilder didn’t look inclined to answer that question, or any questions, from her right now. His brow lowered over his eyes, and his jaw flexed as he worked it side to side. Whatever had happened between them had upset him for this level of brooding.
“I can go to the library by myself if you’d prefer to be alone,” Lyra muttered.
Her words snapped him out of his thoughts, and he whipped his head to her.
“You’re not allowed to roam anywhere alone.”
“I’m miles and miles from anyone and anything I know. I don’t think I’ll be running off into the night,” she replied, tilting her head towards a darkened window. “Besides, I’m much safer in here than I am out there.”
He didn’t reply to that, but after her time with Aine and the excitement thrumming through her at getting to the royal library, she would not let him stifle it.
They followed the guards through winding hallways. Paintings of landscapes shifted to those of grand balls and gruesome battles. Lyra slowed to look at each one.
A particularly large battle scene between elves caught her attention, and she stopped.
Bodies of elves from the Wilds and Mannereds littered the battleground. Their lines clashed against each other. The Wilds had black armor and were an array of different species. Elves like Ridge stood out against the elves that looked like Otto or Wilder.
The Mannereds were wearing white armor, and they all looked similar. Pale skin and hair in varying shades of gold.
“What is this?”
Wilder had halted beside her, but did not speak as she inspected the painting.
“A painting.”
“Obviously, but what is it of?”
“The Eclipse Battle. The last battle between the Wilds and the Mannereds.”
She looked closer now and could see King Oberon leading the charge, his large antlers piercing the sky above him.
He held a broadsword pointed at a Mannereds female.
She was stunning. Her white armor was over a gown that blew in the painted wind.
Her blonde hair had a hint of red to it, and there was a fierceness on her face that Lyra had seen on her own when faced with a challenge.
“Who is that?” Lyra pointed at the female.
“Queen Titania of the Mannereds.”
“She fought in battle?” Lyra asked, turning to gape at Wilder.
He snorted and gripped one of his jacket lapels in his hand. “Not only did she fight—she led. Then she brokered the treaty between our kingdoms. There would not be peace without her.”
Wilder spoke of her with such respect that Lyra questioned what else he must have thought about her.
“She’s pretty too …” Lyra goaded him.
“For an ancient, sure.”
“What’s an ancient?”
Wilder pressed his lips in a thin line, and a divot formed between his brows. “She’s very old, like older than my father. I believe she began ruling 500 years ago. Other than briefly, when her daughter went missing. Titania has held continuous authority over the Mannereds.”
“Missing?”
“Yes.”
Lyra rubbed the corner of the book. “Is she still missing?”
Wilder squinted as if he were trying to remember. “I’m unsure.”
Lyra wanted to know more. Was she kidnapped like her? Was she murdered?
“Who would know?”
Wilder stared at her, his upper lip curling back into a snarl. But she had more questions.
“Is the Queen’s daughter as pretty as she is?”
He didn’t answer.
“Is the daughter your age? How old are you?”
He glared. “216.”
She snorted. “So, pretty old?”
Wilder brushed past her without saying a word.
The guard who trailed them cleared his throat and nodded for her to continue walking. Lyra sighed. They were headed to the library, and books held all the answers. She brushed her fingers over the golden embossed title on the book Aine had given her and sighed.
If she was going to be trapped here, at least she had books to bring her comfort. Maybe they had books about the sea kingdom so she could feel close to home.
She was so lost in thought that she ran smack dab into the middle of Wilder’s back. He whirled, catching her before she could tumble to the ground. But his grip on her arm hurt.
She grimaced, and he loosened his grip.
“Watch where you’re going,” he snapped.
Lyra glared at him, rubbing the back of her arm. “It was an accident, you prick.”
The guard behind them coughed into his golden cape to cover his obvious laugh, and Lyra smirked. At least someone found her funny. He ducked his head under Wilder’s glare.
“Keep it up, and I won’t show you what’s behind that door,” Wilder said, pointing at the door in front of them.
She wanted to roll her eyes. More accurately, she wanted to knee him in the balls for baiting her this way. But like a fish on the line, the library reeled her in.
“Fine,” she huffed.
Wilder nodded to the guards, and they pulled open the enormous iron doors. Her heart stopped. Her very breath evaporated in her lungs.
It was glorious. Like all her pleasant dreams, come to life before her.
