Lydia

Lydia raised her wine glass to her lips but found she couldn't drink. She sat beside Zavier at a table designed for an intimate family dinner. And that was what was taking place. Quinn threw a verbal jab at Nolan who delivered a cutting quip back. Zavier hid his mouth behind his fist, trying not to laugh. Gigi and Thayer exchange amused glances. The warmth and easiness of the family wrapped around Lydia, trying to bring her into the folds.

But she felt like she was slowly being choked.

After four days, she'd adjusted to Wilder's absence, stopping herself from glancing around for him. But with that struggle overcome came others. Gowns, servants, manners.

She no longer could run around barefoot and in trousers. The servants here treated her with respect due to her station. Not with the amusement her family's servants had given her when she raced by them, their beloved Princess doing one more wild thing. She had to behave herself every second of the day.

All of that she knew she could handle, what she hadn't expected was the pain of being with a family who was whole. They laughed, jested, argued, reconciled with each other. Lydia watched all of this feeling as if one word were inked into her skin: orphan.

Quinn laughed and something about the lightness of it reminded Lydia of Reen's laugh. She swallowed but her throat wouldn't move, invisible hands squeezing tighter. She'd never hear her brother's laugh again.

With more control than she thought she possessed, she rose to her feet causing the room to fall silent. Quickly all the men stood.

"Please excuse me," Lydia said.

"Lydia dear, are you all right?" Gigi asked.

Lydia met her eyes, soft motherly eyes with so much concern. But they weren't her mother's eyes. Her mother's eyes were staring up at the ballroom ceiling unblinking.

The vice around her neck tightened.

"I'm sorry," Lydia said.

She moved to the exit and two servants opened the doors for her. As the doors closed behind her, she lost her composure and rushed down one hallway but stopped, spinning once.

Why was this palace all walls? Where were the archways filled with gauzy curtains always fluttering with a breeze? A breeze that smelled of the citrus trees, the sea, and the sand. She found breathing harder and harder.

She needed to find some way to escape before servants found her and talked to her with respectful concern. Escape. Her father had escaped from time to time. He'd find her, they'd take horses and race away from the palace. The stables.

After inquiring with a passing servant, Lydia cut her way through the palace corridors to the stables. When she stepped into the high ceiling space that smelled of horse and hay, she sucked in a breath.

But it didn't work. The scent no longer soothed her. She remembered too clearly running away from the ballroom, her hand in Wilder's. Remembered throwing up in the stall, sick from the stench of blood. There had been so much blood.

Lydia pressed her hand against a stall wall, willing herself to remain upright. She tried to force the horror away, tried to bury it so deep that she could never find it again. She closed her eyes.

Strong. She needed to be strong. She couldn't let them see her so broken. She needed this alliance. The Kingdom needed this alliance. What would this royal family think of her if she couldn't survive a single meal without fleeing?

Lydia kept breathing but it came in short, shallow gasps. She wanted to go home. But her home was her family. And they were all gone.

She clung to the stall post. She thought she'd accepted this, thought she was stronger than her grief. But it felt like a splinter wedging deeper and deeper into her heart.

She didn't hear him approach her, only registered that he stood before her when he held her arms.

"Princess, just breathe," Zavier said, soothingly. "Look at me."

Lydia opened her eyes, locking them with Zavier's dark ones. Something about his words brought Wilder's voice to mind.

"You are okay," Zavier said. "You are going to be okay."

Wilder's words but coming from Zavier's mouth. Wilder, who had left her. Left her alone in a palace that was made of cold marble instead of warm sandstone.

"I need to breathe," Lydia managed to say.

Zavier nodded, seeming to understand that she was referring to something more than his instructions.

"Vic!" Zavier called out.

The patter of footsteps then a man in his mid-forties with brown hair appeared. Beside him was a man in his late twenties. The second man could only have been Vic's son, their likeness too apparent.

"Vic, I need two of your cloaks," Zavier said, still holding Lydia's gaze like she might disappear. "And Markus, find Joric and tell him I am leaving the palace grounds heading to the usual place. If he hurries he can catch up."

The two men split ways.

"Just breathe," Zavier repeated.

Vic raced back to them, holding out two cloaks. One had a more feminine sheen to it.

