Lydia

Shouts chased after Lydia and Wilder as they sprinted around a corner. Pockets stuffed with food stolen from the kitchens, they raced through winding hallways. Servants let out shocked gasps, flattening themselves against the walls to avoid collisions.

The stone beneath Lydia's bare feet felt smooth and cool to the touch. Heart pounding in her chest, she spared a glance at Wilder, who gave her a wild grin in return. The pair dashed down a hallway that spat them out into the main foyer of the palace. Wilder skidded to a stop, Lydia barreling into him and nearly knocking him off his feet. Before she could make an ungraceful mess on the floor, he caught her around the waist.

A current of hurried servants streamed through archways and up and down stairs. For a breath, the two of them stood rooted to the spot, like an island in a storm. When a guard appeared from a corridor across the way, Lydia snagged Wilder's hand and pulled him in the opposite direction. The guard called to them, but they had no intention of stopping.

Diving through an archway, they came to an abrupt halt again, this time Lydia the one to blame. They were in the center ballroom with a flurry of servants in the throes of final preparations. This was not what had stopped Lydia, it was the two stasis figures standing amidst the commotion. Corwin and Vienna turned upon hearing Lydia and Wilder's frantic entrance.

At the beginning of his twenty-fourth year, Corwin already held himself like the king he would become. Vienna in her nineteenth year, only two years Lydia's senior, had the bearing of a queen. The brother and sister looked commanding standing side by side. In comparison, Lydia looked like a beggar plucked off the streets in her loose shirt and trousers.

When Vienna opened her mouth, Lydia twisted away and scrambled for the archway Wilder and she had just come through. Her motion was too rushed, she slipped on the polished stone, one hand touching the floor before she got her balance and took off.

The break for freedom barely lasted a heartbeat as two guards blocked the archway. Breathing hard, Lydia backed away from the approaching guards. She looked for another escape, but the only ones she could see were across the room. They would never make it before the guards stopped them. They were trapped.

"Wilder," one of the guards said. "Commander Ror is looking for you."

With an apologetic shrug and a quick mischievous smile to Lydia, Wilder followed the two guards out of the ballroom. As they disappeared, Prince Reen appeared. Second in line to the throne, he held himself with an air of authority but didn't have the rigid posture of Corwin. His unruly hair gave him an almost boyish look. A teasing gleam came to his eyes when he surveyed Lydia with her hair falling from its tail and her clothes disheveled.

"What did you do, fight the sand monsters?" he asked. His voice had a lightness to it that made you think a laugh hid not too far off. She smiled, swept into Reen's playful manner.

"No, stole almond cakes," she said.

Reen brightened. "Do you still have one?"

As Lydia pulled a flaky pastry from her pocket, behind her she heard Corwin grunt in disapproval while Vienna gave a resigned sigh.

"You shouldn't encourage her," Vienna said.

Stuffing half the cake into his mouth, Reen strode towards his siblings, nudging Vienna affectionately with his elbow.

"Relax, Vienna," Reen said. "There's a celebration tonight. You look as if you face death."

Standing together they looked the part of a royal family, Lydia the outsider amongst them.

"What she faces is duty," Corwin said.

"The same as all of us," Reen said around a mouth full of pastry. "It comes with the title."

Even as he winked at Lydia she felt the truth in his statement. Title might offer luxury but it came with burdens that could not be given away.

"I heard that Prince Zavier is attractive," Lydia put in.

At this statement, Corwin scowled, Reen laughed, and Vienna softened, a smile creeping onto her face.

"That has no bearing on the current situation," Corwin said.

Lydia had to disagree, she felt for an arranged marriage it made all the difference in the world. Pulling out the last two other almond cakes, she tossed one to Reen and took a bit of the other.

"I think for Vienna it does," she said. "At least he's not an old, ugly man."

Behind her, Lydia heard the steady tap tap tap of approaching footsteps. Even if she hadn't recognized the authoritative tread from years of hearing it, she'd would have known who entered the ballroom by the change in the atmosphere; around them, servants took to their tasks with renewed fervor, and whispered conversations ceased. 

