Lydia

Lydia knew that it shouldn't matter. But still she couldn't help feeling another part of her ripping away. Closing her eyes, she pressed her face into Windchaser's neck, breathing in his horsey smell and feeling the heat that clung to his coat. Remaining like that, she could almost imagine that the voices of Wilder and the land owner bartering were not there.

Instead, she stood in the palace stables. Any second the doors would open and her father would charge inside, his stride confident, steady, and impatient. At his wit's end of dealing with the tasks of being king, he would smile at Lydia and that would be all the invitation she needed. They were cut from the same cloth, wild spirits, and adventurous hearts. Trailed by guards, they'd race their horses beyond the city borders.

Windchaser twisted his neck and nudged Lydia's shoulder as if sensing his mistress's distress. She knotted her fingers in his coarse mane, fighting the memories. She would not cry, she wouldn't. Wilder needed her to stay in control. Already she'd failed him that morning.

She'd heard the men approaching, their horses' hoofs clattering on the stone ground. But when she reached for the dagger, revulsion petrified her. The dagger in her hand the same one that jutted out of her brother Reen's chest. As the men rushed towards her, the dagger slipped from her numb fingers. A dark part of her wished they'd cut her down, let her join her family again.

But they'd only grabbed her. When she tried to scream for Wilder, the sound stayed trapped in her throat. Only as she'd seen the terror and panic in Wilder's eyes, did she snap out of her stunned state. She could not fail Wilder now. Not when he saved her again and again.

"Ly."

At the gentle touch of Wilder's hand on her shoulder, Lydia pulled herself away from Windchaser, silently saying goodbye.

"Mathis says he has an old suit of clothes that belonged to his son and might fit you."

Lydia followed Wilder and Mathis to his house, not daring to look back and watch Windchaser getting led away.

The house showed off the land owner's wealth in high ceilings, a rounded staircase, and detailed tapestries. It was the type of home where Lydia would have been welcomed with pleasure, and given a place of honor. Now she entered dressed as a ragged boy and eyed with suspicion.

In the foyer, Mathis gave orders to a servant who scampered away. As they waited, he regarded the pair silently. Their ragged appearance didn't fit with owning a full-blooded Kalish stallion, but Wilder's array of weapons kept the questions back.

When the servant returned, Lydia accepted a pile of clothes and followed the servant to a room offering seclusion and a looking glass. The shirt and trousers fit Lydia well, no longer making her look like a child playing dress-up. As she walked to the mirror, she tested the boots. Though a bit big, they would work better than her dancing slippers.

She started at the sight of a dirty-faced stranger staring back at her with her eyes. The girl from the night before in a shimmering gown who laughed with her sister no longer existed. As Lydia fingered the rolled sleeve of her shirt, she looked over her reflection's shoulder waiting for Vienna to step into view and appraise her, comment on her vagabond appearance.

"There you are vagabond princess," Vienna said.

But her sister wasn't there. Only her memory spoke.

Renewed grief crashed into Lydia and she stumbled forward as if hit from behind. Struggling to breathe, she braced herself against the mirror. She squeezed her eyes shut hating the empty space where her sister should be.

Memory after memory of her sister cut with images of her bleeding out hit Lydia, bringing her to her knees. She couldn't be gone. Lydia could still hear her voice, still see her smile. Why wasn't she here? Lydia tried to breathe but her lungs wouldn't work.

From far away Lydia could hear knocking, but it felt faint compared to the voice of her sister in her head. Her sister who easily spoke with dignity as she commented about uniting the kingdoms through marriage as she easily spoke with a mischievous tone at rumors of Prince Zavier's dashing good looks. Her sister whose voice she would never hear again.

"Ly, are you okay?"

Once when Lydia was younger her father had taken her to the beach and she'd gotten caught in the undercurrent. Over and over the waves pummeled her, dragged her under. When she'd risen to the surface another wave swept her under. It felt like it had lasted for an eternity before her father saved her.

Now Lydia felt caught in that same undercurrent and couldn't come up for air. Every time she thought she could fight the grief, it knocked her down again and again and her father wasn't there to save her. He was gone. They were all gone. How could they all be gone? How was she all alone?

All at once, she rose from the floor, lifted by two strong arms. She teetered on weak legs but managed to stay upright.

"Ly, look at me," Wilder said, gripping her arms. "Open your eyes, Ly. I'm right here."

She did and found him staring at her, his hazel eyes grounding her to this moment, this room. When he cupped her face, she curled her fingers, digging them into her palms, battling her grief, fighting the memories storming her mind. He brushed a thumb over her cheek and Lydia swallowed, holding onto his tenderness.

"We have to get moving," Wilder said.

Lydia nodded, unable to talk, afraid her voice might break. Gathering the clothes Lydia had been wearing, Wilder led her out of the room. On the floor outside sat two rucksacks filled with what had previously been in the saddlebags. After stowing the clothes in one of the sacks, Wilder hoisted it onto his shoulder. When he reached for the second, Lydia took it instead.

"I can carry it," she said.