"Margo left this the other day," Vic said. "I believe it will fit the Princess."

Zavier accepted the cloak and draped it around Lydia's shoulders before taking the second and donning it. He then took Lydia's hand and guided her down a lane of the stables to a side door. She gripped his hand, needing comfort, needing something outside herself. 

Evening air rushed at them as they slipped out. Though it had felt like summer in the West Isles, here the temperature was still cool.

As they walked, Lydia tried to let the chill breeze blow away her pain but it didn't seem to work. All around her was unfamiliarity. The faces here were paler and sharper. The clothes were stiffer and more lavish in design. At least that aspect meant neither Zavier's or Lydia's apparel stood out. But where her clothes fit in, her darker skin stood out. She gripped Zavier's hand, needing something solid.

Zavier directed her through rigidly straight streets. In the West Isles, the streets curved like flowing water. Houses and stores took up the space, the only color from window displays. The only nature, the flowers that poked out of boxes attached to windows. Where were the trees that shared room with open vendor stalls?

Zavier escorted her down a side street that dropped them into an expansive park. Lydia had to stop. The leaves of the trees were brilliant colors: cobalt, magenta, emerald, violet, lemon. Colors she knew. Colors from home.

Lydia breathed deeply and it was like she could finally breathe for the first time in a long time. The tightness in her throat released and she wanted to cry with the relief of it.

These trees were from the West Isles. The tang of citrus was unmistakable. Lydia let go of Zavier's hand and drifted into the park. She stopped at the first tree, touching the smooth bark and lifting her eyes into the bright canopy above. A piece of home. 

"My grandmother," Zavier said, joining her. "Built parks all over the city. Where they were run down and abandoned houses, she put parks. This park is one my mother took me to when I was little. Here she would meet with women from neighboring homes, hear their complaints and struggles."

He tucked his hands into his pockets and made a slow circle, regarding the pallet of color.

"I think because these trees were gifted to Loria from your Kingdom, she liked this place best. I think it reminded her of how working together can bring about results." He stopped, focusing on Lydia. "I thought you might like it. I thought you might be missing your home."

Home. Her family's Kingdom. People who still needed her. Being strong for herself felt overwhelming. Especially when she knew how broken she was inside. But strong for all the people who needed her, needed her to be qu- needed her. Maybe she could be strong.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the bark. 

Pounding boots rang against the street's walls, making seven sound like a dozen. Lydia spun around, fear shooting through her, her heart leaping into her throat, her muscles tensing.

Zavier stepped in front of her, ready. But he relaxed as Joric emerged from the lane with Nolan and followed by five guards. Both brother and guard stormed up to Zavier.

"You are reckless!" Nolan snapped. "You could have been attacked."

Joric stood beside Nolan, his expression repeating the sentiment. Lydia knew this was her fault. She'd panicked and wanted to escape. Before Zavier could speak, she stepped around him, facing Nolan's and Joric's fury.

"Don't be angry with him," she said. "This is my doing."

Nolan looked like he wanted to continue to rebuke Zavier, but didn't want to offend the Princess. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm, feeling him tense then soften.

"I apologize for causing worry," she said. "I needed...I needed to get out of the palace."

Nolan pressed his lips together but nodded.

"I understand," he said, but he cut his gaze to Zavier. "You need to be wise. We still do not know what danger the Princess could be in. It is not simply your lives at stake but that of a Kingdom's." He surveyed his brother. "You are still recovering and you are not even armed. Do not be this thoughtless again."

Guilt twisted inside Lydia. But this time before she could take up defense again, Zavier came to hers.

"I will be more prepared next time," Zavier said. Nolan looked ready to argue, but Zavier continued. "This is new to her, Nolan. Our palace is not like hers, if she needs to come here for comfort then I will bring her." He smiled. "With a protection of guards."

After a tense pause, Nolan dropped his frustration, looking at Lydia. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I can not imagine what you are going through. If you need to return here, I will see that you are well guarded to do so."

Lydia felt struck by how different Nolan was compared to Corwin. Corwin wouldn't have let the matter drop so easily. His chastisement of her had always annoyed her. But now...now she missed it. Seeing how Nolan worried for Zavier, Lydia understood his correction had always come from a place of love. She wished she'd seen that earlier.

