Lydia

Blood. So much blood. Everywhere. The metallic tang of it crowded the air, clogging Lydia's nose. The smell thick enough she could taste it choking her. Blood roared in her ears, drowning out the screams. The blood in her veins turned to ice.

From the shadowed alcove she had snuck into earlier to watch the whirl of the ball, Lydia stared at the carnage that now replaced the glittering ballroom. Guards cut down where they stood beside the throne dais.

The blood dripping down the neck of the King, his body crumpled on the dais, a marionette with his strings cut. Blood stained the midnight blue, silk dress of the queen's, right over her heart, an ugly flower bloom. Blood everywhere.

A hand ripped Lydia out of her petrified state. Screaming, she jerked away, head knocking against the white sandstone wall. Her heart spiked with panic, making her blood surge through her.

"Ly!" Wilder shouted at her, reaching for her again. "We have to go!"

Gripping her arm, he hauled out of the protection of the alcove. She stumbled, her legs unwilling to move, shock stunning her. Before she could force herself to run, a man with a gleaming blade and wearing the stolen uniform of a servant charged them.

Wilder shoved Lydia behind him, barely dodging the slash of the attacker. In a flash, Wilder stepped into the man's space, jerked his elbow up, smashing the man's nose. As the man grunted in pain, Wilder seized the moment, tearing the sword from the attacker's hand and bringing the handle down hard on the man's head. The man collapsed, unconscious.

Clutching the sword, Wilder took hold of Lydia's hand. He had strong, familiar fingers. They tightened around hers, silently urging her to stay with him, to trust him.

Wilder guided Lydia along the wall of the ballroom towards one of the curved archways. Nobles rushed by them, flashes of brightly colored silks and hair in disarray. Metal clashing with metal echoed off the domed ceiling as soldiers fought against the disguised assassins.

Don't look back. Don't look back. You can't look back. But Lydia didn't listen to the voice screaming in her head, she had to look back. Bile rose in her throat as she glanced behind her.

Crown prince Corwin lay sprawled on the tiled floor at the base of the dais, his seafoam green eyes staring unseeing at the golden ceiling. Near him, Prince Reen held one hand to his chest where the dagger protruded, confusion molded on his face. Princess Vienna, chiffon gown pooled around her, legs twisted at an odd angle, blood seeping into her auburn hair. Hair the color of the sand as the setting sun struck it.

They couldn't be left like this. This beautiful family cut down within a breath. Five lives stolen away. Her family stolen away. Lydia couldn't leave them. She pulled her hand from Wilder's, racing back to the prone bodies, shoving her away through the stampeding crowd. They couldn't be left like this. She had to help them.

A man appeared in front of Lydia's path. She staggered back, slipped on the hem of her dress, and crashed to the floor. As the man lunged for her, Lydia scrambled backwards into the chaos of fleeing nobles. A boot crushed her fingers and she cried out. A hand clamped on her arm, yanking her upward. Fear tore through her as she knew a blade lay somewhere close, ready to steal her life too.

The hand on her arm slackened as the light in the man's eyes died. Lydia watched as the man slumped, revealing Wilder standing behind him, face contorted with fury. Shaking with shock and terror, Lydia couldn't find the words. Wilder didn't care to hear them, taking her hand once again and pulling her away. This time she went, not looking back.

They broke away from the fleeing nobles, sprinting through the airy hallways lined with archways dressed with gauzy curtains that billowed with the night wind. At every flicker, Wilder swung his sword around, the fluttering curtains creating enemies that weren't real. But the shouts and thundering footsteps pursuing them were real and spurred them on.

Rooms. Corridors. Stairways. Each one so familiar. How many times had Lydia run these hallways, barefooted, her feet slapping against the cool tile? How many times had she used the maze of the palace to escape punishment, studies, unwanted siblings? Each time Wilder raced beside her, his mischievous grin challenging her to keep pace with his long legs.

Now they ran for survival, chased by something far worse than a stern voice. The end of a sharp blade.

