Page 164 of In Violent Waves

“Come on, Lyra. It’s an adventure.”

Lyra huffed and stomped to the carriage. When Wilder extended his hand to help her up the small step and into the cabin, she pushed his hand away.

He laughed, but inwardly it had stung that she wouldn’t allow him to touch her, even now.

“Maelys, Otto, and Ridge, you three take up the lead. Oak, Dust, and Cyrus follow behind the carriage.”

Wilder was thankful that the carriage was bewitched to follow the lead horse, so that there wasn’t another person to be responsible for on this journey.

It was going to be difficult enough to keep Lyra from arguing every step of the way and to keep himself from killing Cyrus the next time he displayed such casual arrogance towards any person in his guard.

Otto closed his eyes and sighed. “We should reach the Mannereds on time, but I do foresee trouble.”

Wilder heaved a deep breath. Of course, there was going to be trouble.

The castle walls and then the city opened up outside the carriage window. Lyra had half her body hanging out to get a better look. She hadn’t been able to explore as she had liked during the disaster that had been Ostara or the tour before.

It was silent in the Upper District. Large trees dotted the pathway, and the stone of the buildings gleamed in the early morning light. There were flower boxes on some of the large windows. The bright colors of violets and poppies added much-needed color against the grey stone.

There were also very few elves out, and the ones she saw lounged on balconies sipping piping hot tea. They all resembled Maelys in a way, with fair skin and ethereal beauty.

But as they continued, the street became narrower, the buildings closer together. The sun no longer gleamed on the gray stone due to the buildup of lichen and algae.

It was busier in the Lower District, too. People were already out and about, setting up markets or going about their daily chores. A few were camped out on street corners—begging.

The elves here resembled Otto or Ridge.

Tree-bark-like skin or the outward characteristics of magic.

Lyra frowned and sat back in her seat.

“What’s that face for?”

“I didn’t realize class divisions existed here.”

Wilder tilted his head, and a divot formed between his brows.

“Societal classes,” Lyra clarified. “I don’t know why I expected any differently. Especially given their names ‘Upper and Lower’.”

Realization dawned on Wilder’s face, and he nodded.

“It’s repugnant.”

Lyra blanched. She hadn’t expected him to agree with her, especially given his countenance and the disagreement they had had the night before.

“I’ve mentioned it to my father too many times. He won’t do anything about it. And contrary to your opinion, I am not him.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“What can I do? I’m just a Prince.”

Lyra shook her head and sighed in exasperation. “You’re a male. There is a lot you can do—if you’re not changing it, you are choosing it.”

She could see that her words had made their expected blow, but he didn’t react in the way she expected him to.

Ire glowed in his eyes. “I could say the same about you.”

“Me?” she squeaked. “I’m just a female. And your captive, in case you have forgotten.”