Lydia

Lydia hurried down the corridor, the layers of her silken gown fluttering around her. She knew she was late. She also knew the faces her siblings would give her for being late. Corwin: disproval. Reen: amusement. Vienna: resignation.

By the time Lydia saw them all standing together outside the ballroom doors, she started talking.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm late and it isn't how a princess should act."

Vienna faced Lydia and Lydia froze in her tracks. Vienna smiled, a sad smile, blood running down the side of her face, sticking to her artfully arranged hair.

"Do you think you will ever understand what it means to be a princess?" Vienna said.

Lydia couldn't speak, the breath in her lungs turning to jagged shards of ice. Reen draped an arm around Vienna's shoulders, grinning his boyish grin.

"Relax," Reen said. "Lydia won't let us down."

At the sight of the knife jutting out from Reen's chest, Lydia started to shake.

"Of course she will," Corwin said. "She fails time and time again to understand the responsibility it takes to be a royal."

Corwin leveled her with a stern look. But Lydia couldn't see it, all she could see was the blood spilling from the wound in his side. Both her parents joined their children, her father's neck dripping with blood and her mother bleeding from the chest, offering Lydia kind smiles. Bile rose in Lydia's throat, accompanied by a terrified scream. But it never escaped, it remained trapped.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm so sorry."

Wearing a puzzled frown, Vienna reached for Lydia's arm.

"Lydia," she said. "You're missing something." She gripped Lydia's arm and Lydia tried to pull herself from Vienna's grasp. "Where is your wound?"

Lydia struggled, but Reen clutched her other arm. They wouldn't let her go, they held on so strongly Lydia could feel the bruises forming.

"I don't know," Lydia cried. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Lydia."

They all called her name, the sound melding into one voice.

"Lydia."

Her name pierced her like an accusation. She lived. She had lived.

"Lydia!"

"I'm sorry," she cried.

"Ly! Wake up!"

Lydia gasped awake. Wilder stood above her, holding her arms, his eyes filled with worry.

"You were crying out," he said.

She shook, reality cutting her as viciously as the nightmare. Hesitantly, Wilder sat on the edge of the bed. He touched her cheek where it was damp. The soft caress sent more tears spilling over.

"It was only a nightmare," he said.

But it wasn't. It was real. The wounds were real. Their accusations real. She'd let them down.

When Wilder pulled his arms away, Lydia went with them, needing their safety. She curled into him, pressing her face into his shoulder and clinging to him. After a heartbeat, he wrapped his arms around her. She stained his shirt with her tears, while he whispered soothingly to her.

"It will be okay, Ly," he said.

She wished with all her heart that it would but she was too aware of the unknown room, the sway of the ship, the scent of the sea. Everything that told her she was running away. That the world she knew was no longer real. That she'd left her family behind.

Eventually, Lydia drained herself of tears. All that remained was an aching heart and a throbbing head. Wilder slid back, resting against the wall, still holding her. She never wanted to move, never wanted to leave the protection of his arms.

Growing up along side him there had been so many times she'd wanted to be held by him, but now it was a more than a want, it was a need. Without him, she feared she'd crumble into a millions pieces. Each time she began to break, he kept all her cracked pieces together.

"They're really gone," she whispered.

Wilder tightened his hold. "Yes."

She hid her face in his shirt again, wanting to escape the world.

"Wilder."

"Yeah, Ly?"

"Please don't leave me."

He dropped his cheek onto her hair and let out a low breath.

"I won't."

She took his words and pressed them into her heart.

Lydia might have drifted off, she wasn't sure. But when she lifted her head, she noticed how the light had changed in the room. The shadows no longer stretched across the floor, driven by the rising sun.

"Are you hungry?" Wilder asked.

Lydia shook her head. She didn't think she would ever be hungry again. She felt hollow inside and knew no amount of food would change that.

"I need you to eat, Ly," Wilder said. "For me."

After a beat, she gave in. She stood, though her legs felt unsteady beneath her. Wilder put a supportive hand on her arm, keeping her from dropping back to the bed. When she could stand on her own, Wilder let go in order to strap his sword to his waist.