"I would hope you're not referring to me," a deep, commanding voice said.

Before Lydia could answer, King Arlin snatched the last half of her almond cake from her hands and ate it.

"That was mine," she said, frowning at her father.

Arlin grinned down at her. "No, you stole it from the kitchen, which resides in the palace which I hold ownership of, therefore it was mine."

Reen laughed and Corwin look displeased as if expecting more from his father in the way of rebuke towards Lydia. A new set of footsteps approached the family, this time accompanied by the swish of skirts.

Where King Arlin's presence left servants ducking to their work, Queen Suri's made them pause. Born to royalty on the Seau Islands, Suri struck a figure that drew the eye with her dark brown eyes and rich ebony skin. Lydia looked most like her mother with her lighter golden skin, coffee eyes and raven hair.

When Suri placed her arm around Lydia's shoulder, Lydia lifted her gaze to her mother.

"What do we have here?" Suri said. "Have we picked up a vagabond from the streets?" She squeezed Lydia's shoulders as she looked to her husband. "Oh Arlin, do let's make her part of the family." With a twinkle in her eye, she turned Lydia's face from side to side with a thin, elegant finger. "I believe if we cleaned her up she might even pass for a princess."

Reen snorted. "If we accept her we will have to accept that boy that comes with her. If my eyes don't deceive me I believe he is the son of the Commander of our guard."

"They seem to be bound by the wrist," Vienna said, her mood lightened as the attention landed on someone besides herself.

Lydia flushed as her father eyed her with a teasing smile. Corwin blew out a disgruntled breath.

"That makes no difference," he said. "Tonight many eligible noblemen will be here seeking a marriage alliance."

"Can someone explain to Corwin that a lack of humor is a bad trait in a king," Reen said, shoving his brother's shoulder, trying to force the rigidity out of him.

Corwin glared at Reen, but before an argument could break out between the two siblings, Suri cleared her throat. The simple act cut them off.

"As that is the truth, it appears I have a vagabond to oversee getting prepared for tonight."

"I have a maid," Lydia said.

Her mother smiled down at her. "Yes, one I have no doubt you could convince to let you wear whatever you liked tonight. Since this ball is important I shall see that you appear as you should."

Guided by her mother's strong arms, Lydia headed to her doom. Inwardly she sighed, resigning herself to her fate.

***

Wilder

Wilder followed the two guards out of the palace and to the soldiers' barracks, knowing he headed toward his fate. Around him, the grounds of the palace looked like a painter's pallet with its vivid colors in the lush fruit trees. The scent of the trees sweetened the air, mixing with the smell of hot sand that lingered. Wilder knew he'd miss the smell of it when he left.

The two guards guided Wilder through the corridors of the barracks to the Commander's room. Their presence wasn't necessary since Wilder could run these hallways blindfolded. No, their presence was necessary for him to not run.

After one of the guards gave the heavy oak door a rap with his knuckles, a deep voice told them to enter. Even though the room beyond the door was a modestly sized room, every inch of it spoke of the authority the owner possessed. Nothing looked out of place or messy. Even the weapons hanging from the walls were polished to a shine. All of it reflected the immaculate man sitting behind the desk, writing out instructions.

Commander Ror glanced at the two guards behind Wilder. With that single action, they dipped their heads and retreated, closing Wilder inside the room. Wilder folded his hands behind his back, trying to appear as in control.

But he knew it was a lost cause, Lydia had told him she wanted his help stealing almond cakes from the kitchen. And when she'd flashed him that mischievous smile, his heart couldn't say no and his head barely put up a fight. Standing in front of Commander Ror looking disheveled, Wilder wished his head had fought back harder.

Commander Ror continued to finish his missive, leaving Wilder standing before his desk. Wilder didn't squirm. Everything could be used as a weapon, Commander Ror told him. That even included silence. Finally, Commander Ror laid down his quill and regarded his son.

