55. Ostara #3
She remembered that it was when they had been cooking their first meal together. A flood of memories from the cottage, the willow, and the swamp tormented her.
“Oh.” Her voice was quiet, and Wilder frowned.
“Why do I feel like you’re upset?”
Lyra shook her head, and her auburn hair shuddered with the movement.
“Then what’s the matter?”
The music was drawing to a close, and in a move that surprised her, Wilder swept her higher off her feet before dropping her parallel to the ground. His face lowered to hers, and his eyes were on her lips.
Her heart pounded against her ribs.
“What was that for?”
“It’s the end of the dance. It’s called a dip.”
Lyra sucked in a breath as he tilted her upright. The music took off once more, but they stood still, staring at each other.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear.
His brow lowered over his bright eyes, casting them in shadow. “Doing what?”
“Being nice. I—hurt you,” she muttered, looking anywhere but at him.
“Everyone deserves kindness, Lyra.”
She nodded, biting her lip and staring at the surrounding dancers again. The colors of their attire were like a painting—they were so vivid—and their movements mimicked a painter’s strokes.
“Care for another dance?” Wilder asked.
Lyra whipped her head to his and saw a flicker of emotion cross his eyes. Behind him, Aine and Oberon watched them from their thrones.
“Please.”
Wilder scooped her up, and they set off again, this time at a much quicker pace.
“What is this dance called?”
“A waltz,” he replied, close enough to her ear that a shiver wracked her body.
Lyra pressed herself closer to him and could hear the groan come from the back of his throat.
“I’m sorry. For what I said at the cottage,” she said. She missed him. More than she ever imagined missing anything. He felt like home to her.
Wilder froze, and dancers had to spin out of control to keep from colliding with him.
But she had wanted to tell him the moment she had said those cruel words, and now was as good a time as any.
“I was frightened by what I was feeling, and I lashed out.”
He shook his head and took a step back. “Don’t.”
“Why?”
“You were right. You don’t belong—”
She felt the stab to her heart as if a dagger had pierced through her flesh, muscles, and bones.
The pain burned up through her throat, constricting it and making speech difficult.
“I see,” Lyra snapped, raising her chin to keep her lip from trembling.
“We’re from different worlds,” Wilder clarified, trying to assuage her obvious misery. “It was just a truce.”
She nodded, but her eyes turned glassy from the tears threatening to fall.
“May I cut in?” Otto asked, appearing beside Lyra with his hand outstretched.
He looked regal in a jacket of burgundy that made his white skin seem silver.
“Of course,” Lyra replied, taking his hand in hers.
“Lyra—” Wilder began.
But she cut him off. “It’s done.”
She set off in a waltz with Otto, but no matter how much she concentrated, she couldn’t quite find her footing as she had with Wilder.
“Are you having a pleasant time?” Otto asked. A small smile graced his thin lips.
“Quite.”
Otto chuckled. “Could have fooled me.”
“Sorry—I wasn’t expecting to fight with him.” Lyra grimaced.
“I was.”
She rolled her eyes but stepped on his toe. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It won’t always be like this,” he murmured, and his voice was soft.
“It gets better?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Lyra thought about Wilder’s feelings on hearing his future and shook her head.
“Just tell me one thing?”
Otto nodded. “Of course.”
“Does it hurt?”
There was a grimace on his face that made her stomach sink.
She heaved a sigh as the music drew to yet another close.
“Physically or emotionally?” she asked low enough so that the crowd could not hear her.
“Both. But not forever. And you become stronger, Lyra. Stronger than your wildest dreams.”
There was a small bit of comfort in his words that she clung to.
“Go find Maelys. She’s ready for you,” Otto ordered before slipping back into the crowd.
Lyra searched the room for Maelys and swept past the glares and sneers of displeasure.
Oberon and Aine were murmuring between themselves, heads bent together. Lyra caught Aine’s eye before the queen turned.
That was unusual. And Lyra felt as if they had been speaking about her.
“There you are!” Maelys called, two goblets of wine in her hands.
“I was looking for you,” Lyra replied, taking the glass Maelys handed her.
She was ready to flee from this place, and if she hadn’t found Maelys soon, she would have left without a word. Everything hurt, and her time here was up.
“You weren’t looking hard enough,” Maelys teased. “How was the dancing?”
“It was fine. You and Ridge looked graceful.”
Maelys laughed, and it was such a lovely sound that Lyra smiled despite herself.
“Years of practice. You and Wilder looked better than we did.”
Lyra’s heart fell into her stomach, and with it, her smile.
“You ready for the real fun?”
It took her a second to realize Maelys was not joking.
“What happens now?”
Maelys looked around for listening ears and smiled with devilish delight.
“The pleasure house.”