It was then Lydia registered the blankets on the floor next to her bed. Even while she slept, he stayed close by. It comforted her. Wilder led her out of the cabin and down a narrow passageway. Lydia kept one hand on Wilder's arm the movement of the ship feeling more pronounced than before. Voices and vibrant chatter rose in volume as they neared the dining room.

No one noticed them right away when they stepped inside. The sailors were laughing. Though Zavier sat with them, he didn't laugh but he still remained part of the group. Alwyn sat with her brother, talking low. Cyrus noticed Lydia and Wilder first. He rose and the room fell quiet.

"Good morning, Your Highness," Cyrus said.

Lydia wanted to tell him to not call her that. Wanted everyone to ignore her. In their eyes she saw pity and concern. Two things she didn't deserve.

Simon darted into the tiny kitchen and returned with a steam bowl of porridge.

"Here you are, Your Highness," he said.

He set it on the table and the sailors all made room for her. She accepted his gift because it felt cruel to say she didn't want it. She could imagine how she looked to warrant such kindness, her hair a mess and her eyes red from crying. As she sat, she gazed at all of them. Only Alwyn didn't display the same tender sympathy as the others. She didn't even look at Lydia. Somehow she was grateful for this.

"Please," Lydia said. "Don't let me interrupt you."

Slowly, the sailors found their conversation again, but they didn't return to the boisterousness of before. Wilder sat beside Lydia with his own bowl, nudging her to eat. She did so mechanically. The heat of the food warmed her inside, but had no effect on the numbness she felt in her limbs.

"Wilder," Fynn said.

Lydia looked at him, but had to drop her eyes. He shared the same ebony Seau skin tone as her mother, and instantly she saw the way her mother's blood spread across her dress and down her arm. She closed her eyes and took a breathe, willing the image away.

"Last night," Fynn continued. "You managed to scare away an army of fighters with a few arrows, how did you know your plan would work?"

Beside her, Lydia sensed Wilder tensing. His discomfort drew her from herself and her memories.

"My father was Commander of the Royal Guard," Wilder said.

The simple word 'was' struck Lydia in the chest and she felt the shame of not realizing Wilder grieved as well as her. Underneath the table, she found his hand and squeezed it, wanting him to know she was sorry. He didn't look at her, but he returned the gesture.

"He taught me military strategy with the hopes that one day I would succeed him." Wilder swallowed hard and Lydia wanted to hug him, to give him the comfort he'd given her. But she saw the stiffness in his posture and knew he didn't want her comfort, not then and not there.

"In battle soldiers understand death, but they all believe that they will be the one to survive. If they didn't no soldier would ever freely walk into battle. By killing the captain..." Lydia noticed Wilder clench his jaw. "I showed them that if the one they believe the strongest could die so quickly, they could as well. If you take away a soldier's courage, you've taken away his will to fight."

The sailors all nodded to each other, impressed.

"Do you still plan to train us?" Bates asked. His white blonde hair, winter blue eyes and pale complexion marked his as Talvin.

"Yes," Wilder said. "When they come for us again, they will have shields. Everyone of you need to be ready."

"When do we start?" Mick asked eagerly. His red Hendrain hair made him look like a candle flame.

"Now," Wilder said. "Get your swords and gather on the deck."

The sailors dispersed quickly, rushing to get their weapons.

"I could use your assistance," Wilder said to Joric. "If you're willing to give it."

Joric agreed and he left with Zavier. Left behind were Cyrus and Alwyn, who were in a whispered argument. Finally, Alwyn stood.

"I know how to handle myself," she said. "I don't need your training."

Wilder locked gazes with Alwyn. Alwyn stared back with a challenging tilt to her chin and determined eyes.

"Beat me in a fight and I'll know you can," Wilder said.

"Fine by me."

Alwyn swept out of the room, leaving Cyrus shaking his head at his sister.

"I would prepare yourself," he said, rising from his seat. "She doesn't like losing and rarely does."