"Thank you," Lydia said.

"Since we are here and with a guard, can we stay?" Zavier asked, his eyes teasing.

Nolan shook his head with quiet exasperation. "Yes."

With a single hand gesture from him, the guards split, taking posts at all the entrance points to the park. As Nolan began a discussion with Joric about protection measures for next time, Zavier nodded to Lydia and she followed him away from the two soldiers.

"Do you think he will let me come back?" she asked.

"He will. He comes off harsh but he can be understanding."

Lydia relaxed. The sanctuary of the trees wasn't something she realized she needed until she was there. Now she couldn't imagine not having its comfort. She stopped at a tree with cobalt leaves and the hints of fruit starting to grow.

"You said your grandmother created these parks," Lydia said. "Is she still alive?"

"Yes. When my grandfather got too sick to rule, my father took over and my grandparents moved to an estate on the edges of the city. They visit often."

Lydia leaned back against the trunk of the tree and rested her head against the bark. Through the gaps in the leaves, she could see stars beginning to prick the sky. Right then she could pretend that it was the part of the sky she saw from her home. The one she and Wilder had laid beneath when the palace walls got too hot but under the citrus trees was refreshing.

"May I ask you something, Princess?" Zavier asked, breaking into her reverie.

She let the dream slip away. After all, there was no going back.

"What is it?"

"What made you flee dinner?" He sent her a teasing smile. "I did not think Quinn's jokes were that bad."

Surrounded by the aroma of home, the suffocating feeling she'd had at the table had dimmed. For that reason, she found it easier to share.

"There was something about Quinn's laugh that reminded me of my brother Reen's laugh."

"I am sorry."

Lydia closed her eyes, her heart aching. She wondered if it would ever stop hurting. Some days it felt like it was whole. Others, it felt like hundreds of pieces roughly stitched back together but barely staying together.

"I thought when I accepted the fact that they were gone it would be easier. Yasmine told me they were a part of me." She touched her arm where the silver bands marking her heritage as one royal in four lay on her skin. A constant reminder of who she was but also what she'd lost. "But though they are with me, they are still dead." She struggled against tears, willing herself not to give in. "I will never hear my brother's laugh again."

She opened her eyes at the light touch on her hand. Zavier dropped his hand away as if he wasn't sure how much he was allowed to comfort her. But when she thought about it, the truth of the matter was he had.

"I wish..." Zavier ran a hand through his hair, looking sympathetic but uncertain. "I wish I could take away your pain."

His kindness acted as a balm to her pain.

"You have in a way," she said. Zavier paused, brow furrowed. "You brought me a piece of my home. Thank you."

Zavier relaxed and dipped his head. "It is my pleasure, Princess."

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

"Life is a journey to be experienced, not a problem to be solved."

(You know Winnie the Pooh has some of the best advice.)

What do you think my emotionally frazzled ducklings! (Frazzled is such a delightful word!) Words of wisdom for our poor Lydia. Thoughts about life in general! 👑⚔️🛡

Not going to lie to you this book has been one of the most challenging I've written. It's not because it's four POVs, that's just been a blast to write. No, it's because there is no comedic relief character.

I love humor, I love writing it. It's something I never knew I had a talent for since in life I can't tell a joke to save my life, I trip over my words and laugh halfway through. But in this book to try to make light up what is happening would come off so crass that it couldn't be done.

I'm hoping as characters heal they can lighten up a little, but since we're halfway through the book and they are still damaged I'm not holding my breath. I'd most likely pass out, hit my head on my keyboard and the next chapter would be nothing but aerskj.nbadnjb dfzjn.ka begrsbh rsbhjbhjr, hrrs hjfrjnr a egshj,frbhj,grshj,agresj naergshj hiuiluefsjkln

Eloquent but not in any language that I know of.

Question for you my dearest of dear readers: What is the most humorous book you've read?

Reader question from caffeinatedbubble:  Who is your favorite author? What do you like about their writing style?

Otwer3ni mmuae3 (Fante): There are so many authors that I love but for writing style it has to be Patrick Rothfuss. I don't know what it is but there is a poetry to his writing that makes me want to dissect ever part of it.

Vote, comment, follow but only if you have brown eyes.