Page 181 of In Violent Waves

Lyra traced her finger down the trunk of the nearest tree. The roots of this tree reached the roots of the next and the next, an underground network that sprawled across the entire realm.

“I need your help,” she whispered to the tree. “If you’re listening and grant wishes, I need all the luck a girl could get.” Lyra closed her eyes and pressed her brow against the bark. Tiny white petals floated down from its branches and gathered on her hair and eyelashes. She fluttered her eyelashes and wrapped her arms as wide as she could around the tree. “Give me strength. I do not want to fail.”

Lyra stepped away from the tree and headed back to the carriage, throwing one last look over her shoulder. She could have sworn she saw the tree lean towards the one beside it.

“Is everything well?” Maelys asked, walking towards Lyra and pulling her horse behind her. It whinnied and stomped when Maelys stopped.

“As well as it could be,” Lyra muttered.

Maelys reached out, gripping Lyra’s fingers. “We’re all here for you.”

“Thank you.”

Lyra clambered into the back of the carriage. The enchantment pulled it along behind Wilder. Maelys and Ridge flanked either side, and Dust, Oak, and Otto brought up the rear. Lyra watched as the orderly groves turned into orderly bushes resembling a large hedgerow on either side.

The bushes gave way to circular patches of flowers. Circles are not natural in nature. And perfect ones were a strange sight to behold.

Hanging out of the side of the carriage, Lyra watched as Wilder unstrapped his sword from his waist and attached it to the saddlebag before digging around in it and pulling out a cape of emerald green. Throwing it over his shoulders, she watched as the sun refracted off the fabric, casting rainbows all around him.

He was a visiting royal, and now he looked the part. As if he could feel her watching, he turned to look at her.

His gaze lingered, and she felt the heat bloom high on her cheekbones.

“I’m not allowed weapons. It’s part of the treaty,” he murmured.

She didn’t listen to his words; it felt intimate—that stare, like he could see every part of her as clearly as if he had crawled between her legs again.

Free from his gaze, she took a deep breath and stared out at the castle that loomed on the horizon. It was like something out of an ancient fable. Towering battlements, gothic windows, and clumps of dangling purple flowers.

Wisteria—that was the vine that wound up the watch towers.

She could smell the floral fragrance from here. It was lovely as it floated towards them on a gentle breeze. Wilder raised a single hand in front of him, and only then did she realize he was controlling the wind.

“That’s my favorite part,” Maelys said beside her. “The fragrance. It’s inviting, isn’t it?”

“Mhm,” Lyra replied.

“Keep your wits about you here. The elves of the Mannereds are a different sort.”

“How so?”

The clomping of hooves reached her ears, and she saw a group of five horses with glittering riders heading towards them.

“You’re about to find out.”

The troop of riders reached them, and Wilder halted their procession. Lyra couldn’t help but stare.

Stunning. Every single rider looked as if they were hewn from granite. Strong, chiseled, and extremely attractive. There weren’t any flaws to behold among the five of them.

Three had hair the color of spun gold, one the richest chestnut, and the last had hair that shimmered like a blackbird’s wings. Each of their eyes gleamed with keen intelligence, but more than that, they resembled jewels. Sapphire, emerald, and amber.

It was unnatural, that beauty. Bows of ash wood were strapped to their backs, and silver pommels of swords rested on their sides. Their uniforms were white as the puffy clouds overhead. The insignia of a thistle was embroidered on their chests.

These weren’t just any guards, but the Queen’s guards.

The black-haired elf slid off his mount and into a quick bow as he noticed Wilder’s briar crown. His skin rivaled the night sky, and Lyra was enraptured by his beauty.

“We’re here to escort you, Your Highness.” The rich timbre of his voice rumbled as the clopping of the hooves had.