They burst into the stables, panting and drenched in sweat. Lydia halted, this part of the palace appeared somehow untouched by the mayhem. It felt too surreal, wasn't the entire world falling apart?

Wilder didn't stop to contemplate the strange stillness around them, he tugged Lydia into the stall with her black stallion and pushed her into a corner.

"Don't move," he said.

She didn't have time to argue before he disappeared, rushing towards the tack room. Windchaser stepped over to Lydia and nuzzled her stomach, searching for affection. The scent of horse and hay that usually calmed her, had no effect. She could still smell the blood, see it as if it stained her mind. She trembled, seeing the smears of red on the floor, the way it had streamed from wounds.

As Wilder returned with supplies and a bow and quiver slung over his back, Lydia fell to her knees, heaving the contents of her stomach onto the ground. The bile burned her throat, but she welcomed it, needing it to wipe away the memory of the blood she could taste.

She remained on all fours, shaking, feeling as if her body would break apart. She had to move. She couldn't move. She couldn't do it. She didn't have the strength. Where had her strength gone? She closed her eyes, willing herself to stand but she couldn't. Everything was crumbling around her and she felt she crumbling with it.

When Wilder lifted her to her feet, she went, letting his strength replace her own. Windchaser stood ready. They needed to leave.

As they left the stall, the doors to the stable crashed open and an assassin welding a sword sailed through. In a blink, Wilder held a dagger in his hand, and in the next, it was buried in the attacker's chest. Shocked, the man wobbled and fell.

Wilder stared, wide-eyed at the dead man while Lydia stared at him. He'd taken a life. Without thinking he'd sent a soul out of this world. He'd done it for her.

When Wilder met her gaze, she saw how the death left a cut inside him. No longer did she see the carefree boy she'd always known. The boy who'd kissed her in a reckless moment earlier that day because he knew their paths were splitting.

At the pounding of more footsteps, Wilder jerked both Lydia and the horse towards the stable's exit. They were halfway there when the doors opened again and men spilled out. Wilder spun around, whipping his bow off his back and loading it one smooth motion. The first arrow set the party of men scattering for cover.

In the moment of distraction, Wilder swung himself into the saddle and pulled Lydia up behind him. With a kick, Windchaser sprung forward, hoofs clattering on the stone floor as he darted towards the open doorway. Heart ricocheting around her chest, Lydia clung to Wilder's waist and ducked, avoiding the rim of the doorway.

As they tore their way across the palace grounds towards the gates, Lydia couldn't help but look back. The golden domes of the palace glowed softly in the yellow light of the full moon. Windows burned with lanterns and candles, making the palace a beacon in the night. Wind whispered through the branches of the fruit trees, fluttering the vibrant leaves and sending the sweet scent of citrus floating over the grounds.

The peaceful sight belied the shattered futures trapped inside the ballroom.

Her parents, the King and Queen slaughtered, their peaceful reign stopped short.

Her oldest brother, Prince Corwin, destined to rule with the same kindness and wisdom as his father snuffed out.

Her brother, Prince Reen determined to stand by his brother as an adviser ripped of that honor.

Her sister, Princess Vienna meant to marry Prince Zavier of Loria and unite the two kingdoms murdered.

All of them gone. Only Lydia remained of the royal family.

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"Come on, Gus Gus!"

Oh dearie dear! This is not a great start, tell me all that you're thinking, feeling, wheeling, dealing, and pondering. 👑⚔️🛡

Lydia, girl how you doing? Are you okay?

...

Okay, that's fair you did just see your whole family murdered and I'm guessing that was devastating and oh my gosh there was so much blood it was crazy and...I'll shut up now. You'll be okay girl!

Oh jeez, I hope she is. Poor girl.

At least Wilder was there to get her out of the palace, the guy is intense.

I'm going to be bringing back an old tradition: author questions. So if you have questions for me then ask and I shall answer!

Vote, comment, follow!