46. Truce
Wilder stood at the foot of the carriage and straightened his jacket for the fifth time.
His knee-high boots squeaked as he shifted on his feet.
Where was she? He had instructed Daisy last night that they needed to be off first thing in the morning, and now the sun was already well into the sky, along with its heat.
The doors to the castle slid open, and several servants came out grunting under the strain of a large trunk, followed by a flustered Daisy.
“I still think I forgot something! Who leaves for a tour and doesn’t have an itinerary?”
Her voice reached an octave he didn’t think was possible, and his eyes squeezed shut.
“Daisy, I’m sure it’s fine,” Lyra said. Her voice was soft and lovely.
She stepped out of the dim castle and into a ray of golden light.
He involuntarily stepped forward at the sight of her.
A light pink traveling dress brought out the flush on her cheeks and the rose of her lips.
Her auburn hair hung in loose waves down to her waist, except for a small braid over her crown that had wisps of small white flowers tucked into it.
She resembled the wild buttercups that grew alongside the brambles of Valewood.
Wilder ascended the few steps to the castle door and extended his elbow to her.
She looked up at him beneath lowered lashes and nibbled at her bottom lip.
“What are you doing?” She looked around as if she were expecting someone else.
“I’m escorting you to the carriage.”
She stared at his outstretched arm as if it were a spider.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, not understanding.
“Yes,” she said, placing her hands on her hips and squaring her shoulders.
“What is the problem?” He sighed and felt the fight leave his body. Of course, she was going to make this difficult.
“Why are you being—charming?”
Wilder smirked and raised his arm a fraction. “Don’t mistake my actions for anything but duty. You’re on an official tour. I am just doing what is expected.”
That wasn’t entirely true, but he was not about to tell her he wanted to be close to her, to touch her.
“Well, in that case,” she muttered, and slipped her arm through his.
They descended a single step before his mother called.
“Wilder!”
He groaned but turned them to face her.
“Yes, Mother.”
“There’s been a change to your itinerary.”
Queen Aine was wrapped in a gown of crimson, with a high collar resembling feathers that stood up behind her even taller updo. A golden folder was gripped in her fist, which coincided with the tightened expression on her face.
Wilder reached out to take the folder, but his mother stared intently at him.
“May I have it?”
She handed him the folder, but when he took it in his hands, she did not let go.
“Follow the itinerary to the letter.”
Lyra looked between Queen Aine and Wilder, trying to understand what was passing between them.
“Yes, Mother.”
“I mean it, Wilder. To the letter.”
Wilder arched a brow but nodded his agreement.
Queen Aine looked at Lyra and smiled broadly.
“You look wonderful, dear. Have a marvelous time!”
She didn’t even wait for Lyra to respond before she gathered up her gown and strode back inside.
Lyra looked from her retreating form to Wilder and then to the folder.
“That was … strange.”
Wilder cracked open the folder and stared and stared.
Do whatever you would like to do. Be free. But be back in time for Ostara.
A smile tugged the corner of his lips up, and he whirled them back to the carriage.
“Change of plans. Take us to the Three Sisters,” Wilder ordered the servant driving the carriage.
Lyra looked bewildered. A small divot formed between her brows.
“What is happening?” she hissed under her breath as he held open the door and nodded for her to take a seat inside.
“A royal engagement is off, and a week of freedom has just landed in our laps,” he replied, taking a seat opposite her.
The carriage was one of the extravagant ones his father preferred. Plush navy benches, gold filigree around the windows, and a mural of a wilderness scene on the ceiling.
He could tell she didn't know where to look as her eyes swiveled from one side of the carriage to the other. To the pair of doves carved beside her head with an olive branch extended between them, to the miniature unicorn nibbling next to a babbling brook on the ceiling.
Lyra tilted her head back and gaped. Wilder chuckled, and she snapped her mouth shut.
“What do you mean, freedom?”
He leaned his head back against the wall and took a deep breath.
“My mother has canceled our entire tour and has instructed me to do as I wish.”
Lyra gaped. “She can do that? Wait—we can do that?”
He closed his eyes and smiled.
“Where are we going then?”
The carriage began driving them around the back of the castle and through the side gate to bypass the bustling city streets.
“We’re going to the Three Sisters. I would like to canoe through it.”
Lyra scrunched her nose up. “And then what?”
“And then I would like to take a nap under the ancient willow.”
She nodded, but her brow was still furrowed.
“And then what?”
Wilder snorted. “I’m not sure. Not everything has to be planned.”
Her frown deepened. “So we’re just going to do whatever you want, whenever you think of it? With no plans?”
“Exactly,” he replied with a sigh.
