A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 13 - "You know what I'm going to do to you?"

Wilder

Wilder slammed his sword hilt into a man's head. The light dimmed from his eyes and he crumpled to the ground. Breathing heavily, Wilder twisted to face the next attacker, but there were none left. He dropped his sword, worn out from facing the flood of men. He looked at Sparrow, his clothes were blood-splattered and fatigue darkened his face.

"Thank you," Wilder said.

Sparrow nodded.

"Sparrow!"

As Sparrow left at Alwyn's summons, Cyrus bounded up the stairs to the quarter-deck, moving to the helm. Wilder wiped off his sword and sheathed it, letting out a breath. The fight was over. When he turned around, he found Lydia pressed against the railing, eyes squeezed shut.

Wilder tried not to think of the fiery, adventurous girl she once was, but in that moment that's all he could see. A girl who had been robbed of her spirit.

"Ly," he said, coaxingly. "It's okay. It's over."

Lydia opened her eyes but let out a gasp and recoiled. Hurt lanced through Wilder's chest. He surveyed himself and saw blood splashed over his clothes. How many men had he'd killed tonight? Shame trickled into his bloodstream as he realized how easily he'd managed it all. How many lives would he end, just to save one?

There was no number. Lydia meant everything and therefore he knew he would stop anyone to protect her.

"It's not mine," Wilder said, hoping that was why Lydia recoiled, not because she was horrified at what he could do. What he'd done.

"Are they all dead?" she asked.

"No, some are wounded or unconscious."

Lydia scanned the ship. Bodies lay sprawled on the deck, some moaning in pain while others stared lifelessly up at the night sky. For a second, Wilder caught a glint of fire in Lydia's eyes.

"They should all be dead," she whispered. There was venom to her words that touched at her grief.

But the fire died as Sparrow and Joric crossed the deck. Between them, they held a board with Zavier draped on it. Lydia sucked in a breath at the blood coating his shirt and his dark skin an unnatural pale shade. The pair ducked into the stairway, Alwyn and Fynn trailing behind them.

When Lydia followed, Wilder did as well. Zavier was taken to the captain's quarters and laid out on the desk. Fynn sliced away Zavier's shirt exposing the wound. Lydia stumbled back into Wilder. He put a hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her. Part of him wanted to pull her out of the room, she'd already seen enough death to last a lifetime, she didn't need to be here for this.

"Is he going to live?" Lydia asked.

Alwyn shot Lydia a fierce look, her face tense.

"He better or I'm never forgiving him."

"Get a lamp," Fynn said.

The room shrank as Sparrow and Alwyn raced about, doing at Fynn ordered.

"We should go," Wilder said, tugging on Lydia's arm.

She shook her head. "I want to know he's okay."

Before Wilder could protest, Lydia claimed Cyrus's bed, curling up, wrapping her arms around her legs. Wilder paused, looking to the pile of blankets on the floor that acted as his bed. Though exhausted and wishing to fall onto them, Wilder left. There was still work to do.

When he reemerged on deck, the silence felt unsettling. Minutes before screams and the clashing of swords had crowded the night. Now, if he closed his eyes he could almost imagine it never happened. But it had. He could smell the blood on him and see every man he'd struck down.