Page 81 of In Rising Tides

There were too many faces of delight.

A singular face in the crowd mirrored Lyra’s fury.

Nerida stared with enough anger that the room felt warmer. Her sister didn’t even try to hide the rage burning in her eyes.

Aegir raised his hands. “Congregation,” his voice like silk despite the violence he had just ordered. “It goes without saying that we have all been blessed with Princess Lyra’s reappearance in our realm. Our great and mighty future King has rescued her from the clutches of our enemies.” He waved a fist in front of him. “I know rumors spread swiftly in these waters, but we must not condemn our princess the same as we have Sienna. Through the power of worship, we will return her to her rightful place.”

Although his words were said with fervor, they hit her ears like a threat.

“I will remind you all that if you see anyone behaving in a way that would displease Ennosidas, report it at once. And I mean anyone.”

Lyra didn’t miss him glancing over his shoulder at her.

“That concludes our high tide service. I leave you with these parting words: In rising tides is where Ennosidas’ love abides.”

A silent sob followed his words.

Sienna pressed her lips together in a line to keep any more cries from spilling out. She wasn’t dead, just gravely injured.

The acolyte who had whipped her placed shackles back on her wrists and dragged her from the dais.

Aegir floated behind them.

The crowd murmured, their voices swelling, as Drystan tugged Lyra off the dais and out of the room.

“Aegir wishes to make a mockery of you,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “So I will show him who truly rules this kingdom.”

Lyra looked behind them at the crowd that was slowly dispersing and found too many watching them leave.

Apounding beat behind his eyes—again. Nausea churned like a tempestuous sea in his gut.

The acid burning up his throat elicited a gagging cough. The sound was smothered by the rough fabric that covered his head and eyes.

Light flickered behind it. Large hands gripped underneath his arms, holding him upright as his body was still boneless.

Hard, cold stone pressed into his knees. Every movement felt sluggish and heavy.

A loud snap pierced the hood before it was ripped off his head.

The air was cool and soothing against his clammy, dirt-streaked face.

But the light was painful.

Wilder screwed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply through his nose.

“Wilder Vale.” The High King’s voice was a steel blade. “You are being accused of conspiracy to assassinate the High King.”

Wilder scanned his surroundings.

This room was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. The evening light that poured through the gabled windows was a rosy gold, so it appeared they were on the west side of the castle.

A multitude of nobles lined the walls of the ample-sized room.

Their glittering jewels gleamed as they fluttered their fine capes and gowns. The fabric was thick with exquisite embroidery that detailed the flora and fauna of their kingdom.

Such a stark contrast to what Wilder knelt in.

Dirty and withered travel clothes, as if he weren’t the crowned prince.