With each wheel rotation away, the constant weight that burdened him dissipated.
Lyra leaned against the door and stared out the window as the carriage bumbled along the uneven path between the hills. Wilder looked with her, beyond the hills and to the looming smudge of the swamp.
“Why would you want to canoe through a swamp?” she muttered.
Wilder cracked an eye open to see her trying to puzzle out his desires.
“The swamps are some of the oldest parts of our land.”
“Okay.”
There was a slight hesitation in her answer.
He stared at her, waiting for what would undoubtedly come next.
She cast her eyes from the window to him and pursed her lips. Any second now, the deluge of questions would burst from her. He felt it.
He needed only to wait.
Her shoulders rose and fell, and she twisted her fingers into her gauzy pink skirts.
His eyes slid closed, and he rested his head against the coach wall.
“But what’s the point?”
He couldn’t fight the chuckle that slipped through his lips.
“Who says there has to be a point?”
“Well—no one, but why do you want to go to the oldest part of your lands?”
“Because that’s where magic is the strongest.”
“Why?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Is that true?”
He shrugged again. A stinging slap on his knee had his eyes flying open and falling upon a very disgruntled-looking Lyra.
“Are you incapable of having a civilized conversation today?” she seethed. There was a faint glow in her eyes as the rage flowed through her veins.
“Are you incapable of going five seconds without asking a multitude of questions?”
She shrugged, and it was so irritating. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why the oldest parts have the most magic.
All I know is that it sings to my blood, and I crave it.
I rarely, if ever, get time to myself, and for just a few days, I will have the freedom that I so greatly desire.
So, please, for once in your miserable life, can you try to be pleasant? Please?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, and the mounds of her breasts squeezed almost completely out of the top of her dress.
“I was being pleasant. You were being an ass.”
He rolled his eyes, placed an ankle on the opposite knee, and rested an elbow on the window opening. The picture of arrogance and nonchalance.
“My apologies, Legs. I will absolutely endeavor to answer every single question that pops into that inquisitive mind of yours, even if I am trying to rest.”
She fluffed out her skirts and raised her chin.
“Thank you for apologizing,” she said. Completely dismissing any wrongdoing on her part.
He had half a mind to kick her out of the carriage and journey on without her, but that would no doubt see him being dragged back to the castle by his father’s personal guard.
So instead, he bit his tongue and gazed outside. A few days trapped with her and her questions would be worth it for the freedom he so desperately wanted. He could handle this. Could handle her.
“Now, you said it sings to your blood. What’s that like?”
His jaw quivered under the strain, and only after he had counted to five and breathed slowly could he answer.
“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“I don’t even know how to describe it,” he ground out. “It’s euphoric.”
“Interesting,” she muttered.
“You think so?” he asked, tilting his head.
“No, not at all. I was trying to be pleasant,” she replied with a smile.
He chuckled and felt the irritation leave him.
“I appreciate your candor.”
Her smile broadened, and he was struck mute by her. She really was stunning when she wasn’t trying to irritate him on purpose. But there was a small joy in that, too. She pushed him, challenged him in a way no one had before with her quick wit, and he found that sometimes he might even admire it.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, her brow furrowing again.
“I’m thinking …” he stumbled out. “How about a truce? If only for our tour, so that we can both enjoy our small slice of freedom.”
Lyra leaned forward and gripped the edge of her seat. “What kind of truce?”
“I promise to answer all of your questions. Nicely—might I add? If you can promise not to intentionally annoy me.”
She pursed her lips, and he could see the wheels of her mind spinning.
“So you’re agreeing to be pleasant company if I can promise to do the same?”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
“Like … friends?”
He continued to nod and now even smirked. “Yes. We can be friends.”
Her emerald eyes flared like sea glass before narrowing on him. “Why is this so important to you?”
He huffed and leaned back. “Like I said—I very rarely get free time. So, doing whatever I want for several days instead of following the multitude of orders my father doles out—well, it’s not something I want to pass up. So yes, I will be your friend if you will allow me to just enjoy this.”
She had been glaring at him until he said “freedom,” and then her gaze softened like she, too, understood what that meant.
“Fine. I understand the desire for freedom.”
Wilder extended a hand out to her, and she took it. A light buzzing tingled over his flesh, but he ignored it and shook her hand, just once. When he let go, so did she, but of course, she went one step further and wiped her hand on the seat, making a face.
He sighed. “You’re not off to a good start.”
She froze and looked down at her hand before grimacing. “Sorry—old habit.”
He laughed, and she looked up in shock before chuckling alongside him.
Maybe this wouldn’t be terrible after all.