Page 71 of In Violent Waves

Ridge was the most startling. More tree than elf. His dark skin was marked with black ink, a swirling pattern that hadn’t been visible in the mortal realm. He had cropped hair that looked similar to the dark green moss that grew on the majestic trees in the Valewood.

Each of them had an otherworldly glow to them and sharply pointed ears that marked them as elves. As if they could have been anything else. Now that she thought about it, even their human forms hadn’t seemed very human.

“Now that the prying eyes and ears are gone. Allow me to welcome you, Princess Lyra of Atlantis,” Oberon said.

His voice had shifted. It wasn’t the powerful booming of the King that had sat before her. It was softer now.

“Come closer, Princess.”

Lyra’s brow furrowed, and her eyes darted around the room. She couldn’t decide whether he was being serious or if this was all some elaborate ruse. Hadn’t this elf ordered her abduction?

Guards appeared on either side of the colossal throne, and a few descended to her level. They wore evergreen tunics and golden capes with stag horns embroidered on their chests.

Before she could decide whether she would like to walk up the stairs, a guard with dark hair and a sneer gripped her arm right above her elbow and began dragging her to King Oberon.

Lyra struggled against his grip, but he didn’t let go.

“Unhand her,” Wilder snapped. “She doesn’t like to be touched.”

Lyra turned to see Wilder snarling in the guard’s face. Relief coursed through her, and blood pumped through her arm once more.

Oberon monitored the entire exchange and rubbed a finger across his jaw.

Wilder stood beside her and tilted his head towards his father.

“Please listen. For once in your life,” he murmured.

Lyra had an argument on the tip of her tongue, but the crease that formed between his brows silenced her. He was truly concerned about this meeting. She hadn’t been—until now.

“Fine,” she huffed.

Oberon’s brows raised when she agreed to Wilder’s plea.

She gripped the train of her gown, refusing his outstretched arm, and stomped up the stairs. Her velvet slippers slapped against the stone steps.

The king rose and met her halfway. She steeled her spine to keep from trembling.

An elvish king, the High King, was standing mere feet from her. Talk of his power was legendary, as were the battles he fought in and the enemies he’d slain.

He was a direct descendant of Fionn.

She was nothing compared to him, and she felt it deep in her bones.

His eyes raked across her, and a small smirk curved his lips.

“I’ve heard whispers of your beauty and, for once, the rumors were not wrong. You are very beautiful—for a mermaid,” he said, stepping closer to her.

Her hands squeezed into fists as she fought against the desire to take a step away.

He smelled of the earth, ancient and never-ending. There were leaves braided into strands of his long hair and a crown of golden antlers upon his brow. His emerald tunic and pantswere intricately embroidered with golden thread in the swirling patterns of the trees and flowers of his kingdom.

For all the wealth she was accustomed to, it shouldn’t have surprised her the luxury of this place, but it did.

Oberon leaned in close to her. “A little birdie has whispered to me of your power.”

Lyra’s eyes slid from the king to Wilder. “I have no power.”

King Oberon tutted. “Now, now, there’s no need to lie, Princess.”