39. Little Fish
Wilder felt like his head had just hit the pillow when he flinched awake.
He didn’t know what had startled him, but the dryness in his mouth was unbearable.
He had needed the release. Even through the irritation that had arisen thanks to his father, he couldn’t ignore the sexual frustration that had consumed him after seeing her in that godsforsaken dress.
If he thought the tight pants were torture, that was murder through and through.
He squeezed his eyes closed as his room tilted and spun. A pounding behind his eyes had him sitting up and pressing a palm to his temple. He didn’t remember making it to bed.
Sighing to himself, he threw his legs over the side. He was still dressed in his dinner attire. The floor was frigid against his bare feet. Well, at least he had pulled his boots off by himself.
Stumbling to the bathing room, he rinsed his mouth out with water and stripped down. The smell of the females clung to him and made his stomach roil—or was that the liquor?
He had a quick bath to get rid of the scent and clear his head. The sun was coming through the windows at a slant. Which meant Lyra would be at training already. He rubbed his eyes with his hands.
Flickers from last night swirled through his mind. Wilder had told his father he had quit and would not be training her anymore.
He groaned. Well, at least that meant he would see her less and less.
But who would be in charge of her training now, and would they measure up to the task at hand?
Wilder tilted his head back and hissed when the cold of the marble pressed against his neck. The arched ceiling rose into the shape of a glass star that had light pouring down onto his face.
Lyra had a momentous task in front of her, and Wilder was the best there was. If he gave up on her, she would fail, and it would be his fault. He drummed his long fingers against the rim of the marble tub before huffing.
He focused on the water that rippled with each drum and the warmth that eased his headache. What if something bad happened?
Lyra wasn’t ready to use her magic. She could get hurt. He had to see her training for himself before he decided what his future held.
The ancient stone was smooth against his feet as he padded out of the bathing chamber and into his room. With the black velvet curtains still drawn, his room was cast in utter darkness, but he could move blindly around without knocking into the chaise by the windows or the posts of his iron bed.
He pulled open the doors to his armoire and rummaged around for his white linen tunic and brown leather pants. Donning both, he brushed the tangles of his dark hair back, attempting to hide his briars as best he could. His head pounded behind closed eyes as he struggled to pull his boots on.
Wilder set off for the training grounds at a forced leisurely pace. But it was empty when he stalked down the path and through the stone archway. He whirled in a circle, thinking maybe his inebriated state was playing tricks on him.
No one was here.
They had been, and recently by the smell of it. The scent didn’t lead back towards the castle, however, but into the thicket near the grounds.
Wilder followed Lyra’s scent, and it made his chest ache. No other female had come close to her last night, and that was a problem—an enormous one. He followed the trodden path through birch and rowan trees as a light breeze ruffled the leaves and his hair. He heard them before he saw them.
Maelys was singing loudly and off-key, followed by Otto’s deep baritone. The stomping on the ground, he figured, was from Ridge. He didn’t hear a sound coming from Lyra. And Cedric, Oak, Dust, and Oron weren’t here at all.
He scaled a large ash tree. Its wide branches were sturdy enough to hold him, and the foliage concealed him. He was also downwind, so none of the others below could scent him.
“Alright, Lyra. I want you to close your eyes and listen,” Maelys ordered.
Wilder was disgruntled when Lyra obeyed without argument.
“I don’t want you to reach for your magic, or touch it at all. I want you to study it only. What does it look like?”
Lyra’s bottom lip quivered, and her breathing stuttered.
Maelys reached out and clasped Lyra’s hand.
“I’m right here with you.”
Ice flooded Wilder’s veins, watching the companionship of that embrace. They could have been sisters with the way Maelys was treating her.
Ridge shifted on his feet, relaxed shoulders, and then tugged at one of Otto’s beads in his hair. Otto smirked but swatted at Ridge’s hand.
“What does it look like?” Maelys asked again.
“A thread of gold,” Lyra responded.
Otto’s face lit with surprise, and Maelys beamed with pride.
“Good. Very good.”
Lyra inhaled through her nose, and her eyes whirled wildly beneath her closed lids. Wilder was enraptured, watching her stand as still as a stone—but work so hard. She hadn’t even tried to touch her magic when he was around.
“What does it feel like?”
Lyra didn’t answer. Her face pinched with what looked like pain, her breath slipping through her parted lips in pants. Maelys squeezed her hand, reminding Lyra that she wasn’t alone. In response, her face relaxed, and her breathing slowed.
“Lyra, don’t be afraid. What does it feel like?”
Wilder could see Lyra’s eyes move behind her closed lids before they froze—as did the rest of her. Her arms and legs seized before she toppled like a felled tree.
