Page 13 of In Violent Waves

Lyra nodded, feigning acceptance, but began devising a plan of escape.

Wilder studied her a moment longer.

A sneer marred his lips as he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it, before finally opening it again to ask, “How did you know we were heading north?”

She didn’t answer.

The cold seeped through the layers of her skirts, and she scrambled to her feet. Mud caked her hands, and with regret, she wiped them on the navy fabric of the dress. She scrunched her nose with distaste at the gritty feeling.

“What did you do to my friends?”

He shrugged. “I only had orders for you. I’m sure they’re murdering mortals or doing whatever it is your kind do when they venture on land.”

His answer surprised her.

She hadn’t expected them to have been left alive. Relief cooled some of the burn of her anger. Marina’s father would nothave had to lose a wife and a daughter. And now they could tell someone what had happened to her.

Lyra wasn’t a coward who hadn’t completed the tithe—she had been kidnapped.

From her vantage point on the small hill, she could see far into the distance, to the dwindling glow on the horizon. The village was very far already, but still within sight.

She needed to make it back and sacrifice a heart before first light. How quickly could she run? Or would an elf’s heart count towards the tithe?

Worry gnawed at her mind. She didn’t know the answer to either of those questions. She’d have to kill him and a human—just to be safe.

Wilder crossed his arms and stared down his nose at her. Face twisted in a glower in the silver moonlight, he was still beautiful. His name was much more fitting than she would ever admit.

There was a wildness to his beauty, like the chaos of the universe was trapped in his body.

Glorious, untethered, and unending.

But then he spoke.

“Start walking, and no more questions. I don’t think you realize the position you are in.”

She frowned, not understanding his point. Yes, she had been kidnapped, but why shouldn’t she ask questions? Or was it a threat of violence? Her eyes brightened then, the frown slipping away. Violence, she was accustomed to. It was familiar and not at all unexpected.

“You don’t scare me. You called me Princess, so you must know who I am. Who my father is. Or my fiancé, for that matter?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. Not from her words, but from the fact that she was speaking to him so brazenly.

“I’m not sure who should scare you the most,” she continued. “My father? Or the male who views me as his property already? Neither appreciates people taking what is theirs.”

With that, Wilder snorted and stepped towards her. His fingers closed around her upper arm, and he tugged her to him. The heat of his body chased away the cold that had slid through her. And in a move that surprised even her, she leaned into his warmth.

“With that mouth of yours, I take it you do not know who I am. Allow me to enlighten you, princess. I am Wilder Vale, Crown Prince of the Wilds, the only son of Oberon, High King of the Elves.”

Lyra couldn’t help the disbelief that widened her eyes or the bitter taste of fear that poisoned her tongue.

She leaned away from him.

Gods.

Oberon was the most powerful of all the kings, second only to Fionn, god of the elves.

She unconsciously gripped the silver-and-sapphire shell on her necklace as she worked through his claim.

The absurdity of it all.