Page 102 of In Violent Waves

“We’re going to be doing things a bit differently than Wilder does them since I’m in charge now.” Maelys’ voice interrupted Lyra’s thoughts of elvish suitors.

“That’s fine,” she answered in a distracted tone.

Maelys bumped Lyra with a shoulder. “You didn’t even bother to ask how it would be different before you agreed.”

Lyra glanced sidelong at her. “Well, unless you plan to string me up by my toes or run me naked through the streets—nothing could have been worse than training with Wilder.”

Maelys laughed louder, and a smile tugged Lyra’s lips up at the corners.

“You got me there. I wouldn’t say it will be worse. Maybe equally horrible, but in an entirely new way.”

Lyra huffed. She had a feeling Maelys was going to be creative with her torture disguised as training.

Fine, that was just fine.

Wilder felt like his head had just hit the pillow when he flinched awake. He didn’t know what had startled him, but the dryness in his mouth was unbearable. He had needed the release. Even through the irritation that had arisen thanks to his father, he couldn’t ignore the sexual frustration that had consumed him after seeing her in that godsforsaken dress. If he thought the tight pants were torture, that was murder through and through.

He squeezed his eyes closed as his room tilted and spun. A pounding behind his eyes had him sitting up and pressing a palm to his temple. He didn’t remember making it to bed.

Sighing to himself, he threw his legs over the side. He was still dressed in his dinner attire. The floor was frigid against his bare feet. Well, at least he had pulled his boots off by himself.

Stumbling to the bathing room, he rinsed his mouth out with water and stripped down. The smell of the females clung to him and made his stomach roil—or was that the liquor?

He had a quick bath to get rid of the scent and clear his head. The sun was coming through the windows at a slant. Which meant Lyra would be at training already. He rubbed his eyes with his hands.

Flickers from last night swirled through his mind. Wilder had told his father he had quit and would not be training her anymore.

He groaned. Well, at least that meant he would see her less and less.

But who would be in charge of her training now, and would they measure up to the task at hand?

Wilder tilted his head back and hissed when the cold of the marble pressed against his neck. The arched ceiling rose into the shape of a glass star that had light pouring down onto his face.

Lyra had a momentous task in front of her, and Wilder was the best there was. If he gave up on her, she would fail, and it would be his fault. He drummed his long fingers against the rim of the marble tub before huffing.

He focused on the water that rippled with each drum and the warmth that eased his headache. What if something bad happened?

Lyra wasn’t ready to use her magic. She could get hurt. He had to see her training for himself before he decided what his future held.

The ancient stone was smooth against his feet as he padded out of the bathing chamber and into his room. With the black velvet curtains still drawn, his room was cast in utter darkness,but he could move blindly around without knocking into the chaise by the windows or the posts of his iron bed.

He pulled open the doors to his armoire and rummaged around for his white linen tunic and brown leather pants. Donning both, he brushed the tangles of his dark hair back, attempting to hide his briars as best he could. His head pounded behind closed eyes as he struggled to pull his boots on.

Wilder set off for the training grounds at a forced leisurely pace. But it was empty when he stalked down the path and through the stone archway. He whirled in a circle, thinking maybe his inebriated state was playing tricks on him.

No one was here.

They had been, and recently by the smell of it. The scent didn’t lead back towards the castle, however, but into the thicket near the grounds.

Wilder followed Lyra’s scent, and it made his chest ache. No other female had come close to her last night, and that was a problem—an enormous one. He followed the trodden path through birch and rowan trees as a light breeze ruffled the leaves and his hair. He heard them before he saw them.

Maelys was singing loudly and off-key, followed by Otto’s deep baritone. The stomping on the ground, he figured, was from Ridge. He didn’t hear a sound coming from Lyra. And Cedric, Oak, Dust, and Oron weren’t here at all.

He scaled a large ash tree. Its wide branches were sturdy enough to hold him, and the foliage concealed him. He was also downwind, so none of the others below could scent him.

“Alright, Lyra. I want you to close your eyes and listen,” Maelys ordered.

Wilder was disgruntled when Lyra obeyed without argument.