A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 3 - "Reen-"

Wilder

Protect Lydia. Protect Lydia. Protect Lydia. The mantra beat against Wilder's mind, keeping time to the pounding of Windchaser's strides as they raced from the palace.

Protect Lydia.

The mantra sharpened his senses. The grains of sand brushing against his face and winding through his hair. The wind whistling in his ears. The leather reins gripped in his hands. The salt of the sea in his mouth. The moonlight scattering shadows on the road.

The world around him harshly vivid. Most vivid of it all: her.

Her body pressed against his back. Her arms wrapped around his waist. Her hands clutching his shirt over his stomach. Her ragged breathing. Her emotions sending tremors through her.

Protect Lydia. Protect Lydia. Wilder squeezed his legs into Windchaser's side, urging the horse faster. Lights burned in the city, beacons in the night, but Wilder drove the horse away from the main road. He didn't know what lay in the city, who could be searching for Lydia, or where they would find safety.

Instead, he directed them down a twisting road that led away from the city and the palace. Towering trees arched over the path, darkening the world, but Wilder knew this road, knew each curve and dip like he knew the many shades of brown in Lydia's eyes.

Trust no one. Protect Lydia. The last words his father had shouted to him before yelling at his men to follow him as he cut through the palace attackers.

Did his father survive? Had he managed to cut down the intruders? They'd come out of nowhere, one second the ballroom rang with laughter and merriment, the next a scream pierced the air and everything exploded into chaos. Terror had struck Wilder as he saw the red line of blood on the King's neck and realized he couldn't see Lydia anywhere.

Wilder let out a shuddering breath, shoving the memory away, aware that if he lost himself in it, he'd fail his father's final command. Lydia shifted behind him and Wilder held to the feeling of her, letting it renew his focus. The jungle around them grew denser, rubbery leaves crowding out the star splashed sky. For the sake of the horse, Wilder slowed their pace, he didn't know how long they could make it if Windchaser was injured.

Around him, the world murmured, the scratch of claws as animals scurried across the ground, the hush of trees brushing fingers tips, the shrieks of birds calling to one another.

Through it all, Wilder listened, listened for the echo of hoofbeats, voices of men, signs of pursuit. He didn't hear any, but that didn't stop him from tensing at every sound or swaying shadow. Didn't stop his heart from trying to escape his chest.

At a cluster of rocks, Wilder cut away from the road, taking them down a barely seen path that slithered through the trees. When one second there lay only jungle, the next the ruins of a castle appeared. Sandstone pillars jutted up from the ground like dark sentinels. Crumbling walls showed echoes of rooms. Windchaser's hoofs clattered on the stone floor, the sound out of rhythm as he hit patches of weeds.

In the remains of what had once been the throne room, Wilder tugged the horse to a stop. Here the moon shone again, showing two walls that still stood and a ring of stones with leftover ashes set near the corner. Stones Wilder had found and placed with his father when they'd come out here to train.

Lydia lifted her head, peering around them.  But if Wilder's choice in hideout made an impact on her, she didn't say. After Wilder jumped down, he reached for Lydia, who accepted his help woodenly. Pain twisted in Wilder's chest at the shock in Lydia's eyes. Not knowing what to say or if there was anything he could say to help, Wilder settled Lydia with her back to one of the walls. She moved without protest, and when seated stared at nothing.