A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 16 - "Who did this?"

Lydia

Worry coiled in the base of Lydia's stomach as she guided Wilder to one of the back rooms in Hawk's house. Beyond the exhausted look in his eyes, there was a haunted quality that made Lydia ache for him. He shuffled more than walked and Lydia could see the weariness about him.

At the sight of the bed, he let out a low sigh. He sat down and as he unbuckled his sword, Lydia tugged off his boots. He laid down, his eyes already closed, his sword within reach. But his eyes snapped back open a second later.

"Ly, where are you sleeping?" he said. "I should be-"

He started to rise but Lydia pressed down on his shoulder. It spoke to his level of fatigue that her simple touch could force him to lay back down.

"You need to sleep, Wilder," she said, perching on the edge of his mattress.

"But you-"

"I will be okay."

Wilder looked like he wanted to argue but Lydia saw how his body struggled to stay awake. She began to hum. It was a soft lullaby that every mother in the West Isles knew. Wilder watched her, his eyelids losing their strength to stay open. Lydia kept humming even as her throat tightened now and again as she heard her mother's voice singing in her head.

Half asleep, Wilder found Lydia's hand and held it to his chest with both of his. Lydia blinked hard, trying to fight tears. Barely a man and he looked battle weary. Because of her.

Because of her, the boy she knew was gone. Because of her, he'd killed.

At times, flashes of seeing him cut through men burst in her mind and she couldn't wipe them away. Couldn't unsee the speed and ferocity in which Wilder handled the attackers. Couldn't forget the stench of blood and how it only reminded her of her dead family.

Sometimes in her worst dreams, it wasn't unknown assassins that murdered her family but Wilder. His face calm, his manner in control.

Guilt burned Lydia's throat and stung her eyes. It was the worst type of nightmare, because everything Wilder did, he did for her.

She felt so tired of death, but she couldn't say that to the one person who killed so that she might live.

The thought choked Lydia and she stopped humming. But it didn't matter, Wilder was fast asleep, his head turned away from her. From the corner of her eye, Lydia caught the outline of a tall figure.

"How is he doing?"

It's not her. It's not her. It's not...

Lydia forced herself to keep breathing. Something she'd had to do every time she heard Kiera speak with her lilting Seau accent or saw a glimpse of her dark skin as she passed just out of sight. She had to remind herself over and over again that her mother was dead. Each reminder felt like a splinter burying deeper and deeper into her heart.

"Mama," Lydia said, tucked into her mother's arms.

"Yes, my sweet," Suri said, brushing her lips across Lydia's brow.

Lydia gazed up at her mother, doubts swirling around her four-year-old head.

"Are you really my mama?"

Queen Suri let out a breath of surprise.

"Of course, why would ask such a question?"

"Then why don't we look the same?"

With this question, Lydia lifted her arm. In contrast to her mother's ebony skin, Lydia's was a warm brown. Suri gave a light laugh that always managed to make Lydia smile. But this time it didn't, she wanted the truth.