A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 23 - "I wish I could take away your pain."

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.