Maelys crouched beside her and brushed a hand against her arm. “Are you alright?”
Lyra’s body shook with chaotic tremors.
“Let’s get her back to the castle. She needs a healer.” Ridge’s voice was strained. Maelys turned wide eyes to him and swallowed forcibly.
With those words, Wilder dropped to the ground beside them.
Ridge whirled, sword drawn. Otto held two daggers in his palms. And Maelys positioned herself in front of Lyra.
“I will take her,” Wilder growled.
“Good gods. Was that necessary?” Maelys spat. “Why are you hiding in the shadows?”
Wilder glared at her. “You took my position. I wanted to see how it was going without me.”
Maelys pointed a finger at his chest. “I was ordered to since you abandoned your duty.”
Her words stung more than he would ever admit. His duty was all he had, even if he resented it most of the time.
Wilder shrugged off her words and continued past her and to the now still Lyra. He swept her off the ground and clutched her to his chest.
“Had she come that close before?” he asked, looking at the freckles that blazed against her porcelain skin.
“No, that was the first time,” Otto replied.
“And the rest of her training?” There was a bruise blooming on her cheek. It made his blood boil. “Someone struck her?”
Ridge chuckled. “No. She did that to herself.”
Wilder stopped and turned towards him. “How?” The word came out like a growl.
“She thought she was going to be fancy with a wooden sword, and it slapped her in the face when she failed to catch it.”
The answer had extinguished the fire within him. She would do that. But the anger he had felt when he thought someone had hurt her—he pushed that thought away.
He began striding through the thicket and then through the rolling hills of heather. When he breached the castle, he didn’t slow until he hit the hallway of the healer’s chambers.
The witch was standing in the doorway, waiting. Twirling an ivy leaf in her hand, she sized him up.
“Did the little fish touch her magic?” she purred.
Wilder flinched and clutched her to his chest.
“She doesn’t need me. She needs rest. Take her to her room and have food ready. A ferocious appetite will turn her fearsome when she wakes. She’s not used to the power and isn’t strong enough to wield it.”
Wilder turned without answering and carried Lyra up to her room. He didn’t like the witch calling her “little fish.” But he was relieved that this unconscious state wouldn’t last.
Maelys, Otto, and Ridge followed them. Their purposeful footsteps alerted him to their presence.
“I see why she never touched the thing,” Maelys mumbled.
“It’s because she hasn’t touched it. Now it’s too powerful for her to wield without collapsing,” Otto said.
“Why has she never touched it?” Ridge asked.
“Besides the obvious, that is merfolk not believing their females equal? A sea witch instilled a deep, misguided fear in her,” Otto answered.
Wilder’s ears pricked. “Misguided?”
Otto nodded, his face turned grave. “Her father ordered it so that Lyra wouldn’t wield it against them.”
“Did her father order her kidnapping?”
Otto’s eyes turned glassy. “No.”
“Then who did?”
“I can’t see.”
She slept for two days. Wilder only left her side to eat. But now he was being summoned by his father for the second time, and this time he could not refuse.
Maelys and Daisy volunteered to stay by her side in his absence, and with near-rabid insistence from his mother, he agreed.
The throne room was empty when Wilder stalked through the doors and to the foot of the dais. His father lounged on his throne, but there was a stiff countenance to his jaw and shoulders.
“You’ve summoned me?” Wilder came to a halt at the foot of the stairs.
His father shifted in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I apologize for my behavior after dinner.”
This had his mother written all over it. Queen Aine had worked tirelessly to bridge the rift between them. What had happened kept that from ever being possible. But he wasn’t about to tell her that.
Time healed all wounds, and as an elf, he would have an immeasurable amount of time to forgive what had happened to him.
It still had not mattered to him that his father had changed. What mattered was the time it took for him to do it and the pain Wilder had endured.
He gave a curt dip of his chin before spinning on his heel.
“I was not finished,” King Oberon’s voice boomed through the empty hall. Wilder froze, but did not turn around. “If you believe Maelys leading her training will delay things, you will be required to step in.”
Wilder looked over his shoulder at his father, but still did not reply.
“We are running out of time, Wilder. The gods will intervene if magic is not balanced.”
He quirked his brow and turned.
“What are the stipulations of this bargain between you and this unnameable creature?”
King Oberon glared at him with all the authority of the High King.
“If you don’t see fit to include me in this in its entirety, I will not play a part in any facet.”
His father shook his head. “You have no idea of the powers at work here, son. If you think you could do a better job, I implore you to challenge me.”
It was a jab used time and time again.
Wilder didn’t want the throne, had never wanted it, and his father knew that. And was merely being cruel.
So, with that, Wilder strode from the throne room.