Page 51 of In Rising Tides

Fire burned in his eyes as he looked upon the man who had given him life.

The High King showed no surprise on his melancholy face. His crown of antlers tipped in greeting, but his eyes were lifeless.

“Where is Lyra?” Queen Aine asked again, her voice rising.

“Baelwyn!” King Oberon boomed a greeting, ignoring his wife’s questions. “We weren’t expecting a formal visit from the Mannereds.”

Baelwyn bowed. “High King,” he muttered, before turning to the left and bowing to someone Wilder had yet to notice. “Warick.”

Wilder ground his teeth, not taking his eyes off King Oberon. “Tell her.”

“Tell mewhat?” his mother volleyed, her head between her son and husband.

King Oberon sighed and pursed his lips as he gazed down at Wilder, not deigning to meet his wife’s eyes.

“What did you do?” Queen Aine asked, her eyes narrowing on her husband’s pursed lips.

“What was necessary,” King Oberon snapped.

“Necessary?” she asked, leaping from her chair in a graceful flourish. “What did you deem necessary?”

King Oberon glared at Wilder. “He needed motivation.” Oberon gestured at his son. “A common enemy.”

The air went razor-thin, and Queen Aine’s chest heaved. “You kidnapped a princess of the sea,” Aine said, disbelief sharpening her words, “to bring our son under your thumb?”

Murmurings swelled in the throne room, and with it the sharpness of irritation.

King Oberon inclined his head. “I corrected his course.”

“You call my kidnapping and torture a course correction?” Wilder asked, bewildered. “Is that because it had worked so well the first time you sought to deploy that tactic again?”

The throne room fell silent once more, but there was a rising scent in the air.

Wilder could smell the bloodlust like the tang of a poisonous plant.

But there was something subtle under that tangy current, something salty—sorrow.

Oberon’s eyes flashed with the promise of violence if Wilder continued.

“Nephew,” Warick’s voice was sharp. “Be careful about throwing around such accusations.”

“It’s not an accusation. King Oberon had me kidnapped and tortured by wulvers. Then he made a deal with a merman tokidnap a princess of Atlantis. And I want to knowwhy. Surely it wasn’t only to bring me under your thumb?”

Aine staggered down a few steps, placing herself between Wilder and the High King.

“You broke him,” her voice was bitter, and her shoulders stiff.

“I shaped him,” Oberon replied. “As kings must.”

The High King gestured to a still-standing Wilder.

“That is treasonous,” Warick said loud enough for the entire throne room to hear.

Voices swelled in protest, as did the slamming of palms upon tables. Wilder cut his eyes to his uncle.

Warick stood, feet braced apart, a devious smirk quirking full lips.

Wilder favored his father’s brother more than his father. Warick’s hair was as dark as night, his eyes a few shades lighter than Wilder’s blue ones. They even dressed similarly in shades of black.