Page 24 of Lily of the Valley

Scout grinned. "You'd know all about being reckless and stupid, Your Majesty, but I promise I know what I'm about. Pack is everything to wolves, and they'll fall right into the patterns and rules of it."

"What does that mean? I saw how much those ones who took me hated you! A whole pack of them will do everything they can to rip you apart!"

"I'll—"

"If you say you'll be fine I will clobber you with the tea kettle, so help me," Lily hissed.

Scout, infuriatingly, just grinned more. "Are you saying you don't think I can defend myself, Your Majesty? I'm insulted."

"Good," Lily retorted.

That just made Scout and Josiah laugh.

Whatever. Fine. Let them be cocky and dumb. She didn't care.

Scout's amusement faded to worry. "Lily—"

"It's fine."

"It's clearly not."

"I'm done discussing this," Lily hissed. "Do whatever you want, woodcutter. When do we leave?"

Her brows rose, but she only replied, "Josiah, Alice, and I will leave at first light tomorrow. You and Penelope—"

"I will not wait here, you are out of your mind if you think that's happening."

"You need to be safe," Josiah replied. "Taking you back the castle will be dangerous enough without also having to worry about your safety."

"I'm not staying here, tucked away like fancy dinnerware, while everyone else does all the work."

"You're our Queen," Alice said. "They nearly got you the first time, what happens if they get you a second time?"

Lily's mouth tightened, because she couldn't argue their reasoning, but by the same token she wouldn't cower in the woods either. "I won't stand here amidst castle ruins while other people fight and bleed and die for me. I ran away the first time because I had no choice. I have a choice now, and I won't choose to hide away doing nothing for my own people. It's my throne, I will fight for it as I should, in any way I can. I won't hide away like a coward and wait for everything to be done for me. That's not leadership. That's how people like Ferdinand."

"You're staying here!" Scout said sharply, jerking as though she'd nearly stood up, hand clenching around her half-filled mug. "You'll stay safe. You have nothing to prove by throwing yourself needlessly into danger. If your father had been properly protected—"

"He was in a meeting hall! In the middle of the palace! Don't you dare—argh," Lily stood up with a snarl of frustration and hurt and stormed off. Seemed to be the only thing she was good at anymore. Running away, always running away.

She'd be damned if she did it when it mattered most, though.

Ignoring Scout and the others calling after her, she fled through the trees—and stopped short as she saw portions of the ruins she hadn't noticed before. Not the main hall of the keep, that was where they'd made camp. A hallway or something, judging by the stairs that somehow remained, an elegant spiral riddled with moss and flowers. Helplessly compelled, she gathered her shawl more securely around her shoulders and headed up them, one hand against the crumbling wall for balance as she navigated fallen bits of rock and clumps of various plants.

Despite reasonable concerns something might collapse on her, she made it to the second floor, into another hallway. Right in front of her was an open doorway, the door itself long since rotted away.

Inside was what must have once been a bedroom, to judge by the canopy bed that had been taken over by ivy and other plants, the rough shape of it all that remained.

A faint breeze ran through the room, and suddenly the air was filled with the scent of roses. The world around her seemed to blur—and then she was standing in an actual room, beautifully appointed in old-fashioned furniture, ornate wallpaper of roses and birds on the wall in various shades of forest green, soft candlelight flickering.

On the bed, a dark walnut with green canopy curtains, a man lay sleeping. He was breathtaking, the sort of beauty that almost hurt to look at. His skin was pale, like he didn't see much sunlight, and his hair was as dark as night, long and wavy where it was spread messily around him on the pillow.

As she watched, another man came into view, tall and broad, dressed in rough clothes, the kind favored by those who lived in the woods, hunters and woodsman, trappers and foragers. Like Scout. His hair was what really stood out though, a tumult of vibrant red, like someone had captured the heart of a flame and spun it into delicate strands.

There were other figures in the room, but they were shadows, gray and hazy. Only the two men were clear.

She stared avidly, wholly caught, as the red-haired man seemed to speak with the shadowy figures, before he bent, braced himself on the bed, and kissed the sleeping man softly. He drew back, watched a moment, before his face twisted with anguish as he pulled away entirely.

The shadows seemed to wilt as well, and the red-haired man turned toward a large window—only to stop and turn back as the man on the bed moved, said something, eyes locked on the red-haired man.

---