Prince of Storms (Born to Sea and Storm #2)

Chapter One

The goddess teaches us that the world around us is alive.

Rahvekya is more than the stones and sand that we walk upon, more than the trees that offer us shade or the rivers that spill into the sea.

Our home may not always speak to us in words we can understand, but it still speaks—and the goddess bids us to listen with our hearts.

The lost journal of High Priestess Tona

Naia floated on the waves.

The cool water roared in her ears, a wild contrast to the affectionate way it embraced the rest of her, gliding over her bare skin with the reverence of a lover’s touch.

The sun shone, bright even through her closed lids, and the scent of flowers wafted on the gentle breeze, the smell rendered almost cloying by the heat of the day.

“Naia.”

No. She rolled over, face down into the water, blotting out the voice. Conviction gripped her, a fist closed tight around her heart, and she knew—it was not yet time to leave this place.

But the deep, rumbling voice persisted. “Wake up, love.”

She could not comply. Not because she wanted to ignore the warm, whispered request, but because she was awake. She was simply . . . someplace else, awash in a memory as vivid, as real, as the coaxing hand on her cheek.

Naia opened her eyes. The sensation of the water lapping at her skin lingered, mingled with the feel of soft furs and rumpled linens. For the span of a heartbeat, two things were true: she was floating, naked, in sun-warmed shallows, and she was lying, equally naked, in a massive bed.

The captain’s bed. But it wasn’t the commander of the Kraken who leaned over her, watching her intently.

It was the Lover.

Aleksi had dark hair and even darker eyes, rich brown depths that sparked with affection and a hint of golden heat.

His features were finely wrought, rough and delicate at the same time.

He defined the words classically handsome—literally, as only the god of love could.

For millennia, songs and poems had praised his divine beauty.

In fact, Naia was fairly certain she’d once read an ode devoted exclusively to celebrating the lush curve of Aleksi’s lower lip.

An ode consisting of no fewer than two dozen stanzas, far too long by anyone’s reckoning. Though as Aleksi held her gaze and slowly licked the corner of his mouth, Naia found it impossible to fault the author for his unbridled enthusiasm.

Especially while she lounged in Einar’s bed, surrounded by their mingled scents—and the Kraken’s lingering magic.

“I wasn’t asleep.” Naia lifted her arms and arched her back. As she stretched, the thin, finely woven sheet slipped down to bare her breasts.

Aleksi rewarded her with a sharp indrawn breath that kindled anticipation low in her belly. But he only flashed her a knowing look as he drew the sheet back up to cover her. “Distracting me won’t earn you any more idle hours in the captain’s bed, little nymph.”

What a pity—though perhaps their lover could help her change Aleksi’s mind about that. “Where is Einar?”

“At the helm.” Aleksi’s voice lost all traces of teasing humor. “We’re close.”

To Akeisa. Naia sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts. “How long?”

“Within the hour.”

Was she ready to go back there, to swim in that deadly mix of Imperial ambition, deception, and hidden violence?

Not remotely, that was the honest answer.

But she didn’t exactly have a choice, did she?

Someone in Grand Duchess Gwynira’s court had kidnapped the three of them, planned to kill her and Einar, then spirit Aleksi away to the Empire—and an even worse fate.

They had to find out who, and hopefully why.

“I’ll get dressed,” she murmured.

Naia slipped out of the bed and hurried behind the screen in the corner.

Einar’s cabin was the largest on the Kraken, and every conceivable comfort had been provided.

Still, it was oddly stark, devoid of the decor and hints of personality that filled the rest of the ship.

There was a desk along the far wall, laden with maps and weapons.

Shelves had been built into an alcove just beyond that, each one filled with books.

There were no little mementos of the Kraken’s travels, no souvenirs from all the places they’d seen. No personal keepsakes at all, save for the books.

Their absence spoke of a loneliness that made Naia shiver.

