51. The Cottage
The summer cottage perched on the rocks was now Lyra’s favorite place in the whole world. Made of sun-bleached gray stone and a pitching roofline, it was very modest for a royal family’s abode.
“It’s very cozy,” she said, taking in the plush, muted furniture and velvety soft rugs that were spread about the main living space.
A quaint kitchen was tucked in the corner. But the entire back wall was made of glass, showcasing dramatic views of the seaside cliffs. An entire horizon of the ocean. She took a step towards it, staying just an arm’s reach from the window.
“I built it.”
Lyra gaped like a fish as she whipped her head in his direction.
“You built this house?”
He nodded and leaned against the picture windows. “I needed a place to escape to after everything, and I was calmer by the sea. That, and it’s far away from the court and my father.”
“What happened between you two?”
Wilder didn’t answer for a moment. She could tell he was thinking it over and tugged at the hem of his tunic to get him to look at her.
“It can’t be any worse than what I confided in you.” She blushed. But when he gave her a heart-stopping grin and raked his eyes over her body, she felt the heat pool in her once more.
“That was a good thing. This—is definitely not.”
Lyra sighed and shrugged. “If you don’t want to tell me, fine. But don’t think it’s because you can’t. I’m all ears.”
He ground his teeth and raked a hand through his dark hair. The light shimmered on his briar crown, and he looked ethereal in the afternoon light.
“Fine. I’ll tell you. Tea?”
She smiled at him. “Sure.”
Wilder moved to put the kettle on, and not even its whistling could break her attention from the sea.
Her mind was in chaos, trying to puzzle out what he struggled with that would cause him to venture out here and build a house. He pressed a small blue teacup into her hand, and she took a sip of the lemon mint tea.
“That is divine,” she breathed, inhaling the steam.
He took a seat in the leather armchair in front of the windows and nodded for her to do the same in the matching armchair.
She plopped down and set her cup on the low-lying table.
“I struggled with the weight of my position for a long time.”
Lyra nodded. She found it hard to understand, as there wasn’t a lot of weight to her position. Females were to be seen—rarely—and never heard. However, there was a lot of pressure with carrying her magic.
“During the peace negotiations, my father got it in his head that a marriage between our courts was the answer.”
“Marriage?”
“Between me and Odette—the princess of the Mannereds.”
Lyra felt an uncomfortable twisting in her gut.
Wilder took a sip of his tea before setting the cup down on the table. His hand clenched into a fist.
“I couldn’t stomach the idea of being the heir to one throne, much less two. So, like the coward I was, I fled.”
Lyra gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.
“I wasn’t always chock full of duty.” He clenched his jaw. “I had planned to live among the humans, but was kidnapped by wulvers instead.”
Her gut twisted tighter, and she felt bile rise in the back of her throat. She had seen one of the wulvers outside a village they had passed through. They were nightmarish. Mottled fur and spindly legs.
“It took a decade or so for Oberon to broker my release. And I was tortured every day of that time.”
She couldn’t bear it. A heavy weight pressed down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Squeezing the arms of the chair, she met his gaze. “Why—why did it take so long to free you?”
Wilder shrugged and picked a speck of dust from his pant leg.
“Oberon was making a point at first. I was a coward and deserved to be punished. I’m still not even sure what was promised to free me, but I have a feeling it came at great personal cost to him, for he hasn’t let me live it down a single moment of my life since. ”
“I had sensed things were—off between you two, but not with your mother.”
He shook his head then. “No, she has tried to repair the rift between us. I don’t have the heart to tell her it is irreparable.”
“I can’t imagine.”
Wilder snorted. “If anyone could imagine, it would be you.”
She thought back over her life. The contempt she felt for her father and the pain she had endured at his hands.
“I am sorry for your suffering,” she mumbled.
“And I am sorry for yours.”
They sat in silence for some time, sipping their tea and absorbing the stillness of the moment.
“How often do you come out here?”
Wilder frowned and tugged at his black tunic. The evergreen embroidery on his sleeves was nearly black, but Lyra could make out the stitching of a forest.
“Not enough. I felt guilty for fleeing, so now, all I know is duty. Which doesn’t offer a lot of—”
“Free time,” she finished for him.
“Exactly,” he murmured, taking a sip of his tea.
“That’s unfortunate. I don’t think I would ever leave this place.”
He nodded, and she leaned back in her chair, watching the waves roll in and the surf crash against the rocks. She felt as if she should tell him the story of her horrors. Of being tortured by her father after she had run away.
But now didn’t feel like the time.
“I’m surprised you’re not already in the water,” he said, watching her stare with longing at the sea.
“I’m frightened.”
Wilder tilted his head. “Of what?”
“What if it’s not the same?”
He chuckled, and the sound was a balm to her fraying nerves. “It probably won’t be. But you’re going to get in the water, anyway. Might as well enjoy it—changes and all.”
He was right, and that annoyed her. She huffed a sigh and took another sip of her lemony tea.
“Do we have any other plans?”
Wilder shook his head.