The trio climbed the stairs to the deck and Lydia paused, wanting to soak in the warmth of the sun, wanting it to rid her of the coldness clinging to her bones. The light glistened on the water, turning it into a sapphire. Wind raced around her, the ship slicing through the water at a startling pace. Feeling unsteady with the speed, Lydia moved to a barrel beside the railing and took hold of it.

"Sparrow," Alwyn said, appearing with her sword strapped to her hip. "Take us out of the Current."

Sparrow spun the wheel and a moment later the ship settled into a smoother rhythm, pushed only by the wind. Lydia looked from the helm to the sails to the water.

"It's one of the sea Currents," Zavier said, answering her unspoken question. "Alwyn's family is the last to know their locations."

Lydia had heard stories about hidden Currents in the ocean, powerful enough to take a ship from one side of the world to the other in a matter of weeks. It had been one of the things she'd hoped to discover for herself when she traveled. Now, in a strange way she had. She only wished she cared enough to know more. But she didn't.

The sailors all took places around the deck as Alwyn and Wilder faced each other. When Wilder unsheathed his sword, Lydia couldn't deny the grace with which he handled it. It was part of him.

The sand collapsed beneath Lydia as she darted away from the palace. The uneven terrain was second nature to her and she moved as fast as her seven year old legs could carry her. Behind her lay endless lessons and a stuffy room and a window which had given her a view of the training ground.

Half the morning she spent ignoring her tutor and watching the soldiers train. Only when she'd spotted a small boy did she lose her last bit of patience. When the tutor was focused on the board, Lydia snuck away.

As she approached the training ground, she slowed, creeping along the edges to avoid the men. She paused on the outskirts, watching Wilder. He ran through a sequence of jabs and parries, his face calm, controlled. At eight, he handled himself with as much confidence as the soldiers around him. In her mind, Lydia thought the way he moved was beautiful.

Taking a step forward, she spoke. "Who are you fighting?"

Wilder turned around. In a second, the focused soldier of before vanished, replaced by a devious boy.

"You, if you're brave enough?"

The memory faded as Alwyn drew her sword. She was lithe and with stands of blonde hair blowing around her face looked a little like a creature escaped from the sea. She held a strength in her stance that Lydia wished she had. The last two days it felt like a struggle to stand on her own two feet and not break underneath the weight of grief.

Without warning, Alwyn swung at Wilder. He blocked the blow, not at all shocked, his expression controlled. When he came at her, she parried his attack and kicked at his side. Wilder easily batted away her leg and thrust at her side, which she barely managed to escape.

Back and forth they attacked each other, steel biting against steel. With each passing attack, Alwyn grew more frustrated while Wilder retained his calm. His lack of emotion seemed to irritate her as much as his ability to counteract her every strike.

As they moved to the far side of the deck, Lydia glanced at Zavier.

"How do you know Alwyn, Your Highness?" she asked.

When Zavier flinched at the title, Lydia blinked, surprised. The reaction felt familiar.

Zavier crossed his arms and leaned against the railing. The breeze tousled his brown curls.

"Her father is the reason my parents are together," he said.

The statement stirred Lydia's curiosity.

"I find it hard to believe a pirate could bring about a royal marriage."

A flicker of a smile passed over Zavier's face.

"Her father is a Duke, her mother is the pirate."

"Truly?"

Zavier nodded, never taking his eyes off the fighting pair.

"He gave up his title to marry her."

There was a wistful desire in his voice that put everything in a new light for Lydia. She watched him as he watched Alwyn, his gaze intensely focused on Alwyn every move.

"I can't imagine what that must be like," Lydia said, turning her gaze unto Wilder.

"Neither can I, Princess."

Neither of them said anything more, both of them staring at the pair, but neither of them staring at the same person.

The fight ended when Wilder knocked Alwyn's sword from her grasp and put his blade a hair's width away from her neck. Both of them breathed heavily, though Alwyn glared at Wilder while he remained coldly detached.

"You will train with everyone else," he said, backing away.