She needed the weight on her shoulder, needed it to keep her from drifting into the past. With a nod, he led her back to the foyer but stopped suddenly. Lydia bumped into him, caught off guard by the abrupt halt.

When she looked away from Wilder, she saw Mathis wearing a superior expression while standing beside two royal guards. Lydia felt her heart stutter. Were they real guards? Or where they assassins with stolen uniforms like the servants? Were they here for her?

"Amos, these are the two thieves," Mathis said, looking to the older of the guards as he gestured to Lydia and Wilder as if the guards hadn't seen them. "I found the royal crest on the saddle to the Kalish stallion they clearly stole."

Lydia gripped the back of Wilder's shirt when she noticed Amos rest a hand on the hilt of his sword. Wilder nudged Lydia behind him and raised his hands.

"You'll both have to come with us," Amos said.

"I understand how this may appear," Wilder said, calmly. "The horse was not stolen."

Mathis jutted out his chin. "How do you explain the royal crest?"

Wilder paused and while the guards took that as guilt, Lydia knew he wavered on how much to tell before knowing more himself.

"Where are you guards stationed?" Wilder asked.

The younger guard with cropped hair narrowed his eyes.

"It is not for you to ask questions-"

"Have you heard news from the palace?" Wilder asked.

The guards exchanged a glance, surprised. When they looked at Wilder their suspicion doubled.

"We're stationed on a boarder tower," Amos said. "But someone passed by earlier mentioning some sort of upset during the Lorian Prince's welcoming ball."

Wilder nodded encouragingly, still keeping his hands raised. "The palace was attacked." Lydia curled her fingers in Wilder's shirt, struggling against the gruesome images. "I managed to get out-"

"Stealing one of the royal horses as you," the younger guard jerked his hand to Lydia, "and a stable boy ran away."

Beneath her clenched fist, Lydia could feel Wilder tense with frustration and her breath grew short as panic crept in.

"I didn't steal a horse," he said, a bit of his irritation slipping into his voice.

"No," the guard said. "Tell us how-

"My father is Commander Ror. I was ordered to protect-"

Wilder cut himself off and Lydia inched closer to him. How could these men be trusted? The assassins walked right into the palace. Were there people inside that had let them in? Could these guards be part of the plot? Could Wilder defeat them both if it came to a fight?

Both guards took a step forward, edging their swords out of their scabbards. Wilder glanced behind him at Lydia and she could see the apology in his eyes.

"I was ordered to protect Princess Lydia," Wilder said.

The statement halted the guards. With a nod of approval from Wilder, Lydia released his shirt and stepped into view. Heart pounding, she pushed her sleeve up, revealing the silver woven bands on her arm. She waited, watching to see how the guards would react, while Wilder laid one hand on his sword, anticipation rolling off him. But after a moment of shock, both the guards and Mathis dropped to one knee heads bowed.

"Your Highness," Mathis said. "Accept my apology for my blunder."

Lydia let out a shaky breath, her heart still hammering away.

"It's forgotten," she said. "Please stand."

All three men rose, their demeanors ones of submission.

"How may we serve you, Your Highness?" Amos asked.

Wilder dropped his hand. "I'm getting the princess out of the West Isles. The royal family was attacked and she's not safe."

Amos bowed his head. "We shall be honored to escort you where you must go."

"And my carriage is at your disposal," Mathis said.

"We can't accept any of that," Wilder said. "We can't draw attention. There are men still searching for her. It is a long walk to the docks, if you have a cart and a worker who can drive us there, we'll gladly accept that."

Mathis nodded and hurried away to make the arrangements.

"What can we do?" Amos asked.

"Return to your station and be on your guard. The men who attacked were not from here. They looked Northern: light eyes and pale skin. Question any who fits that description and if they appear suspicious don't let them leave."

"Understood," the guard said.

Both of the guards bowed to Lydia. "Stay safe, Your Highness."

As they left, Mathis returned, ducking his head.

"The cart is being prepared for you," he said. "I have also brought this from the kitchen." He handed Wilder another sack. "It has enough food for a week."

"Thank you," Lydia said.

Outside, she heard the rattle of wheels.

"Again, accept my apology, Your Highness," Mathis said.

Despite the boyish appearance she wore, it was Mathis's dutiful manner that felt wrong. Her title didn't fit her. She wasn't royal, she was an orphan.

"You did as you saw fit," she said, the gracious words from another life, another person.

"Tell no one of this," Wilder said, sternly. "For the princess's sake."

"Of course, you have my loyalty."

The cart bumped and swayed as it carried Lydia and Wilder away from the estate and towards the city. The sun sat high in the sky bearing down on the two travelers. If not for the breeze whistling through the heat would feel oppressive.

Lydia watched the clouds of sand and dust that billowed out behind the cart, trying not to think of where they were going. But with each rattle of the wheels, she felt as they crept closer and closer to the city, the palace. A palace now a tomb for her family.

Knowing she wavered on the edge of an abyss that could suck her in, Lydia grabbed Wilder's hand and threaded her fingers into it. She didn't look at him, couldn't handle the weight of concern and sympathy. It would only bring her closer to the edge. As if sensing this, he squeezed her hand but said nothing.