The room stretched on forever, colossal shelves housing tomes of every size, shape, and color. It was the best thing she had ever seen. And she could explore it, could pick any book off any shelf, and read it.
Wilder nudged her forward. “I don’t have all night. You can explore more tomorrow. Pick out a book and let’s be on our way.”
But picking a single book could take ages. She didn’t even know where to start.
He sighed, reading her expression for what it was, and began showing her around.
“This section is history. That one over there is mainly maps, the one down there is nature things, but I’m sure you’re interested in the romance.”
Lyra stared at him as if he spoke a foreign language.
“Romance?”
“Yeah, you know, love stories.”
She had no idea what he was talking about.
Wilder’s lips tightened in a grim line before he spoke. “You weren’t allowed to read those. Were you?”
She did not know what he was talking about. Who would want to read about someone else’s love?
Lyra avoided his gaze until Wilder tilted his head back to the painted ceiling. It was dark blue with lighter swirls of powder blue. Constellations and stars painted in glittering gold. It was beautiful, an academic version of the night sky she had seen during their travels.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed and scrubbed a hand down his face.
“I’m going to regret this—I know it. But you’d find it, eventually.”
If it bothered him this much, she was definitely going to be reading it.
She followed him through the stacks. Sconces of yellow flames danced as they swept past. Her gown glowed each time they passed a swell of light, and she bit back a smile. The elves knew how to dress. She’d give them that.
Even Wilder, in his black jacket and matching pants, cut a delectable figure. The embroidery of ravens in a shiny navy thread almost went unnoticed. But now that she had, she couldn’t stop noticing the creatures taking flight across his broad back.
“Here,” he said, coming to a stop in front of a shelf that housed many books bound in varying shades of red.
She scanned the stack and pulled one out at random. The spine read, The Knight in Shining Armor. Flipping open the first page, her eyes darted across the page.
It didn’t seem like romance, more like a woman in distress. How ironic, she had very much been in distress. She flipped to the middle of the book and read a passage. She couldn’t understand what was happening.
“What does ‘velvet-wrapped steel’ mean?” she asked, using her finger to hold her place and looking up at Wilder.
His face turned an exquisite shade of crimson, and he ripped the book from her hand and slipped it back on the shelf.
“Pick another,” he grumbled.
But she was intrigued now. As he turned away from her, she slipped it back off the shelf and hid it underneath the one his mother had gifted her.
Turning on her heel, she walked away from where he headed and read the titles on the spines. Savage Love, Secrets of the Wench, Sorcerer’s Mistress.
Only one of those titles had anything to do with love. Wilder tapped his foot behind her, and she grabbed Savage Love.
“Are you finished?”
She waved the book in front of his face but was careful not to let him read the title in case that one was ripped away from her, too. But she hadn’t seen any males roaming the stacks, checking on the books that were selected. And Queen Aine had said she was welcome to read “anything.”
He turned and walked towards the exit, leaving her scurrying behind him. She wasn’t annoyed with him anymore. She had not one, but three books in her hands, and she could not be any happier.
Wilder discarded her at her bedroom door without so much as a goodnight. It bothered her, to be sure. She thought they had been encroaching on a tentative alliance at the very least.
But as the guards held her door open, she crept inside in time to hear him stomping down the hall. She dressed down for comfort and slid between the covers.
Alone in her room, she started the book Aine had gifted her.
It was an epic story to be sure, but not what she was looking for at the moment.
The Knight in Shining Armor had the most promise since Wilder was keen on her not reading it.
The candle beside her bed was perfect for reading without straining her eyes as she opened the book and began.
A small vase of flowers had her inhaling the fresh aroma of the tiny chamomile flowers.
With her soft nightclothes, a cup of steaming tea on her bedside table that Daisy had left, and the book in her hands, she was feeling less and less like a prisoner.
Propped up against the pillow, she flew through the first chapter.
It seemed like this damsel was a prisoner as well. But the people who captured her were not as kind as her captors had been.
Lyra kept reading, hoping to get to the part about “velvet-wrapped steel,” but when a knight appeared to save the young woman, her eyes grew heavy.
She plucked a flower from the vase and slid it between the pages to mark her place. Lyra took one last sip of her tea and blew out the candle.
It wasn’t long before sleep dragged her down into its depths. The ease of it was like slipping into water.
She hadn’t realized how much she missed the ocean, but she dreamed of it.