"Have you packed?" he asked.

Wilder shook his head. He knew he should have, but the very action galled him. Tomorrow he was to be sent away to train to be a soldier. A mockery if he ever heard it. By the time he could lift a sword, his father had put him through exercises. He would be surrounded by novices who would more likely stab their own foot than an opponent.

Ror locked his fingers together, his grim face relaxing a bare fraction. "Sit."

Wilder took a seat, still trying to mimic his father's calm control.

"I know you think my decision to send you to train is a mistake," Ror said.

Wilder didn't reply. Like every other weapon his father had taught him to use, he knew how to wield silence.

"I made my decision for two reasons. Do you want to know them?"

"My job is not to question but to follow," Wilder answered.

Ror let out a breath and Wilder saw a part of his father rarely shown. A patient man.

"You are more than a solider, Wilder. We both know that you understand strategy, you think through situations, taking in every aspect before deciding what must be done. Though you don't often show it, you have an ability to lead."

Wilder didn't reply, but this time for the reason that he didn't know what to say. The certainty his father held in him left him speechless. Though everything his father said, Wilder knew, it felt almost daunting hearing the Commander of the guard say it out loud.

"Then why are you sending me to learn things I already know?" Wilder asked.

"Because you still fail to understand the burden, courage, and determination it takes to step up as a leader. And part of that is learning to know the men that you will one day command. In turn, they will come to know you. When you train beside them you will form bonds with them that will earn you their respect."

Wilder nodded, acknowledging the wisdom in his father's decision. "What is the second reason then?"

At this, Ror straightened and Wilder felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.

"The second reason," his father said. "Is to remind you that no matter what high rank you earn, you will never earn the rank of Prince."

Despite himself, Wilder felt his face grow warm, even though this was another truth he knew. No matter how many times Lydia challenged him with a daring scheme, no matter how many times she laughed and teased him like they were equal, they never would be. He knew this. Yet so many times when she looked at him, he forgot.

Just as he had forgotten that day. When she'd dared him to steal almond cakes with her, he'd dared to steal something that never would be his. A kiss.

A reckless, stupid action, but the knowledge that tomorrow he left for years of training spurred him to do it. And against all they both knew about their titles, positions in the world, separate futures, she'd kissed him back.

"You have a duty," Wilder's father said. "A duty to protect the royal family. Princess Lydia's duty is to one day form an alliance with another kingdom through marriage. Though you will always stand nearby, you will never stand by her side."

The assurance struck Wilder anew. Though Lydia would be in his future, it would not be the way he'd dreamed of.

"I understand," Wilder said, struggling to sound composed.

"I know you do. Now go pack, you leave at first light." Wilder rose. "But this evening, I want you dressed and stationed in the ballroom."

"Why?"

When his father held his gaze, Wilder felt as if all his emotions were on display. Even the ones he'd thought he'd hidden.

"Because you will see the difference between our world and theirs."

Wilder did see it. He saw it that night in the way the ballroom glittered and the nobles didn't even notice his presence as he stood silent beside an archway. Though his uniform was pristine, it could not compare to the finery they wore. Even as polished as he was, he knew as he watched Lydia, looking stunning, enter on the arm of her brother Reen, that he could never dare hold a place beside her.

Their worlds were different. And tomorrow their worlds would finally be separated.

**********************************************************************

Greeting Royals!

Cause let's face it, why can't we be royal? I say we can, so let do it!

As my first act as a royal I decree to hear your thoughts on the chapter! 👑⚔️🛡

And if you're first decree is to ignore my decree then I guess we shall have to battle over this kingdom and whoever wins, shall be the monarch!

But you know that sounds so trying, what if we just like sat down and had tea together or something, that sound much nicer. Yes, let's do that instead.

I'll keep this author's note short because I have absolutely not doubt in my mind whatsoever, none at all, totally not doubting, or worrying, or stressing that you want to go on to the next chapter. Nope, I'm a royal and I have complete confidence...

Vote, comment, follow or give me a royal decree, either one.