Page 93 of In Violent Waves
Wilder stood, discarding his still full glass on the desk and storming out.
After everything they had gone through to restore their relationship as father and son, now he dared to speak to him that way. Ordering him about as if they were in a room full of courtiers.
This had been the exact reason he never wanted to become king. That power and responsibility distorted you. Twisted your values and good nature into something corrupt and unrecognizable. What he had seen it do to his father.
He reached the dining table to find Lyra and his mother gone. But he heard their soft voices and followed them to the stacks on the other side of the room.
“I’ve read this one a dozen times in the last century,” his mother said. “It’s the story about Ophelia and how she vanquished the dragon, Turig. Have you read it?”
He peered around the stacks, not wanting to interrupt them and curious as to what Lyra was like when he wasn’t around.
“She? Stories about heroines were forbidden,” Lyra replied.
His mother sighed and pressed the book into her hands. “Keep it, then. I want you to have it.”
Lyra shook her head. A few strands of her auburn hair had fallen from the updo and brushed against her back. “I couldn’t. It’s one of your favorites.”
“I insist. Besides, I can always get another, and you need it.”
Lyra smiled at his mother, and it was a genuine, beautiful smile.
“Lyra, I’m to escort you back to your room,” Wilder interrupted.
“Stop by the library first,” Aine reiterated, smiling at Lyra before turning to Wilder. Her smile dropped away when she saw him. No doubt, noticing the rigid shoulders and clenched jaw.
“Good night, Mother,” he said before she could press him further.
Something had shifted for Wilder during his talk with his father. Lyra could feel the ire wafting off of him. It was disappointing that he was so miserable now because she had had a lovely time conversing with Queen Aine.
It was strange having a conversation with another royal female so freely. Not only that, but the queen’s intellect and benevolence were endearing. The evidence of that was now being squeezed against Lyra’s chest.
The books around her were different and fragile, not like the stone or bewitched ones she was used to. It smelled of oldparchment and oiled leather. She brought it up to her nose again and inhaled.
She could feel Wilder staring at her, but he did not comment. The only sounds in the empty hall were their footsteps and those of the guards escorting them.
It was quite annoying to be followed everywhere. Had it always been this way, or was it because of her?
Wilder didn’t look inclined to answer that question, or any questions, from her right now. His brow lowered over his eyes, and his jaw flexed as he worked it side to side. Whatever had happened between them had upset him for this level of brooding.
“I can go to the library by myself if you’d prefer to be alone,” Lyra muttered.
Her words snapped him out of his thoughts, and he whipped his head to her.
“You’re not allowed to roam anywhere alone.”
“I’m miles and miles from anyone and anything I know. I don’t think I’ll be running off into the night,” she replied, tilting her head towards a darkened window. “Besides, I’m much safer in here than I am out there.”
He didn’t reply to that, but after her time with Aine and the excitement thrumming through her at getting to the royal library, she would not let him stifle it.
They followed the guards through winding hallways. Paintings of landscapes shifted to those of grand balls and gruesome battles. Lyra slowed to look at each one.
A particularly large battle scene between elves caught her attention, and she stopped.
Bodies of elves from the Wilds and Mannereds littered the battleground. Their lines clashed against each other. The Wilds had black armor and were an array of different species. Elveslike Ridge stood out against the elves that looked like Otto or Wilder.
The Mannereds were wearing white armor, and they all looked similar. Pale skin and hair in varying shades of gold.
“What is this?”
