A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 5 - "I can't lose you!"

Wilder

Wilder woke with a start, weapons leaping into his hands as he sat up, blood surging through his veins. He swiveled the bow around, searching for the source of the noise that yanked him from dreams.

But he found nothing.

Windchaser let out a snort and shifted in his sleep, hoof scraping against the stone. For another minute, Wilder held the bow at the ready, waiting. But no monsters jumped from the trees or leapt out from behind the crumbling structure. Slowly, Wilder lowered his bow.

The sun crested the horizon, painting the treetops with gold. The jungle that felt threatening the night before appeared tame. Palms swayed in the breeze, lazy that morning. Birds twittered, singing a greeting to the dawn. It all seemed too peaceful while the details of slaughter still lived clear in Wilder's mind.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Wilder leaned back against the rough wall, ignoring the jagged edges that dug into his back. He peered down at Lydia, only then realizing they had fallen asleep curled against each other. Had it been for comfort? Warmth? Or from years of wanting to be close? Maybe all three...

Wilder shook his head, shoving the thoughts from his mind. What did it matter? The life they'd planned for themselves, Lydia a royal ambassador free to travel all over with Wilder as her personal guard, remained nothing but ashes now. The future stood before them in an unknowable fog.

The sun stretched itself higher into the sky, laying out shadows along the stone floor for Wilder. This place held so much of his father that it grounded Wilder. He'd been given an order from the Commander of the Royal Guard and he would see it through: trust no one and protect Lydia.

That meant they needed to get out of the West Isles. Crossing the island to the southern port wasn't an option. They risked being caught along the way. They needed to get out as quickly as possible. That meant heading back into the city to find a ship. Wilder had money in his saddlebags. Along with the emeralds Lydia wore in her ears and around her neck, they could buy passage. But Lydia...

He watched her stir, mumble something then settle back into sleep. Her hair splayed around her, haloing her head. She would have to disguise herself. She could wear his second set of clothes. They would have to find boots since all she wore were her dancing slippers. As for her hair...he didn't have a hat. It would have to be cut and tied into a tail, a common enough style for boys. Beyond that, he didn't know how much he could alter her appearance.

When warm rays touched Wilder's face, he gazed around at the day. The port would be open by now. Was it best to wake her now and try to reach the city before more people woke? Or was it better to use the crowds to hide themselves? Wilder reached for Lydia's shoulder but stopped. How could he wake her when all it meant that she'd face again the reality that her family was dead?

The choice fell from Wilder's hands as Lydia rolled onto her back and blinked up at the sky. A frown wrinkled her forehead as if she expected to find the gilded ceiling of her bedroom. Invisible fingers dug into Wilder's gut as the sleepy confusion drifted into solemn acknowledgment. When she met Wilder's eyes, he saw her tears were gone, for now, leaving behind deep sorrow.

Unable to stop himself, he brushed his fingers across her face, needing to comfort her but helpless to know how. She closed her eyes, leaning into the touch, accepting it with silent gratitude.

"I'm going to get you out of the West Isles," he said.

She blinked, those mesmerizing chocolate eyes staring at him with utter faith.

"How?"

Wilder laid out how she'd be disguised and how he'd use the money to find a way out. Nodding, Lydia pushed herself up.