They traveled the rest of the way like that, Lydia drawing strength from Wilder, letting her mind think of nothing but the calluses on his hands, think of all the ways he'd earned them. Training with his father. Training, Lydia had playfully been a part of at times, though Captain Ror never pushed her the way he pushed his son.

When they entered the bustling heart of the city, Wilder and Lydia slipped off the back of the cart and melded with the mass. Lydia trailed behind Wilder, keeping close. Armed with an arsenal of weapons and a commanding stride, the flow of people split around Wilder, but closed in fast behind him, knocking and bumping into Lydia.

With each jostle, she tensed, trying to keep her head down. But at times she glanced at the offender. If their eyes locked, she'd freeze, fear of being recognized strangling her. But each time the person would look away without registering her. Still, by the time they made it to a tavern by the docks, Lydia's nerves were frayed.

Wilder directed her to a back corner and she slipped into the chair, hands balled into fists as she scanned the dim interior. The rough-looking drinkers and the smell of ale, coffee, and sweat reminded Lydia how far from home she was.

"Stay here, Ly," Wilder said. "I'm going to ask some questions of the barkeep."

As Wilder walked away, Lydia listened to the conversations around her, using them as a way to distract her mind. She stilled as she settled on one conversation in particular, her throat going dry.

"Most of the family dead," a deep, raspy voice said. "'Cept the lad, Corwin. Word is, he's wounded, might not make it. I hear they're searching for the one who did it."

Lydia crossed to the table where the man spoke before she realized it.

"What did you say?" she asked, her voice louder than she intended.

The speaker, a man with swarthy skin and a thick beard, glared up at Lydia.

"I wasn't speakin' to you, boy," he said.

Lydia grabbed the man's shirt, shaking it. "What did you say about Prince Corwin?"

The man smacked Lydia's hand away and before he could do more, Wilder appeared by her side, placing himself in front of the man. Though the man had begun to rise to show Lydia how to respect her elders, he paused, eyeing the many weapons Wilder possessed.

"I must apologize for my cousin," he said. "He can get overexcited."

At Wilder's calm manner, the man sank back into his seat, but Lydia couldn't let the matter go.

"He talked about Prince Corwin," she said, desperate. "Said he was alive."

Wilder whipped his head towards her and she nodded, silently pleading with him. Hope beat against her, building her up even as she knew she could crash down. Schooling his face, Wilder faced the man again.

"Did you mention Prince Corwin?" he asked.

The man studied the pair of them and reluctantly nodded.

"Heard he's wounded badly," he said.

Lydia nearly collapsed onto the tavern floor. Her brother was alive. He was alive. She wasn't alone. Before she could cause a bigger scene, Wilder ushered out of the tavern, using a rear door. Lydia gripped Wilder's shirt.

"We have to go back," she said. "Wilder, my brother is alive. We have to go back."

Lydia trembled, overwhelmed by relief and hope. But the inevitable crash came only a breath later.

"Ly, we can't go back," Wilder said. "Corwin isn't alive."

Lydia backed away like he'd struck her, running up against the grimy wall of the tavern. She shook her head, saying nothing. Wilder dropped his gaze, lines of sorrow and regret wrinkling his brow.

"I saw where he was stabbed, there would never be enough time to save him," he said quietly.

"No...he's alive..." Her voice barely a whisper.

Wilder let out a slow breath as if too heavy a burden sat on his shoulders.

"You made it out," he said. "Whoever did this sent men after you once, they won't stop. This is simply a ploy to make you think you can return to the palace." He reached for her, but she shied away from his touch, not wanting to hear anything he said. "Think about it. Why would you have been attacked this morning if the assassins were all captured or killed and the royal guard held control of the palace?"

"They could have been the last of them..." she said, weakly.

"Even if Corwin is somehow alive, it is still our safest option to leave and keep you safe."

All her hope faded leaving behind a numbness that evaded Lydia. When Wilder pulled her into his arms, she didn't resist. She buried her face in his chest.

"I don't want to be safe," she whispered. "I want my family."

**********************************************************************

"He looks kinda hairy and slobbery to me."

(Haha I'm going to warn you now, these quotes are going to contrast the chapters every time. I only know the random, funny ones)

Okay, let's be serious now. This book is depressing. My most depressing book of all. How are you doing so far? What are your thoughts? Also here's a teddy bear 🧸to hug. 👑⚔️🛡

So yeah, not totally sure I realized what I was taking on when I decided to start this project and decided to kill off the whole family...Yeah, Joy did not think this one through. But I'm still on aboard.

(That would be a better pun if we had met up with Alwyn and Cyrus on their ship. Dang! I sunk that opportunity)

Question for you dear royal reader: What are you currently reading? (Besides this book)

Reader question from NefariousNick: Will Lydia become a bad*** and avenge her family?

Antwoord van de auteur (Dutch): Obviously! You think I'm going to let my girl not kick some serious boo-tay? Cause you know I am! Just how long it takes for her to get to that place is...still in question. But I don't plan for her to not fight back.

Royal decrees: Vote, comment, follow! Hear ye hear ye.