A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 19 - "It was our mistake."

Wilder

"Lydia!"

Wilder bolted awake, slicing the air with his dagger, his heart slamming against his rib cage, his breathing coming fast. He blinked, trying to make sense of the world around him as the image of Lydia being dragged off - by the men he'd killed - fizzled from his mind. Shaky and sweaty, he lowered the knife and looked around. He lay on an elegant settee in a lavish sitting room. Arched windows allowed morning light to spill inside.

Wilder staggered to his feet and moved to the bedroom door across the way. Cracking it open, he peered in. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior but once they did, he saw Lydia peacefully sleeping in the bed. He released a steadying breath and eased the door closed.

Safe. She was safe. He relaxed his death grip on the dagger's handle, willing his heart to calm down. When it still beat frantically, Wilder entered the suite's washroom. He set the knife down and filled the basin, splashing his face, letting the cool water trickle down his neck. He met the gaze of his reflection and realized he didn't know the man staring back at him.

A day's worth of scruff marred his jaw, his eyes were hooded and tired. He bore a new scar along his neck, one he couldn't even remember getting. He stared down at his hands, then to his fingers, wrapped around the edge of the basin, to the dagger. Neither his hands nor the dagger looked dangerous resting there. But they were.

The shame of all the death and destruction he could cause weighed on him. He lifted his head. His father's eyes looked back at him. He'd never known what it was about his father's eyes that made them seem different, even though they shared the same hazel color, but now he knew. Killing changed a man.

Not for the first time and Wilder knew not for the last, he wished his father were here. Wished he could ask him how he handled the burden of death.

But he wasn't.

Wilder was alone with his struggle.

Straightening his shoulders, he took in a deep breath, burying his emotions. He dried his face and neck, then returned to the sitting room. He sheathed his dagger, strapped his sword around his waist, and tugged on his boots.

At the doors to the sitting door, he peeked out, wondering how many in the palace were awake. Two guards stationed on either side of the door nodded greeting to Wilder. They were in their forties and Wilder appreciated the King's choice in men. Age meant they'd served long, strengthening their loyalty to the crown.

As Wilder stepped out of the room, he glanced across the hall. Through a set of open double doors ran a balcony and at the railing, leaning on his cane, stood Zavier. Wilder joined the Prince, surveying the palace grounds but most of all the high wall surrounding it, the guard towers, and the guards that patrolled the battlement.

The sight reassured Wilder, still he faced away from it all to watch the door to Lydia's sitting room. The one entrance to the suite.

Zavier didn't look at Wilder or speak, he kept his focus towards the city, the sea. Further along the balcony, Wilder spotted an open set of doors and figured that must be Zavier's rooms.

"Your Highness," Wilder said. Zavier closed his eyes longer than a second and Wilder corrected himself. "Zavier."

The Prince turned his head towards Wilder. He seemed weary. Wilder wondered if the feeling came from more than the wound he had.

"I wanted to express my gratitude," Wilder said, moving his attention back to the doorway. "You have shown Princess Lydia kindness when she's needed it the most."