Page 182 of In Violent Waves

“Word traveled quickly, I see,” Wilder responded.

“A missive arrived early this morning from the High King. Queen Titania is pleased to welcome Princess Lyra.”

His eyes shifted to Lyra, and she didn’t squirm under his gaze like she did under Wilder’s. For all the beauty this male possessed—it was empty.

Wilder nodded, and the guard hopped back in the saddle.

“Was there trouble on the way? We expected you sooner.”

Again, Wilder nodded. “Wulvers.”

The guard brightened with the news. “I’m sure that would be no trouble for a Prince of your skill. How did you kill them?”

“It was Lyra who killed the alpha.”

The guard turned to gape at her. “How?”

Lyra gave him a bored look. “He made me angry.”

Maelys and Ridge chuckled at the horrified expressions from several of the guards. But not Wilder. He gazed at her with something akin to pride.

They traveled silently to the castle. It differed greatly from the Wilds. There was no sprawling city to travel through before you reached the entrance.

From Lyra’s vantage point, she had no idea where the elves of the Mannereds made their homes, but what she couldn’t see was the city behind the castle and the cottage-style homes along the cliffs. Cliffs that stood like stewards against the sea. She had read about it long ago, but never dreamed she would one day see it.

It was a jagged line that marked the land from the sea. An ancient game of tug-of-war that would know no victor in the end. Lyra thought she heard the faint crashing of waves against the stone, like the ocean was knocking for entry.

“The queen waits in her throne room.”

Wilder nodded as they crossed through the pearly gates. This close to the sea, Lyra noticed that the details of the castle reflected its relation to the water.

With a deep inhale, she relished the salty air. So close—she was so close to the water, and her blood hummed.

“Can you taste the salt in the air?” Otto asked.

“I can,” she whispered. “It tastes like home.”

Trumpets sounded their arrival, and Lyra raised her chin. The clatter of hooves and the creaking of the wheels against the smooth stone ground fell away. It was polished to a near-mirror shine. Everything was pristine, perfect, almost. It was overwhelming.

Large oak doors carved with filigree and wisteria blooms opened, and a short stairway rose ahead as light speared through the doorway like a shot arrow.

The carriage halted, and as the others dismounted, the guards led their horses away. Wilder opened the carriage door and offered her a hand.

A vice tightened around her chest.

“Legs?” Wilder asked, his brow furrowing.

She placed her hand in his, and he gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Nervous?”

“No,” she snapped, raising her chin to look down her nose at him.

“Are you cold then?”

“What’s with all the questions?”

He leaned closer so that only she could hear. “Your hand is trembling.”