Alwyn clenched her fists and Lydia could see the fight still burning in her from here. She wondered if Alwyn would lash out at Wilder.

"If you plan for all of us to train, how will Sparrow train as well?" Alwyn said.

The question felt a bit abrupt, but Sparrow laughed.

"You can't escape training, Alwyn. And I don't need it."

Alwyn planted her hands on her hips, defiant. "I told Wilder the same thing and he said if I beat him I didn't have to train. I think the same thing should apply to you."

Sparrow shrugged. "Man the wheel and I'll show you."

The exchange confused Lydia, as well as the relationship.

"How are they connected?" Lydia asked Zavier as Alwyn took control of the wheel and Sparrow faced Wilder.

"Sparrow was part of her parent's crew. When Cyrus and Alwyn were given a ship, Sparrow agreed to travel with them as they adjusted to commanding their own crew."

"Oh."

Sparrow borrowed one of the sailor's sword. "This will be quick."

Sparrow and Wilder equalled each other in height, but the way Sparrow held himself said he'd fought hundreds of fights and come out alive.

As Sparrow struck out at Wilder, Wilder deflected the blow. But in the blink of an eye, Sparrow closed the gap between them, whipping out a dagger. Wilder only barely managed to grab his own and raise it, blocking Sparrow's lightning attack. The two men regarded each other.

"It seems you don't need to train," Wilder said.

Sparrow smiled and replace his dagger. He handed the sword off and returned to the helm. Good-naturedly, he shooed Alwyn away.

"I believe you have training," Sparrow said.

Alwyn glowered at him before joining the rest of the crew, who stood before Wilder.

"Will you train, Princess?" Zavier asked.

Lydia didn't meet his eyes, knowing he must be thinking of the previous night, of how she'd gripped the back of his shirt. At the sight of so many men there to kill her she'd needed something to hold onto, fearing she would fall under the intensity dozens of angry eyes.

"Here," Zavier said. "You can use my sword."

When he held it out to her, Lydia felt her throat constrict and her body seize up at the idea of holding it. Her nightmare remained all to fresh in her mind. She saw blades cutting through the skin, muscle, and marrow of her family. She saw the blood seeping out. She heard the choked cries as they breathed their last breath.

And suddenly she was the one who could no longer breathe. She swayed, lightheaded. Zavier caught her, before she fell. Carefully, he helped her sit down.

"I am sorry, Princess," he said.

Zavier disappeared from in front of her, replaced by Wilder who knelt before her.

"Ly, look at me." He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Just breathe."

She swallowed hard but did as he said. She breathed in and out, burying the memories, the horror, willing herself to stay there, on the ship. She focused on Wilder's hazel eyes, the ones tinged with brown on the edges. She focused on his callused hands warm against her cheek. She focused on him, letting him be her anchor.

"You're okay," he said. "You're going to be okay."

Lydia nodded, but it was only for his sake. She didn't believe she would ever be okay again.

**********************************************************************

"You broke my smolder."

(Well I didn't break your smolder but maybe a piece of her heart, an itty bitty one)

So yeah...share you thoughts, tears, fears, nears...fars...where you ares... Or you know just what you thought about the chapter. 👑🛡⚔️

Again, this chapter didn't go as planned and guess what 'WHY WON'T MY CHARACTERS DO AS I SAY!'

You want to know how this chapter was supposed to go, Lydia was supposed to find her gumption again! Her spirit but NO!!! She had to go and freak out on me! Jeez the emotional damage of my characters is killing me!

Anywho...question for you: Song that describes your current mood?

Reader question from Clumsy_weirdo_353: Why don't you ever put your name on your book covers? (Weird question, I know. But it's the first thing that came to mind)

Skrywer antwoord (Afrikaans): Because it looks cluttered and I really like my book covers to look clean and neat. Also I would want to put my real name and not my username and no one knows my read name so out would be pointless.

(Except for those of you who have bought A Secret Service and knew my full name)

Vote, comment, follow and hope that this depressingness gets better.