“I figured I’d do some fishing to catch us something for dinner. I need to check the garden and see if there’s anything still edible to scrounge together. There used to be someone to tend to these things while I was away, but it doesn’t look like they’ve been here for quite some time.”
“What do you think happened?”
Wilder pondered her question. “It was an elder elf. I’m worried he’s passed and no one bothered to tell me.”
Lyra pursed her lips and turned her gaze back to the sea to avoid the emotion that flickered across his face.
“I’m so sorry.”
He sighed. “It happens. We’re not immortal, even if sometimes it feels that way.”
Lyra nodded and plucked at the silk fabric of her gown. “I’m going to see if Daisy packed anything for swimming.” She stood and felt the weight of his stare on her. When she met that gaze, she was surprised to see his eyes had darkened, the bright blue now the dark blue of the ocean outside.
“Let me know if I can be of any assistance.”
His voice was practically a purr, and she fought the shiver that crawled down her spine.
Lyra didn’t know if she could handle his mouth on her again. It had been better than she imagined, and this body welcomed a heightened sense of pleasure.
Her mermaid form didn’t allow for those kinds of positions. But to do it again crossed some kind of invisible line. This was only a truce, but it was feeling like it had shifted to more.
The servant had discarded her trunk in the bedroom on the right side of the house. A narrow iron bed sat in the corner, and an ancient, carved wooden armoire was on the opposite side of the room.
Carvings of ivy and small butterflies twined up the door. Her trunk was at the foot of the bed, and she had to shove the plush comforter out of the way to open the lid.
Rifling through the plethora of dresses, tunics, and shoes, she was annoyed that there wasn’t anything suitable for swimming.
But that hadn’t been Daisy’s fault. She was supposed to be on a royal tour, meeting the Lords and Ladies of Oberon’s court—not traipsing through the countryside and swimming in the ocean.
She’d take the latter any day, though. It wasn’t unfathomable to think Oberon’s court was as twisted as her father’s.
Lyra kept pulling out dresses until she came to the bottom of the trunk. A thin blue cotton dress with ruffled cap sleeves and a shorter hemline lay at the bottom.
It would have to do. It was the only dress that might hold up against the saltwater. The thin chiffon and gleaming beaded gowns would be ruined.
Lyra slipped out of the violet silk and donned the blue cotton dress. There was a small mirror beside the armoire, and she stood in front of it as she braided her hair back in one long braid that grazed her lower back.
She padded on bare feet through the cottage. Paintings of wildflower-covered meadows and roiling oceans dotted the whitewashed walls. It was cozy here, and she felt like she was seeing a glimpse of who Wilder was on the inside. And she found she very much liked what she saw.
He was already outside and had swapped his black pants for light linen trousers that were rolled up over his ankles. The extravagant tunic was replaced with a plain white short-sleeved one, and he gripped a fishing cane in his hand. He looked like part of the landscape.
As hard as the stones and as glorious as the ocean. Lyra took a deep breath, but something tightened in her chest and slithered through her veins as she found her way outside.
He outstretched his hand to her, and when she took it, her heart pounded in her throat. Wilder tucked her in close to his body. They walked as one over the rocky landscape and to the sandy shore.
Millennia of waves had pulverized large boulders into black sand. They stood at the water’s edge, and Wilder placed the cane on the ground before toeing the water. He bared his teeth, and she giggled.
“Cold?”
“Frigid,” he ground out.
Wilder urged her further, and when the water caressed her toes, she closed her eyes. It was arctic but also lovely. She inhaled big gulps of briny sea air and tilted her face to the cloudy sky. He stood behind and wrapped her in his arms.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
Lyra leaned against him and rested her hands on his.
“I will be. Are you okay?”
She could feel him nod and then press his head to the side of hers.
“I will be too.”
The water rushed up higher on her bare feet, reaching up to her ankles. The familiar feel sent a shiver that spasmed through her body.
“Are you really going to go swimming?” he asked, shivering alongside her.
“Mhm,” she murmured. “And you’re coming with me.” Grabbing hold of his arms, she pulled him with her and splashed deeper into the waves.
“Lyra!”
She laughed at the frozen look of horror on his face.
“It’s cold!”
Lyra splashed him, and his eyes darkened further, and he took a step towards her and then another, with his arms outstretched.
“Don’t even think about it,” she replied, retreating a step.
A larger wave caught her off guard and slammed against her back, knocking her off her feet, but the frigid water took her breath away. Her dress was soaked, her braid wet from the crown to the end.
Wilder laughed so hard he clutched at his ribs. Lyra flung herself at him, and they fell together into the surf. Water surged around them, and he spluttered, cradling her to his chest.
“That was unnecessary,” he drawled, but a smile stretched his lips wide.
“Now you’re cold and wet too,” she replied, looking up at him beneath lowered lashes.
Wilder pulled them to their feet, and they stood firm against another wave that crashed around them.
“Feel better?” he asked.
Lyra nodded and then shivered. She was better, much better.
Wilder lowered his head to her, and she raised her chin.
When their lips met, she felt a familiar warmth spear through her, chasing away the chill of the water.