The washstand stood ready, the water in the full jug steaming lightly as she poured it into the basin. She washed quickly, then wrapped up in the thick robe she’d left hanging on the peg set into the curving wall.

Aleksi was still in the cabin. Instead of leaving, he’d retrieved her trunk and waited patiently beside it, ready to assist her in getting dressed.

It should have been ridiculous, a member of the High Court acting as a lady’s maid, buttoning her bodice, tying her sleeves, and brushing her hair in contented silence.

But each tiny gesture was filled with the same care that Aleksi exhibited in everything he did, without a single indication that he resented any of it.

He simply took care of her, just as he always did.

Naia swayed toward him, dreading the inevitable moment when they had to leave this room. Being back on the Kraken since their rescue had been like a dream, intimate and safe and far, far away from the harsh reality that awaited them back at Gwynira’s court.

“Worried?” Aleksi asked softly.

“Yes,” she admitted, unashamed. “How could I not be? That wretched place almost killed you—”

“But it did not. My lovers saved me, and you will again, should the unfortunate necessity arise.” He dropped a quick kiss to her lips. “Now, come. Einar is waiting for us.”

Naia grabbed her heaviest cloak. This part of the North Sea was cold enough to test even a Dreamer’s constitution, and she lifted her fur-lined hood into place to cover the damp, curling ends of her hair.

The captain’s cabin had been dim, lit only by a single window above the bed.

Outside, the day was stunning in its brilliance, and Naia blinked and slowed as she strode out onto the deck.

The morning sun sparkled off the bay, nearly blinding her, and she lifted a hand to half cover her eyes as they adjusted.

The glare wasn’t from the surface of the water, after all.

When they had arrived in Akeisa the first time, they had been met by a wall of ice that had been erected by Grand Duchess Gwynira, the Imperial ruler of the island.

Naia still couldn’t say whether the wall had been a practical defensive measure, a show of magical power, or simply a test, but in the end, it had not mattered.

As proof of her own power, Naia had torn it down and cleared the way for the Kraken to sail into the harbor.

There were now several rows of walls, staggered like fortifications set outside a city’s gates.

The mammoth sheets of ice jutted toward the sky, one in front of another in front of another, each at least twice as high as the one they’d first encountered.

They rose from the icy water like grasping hands, just waiting for an unwary ship to venture too close.

Then, just in case the warning had not been conveyed with crystal clarity, a line of armed ships extended the blockade on each side of the ice wall.

“An even warmer welcome than the last one,” Aleksi observed dryly from just behind Naia. “It does make one wonder what, exactly, Gwynira thinks happened to us. Or what trouble she expects to come from it.”

“I don’t blame her one bit,” Einar rumbled, then greeted Naia and Aleksi each with a kiss on the cheek. “A member of the High Court was poisoned on her watch and kidnapped from her palace. She probably thinks your friends are coming for her head.” He shook his. “I’d be on my guard.”

Assuming, Naia pondered silently, that Gwynira had not been responsible for those calamities in the first place.

Aleksi grasped Naia’s shoulders and leaned down, close to her ear. “Well, little nymph?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. She wasn’t certain that she was capable of bringing down this much ice, and she was even less certain of the wisdom of it.

The turbulent wake from that volume of sinking ice could easily pull a ship under.

The Kraken would be safe—Einar and his crew were too skilled to fall victim to such a fate—but could she say the same for the Imperial ships that formed the blockade?

She opened her mouth to confess as much, but the ship suddenly heaved, and she clung to Aleksi.

Einar reached for them both, steadying them as the deck pitched beneath their feet again.

Water churned around the hull, and a cacophony of noise cracked through the air as the walls before them splintered.

Massive sheets of ice dropped into the outer bay, rocking the other ships into dangerous lists.

Naia broke free of her lovers’ clutching hands, desperate to settle the waves. She closed her eyes and reached out, communing with the turbulent depths, begging them to calm before they claimed lives just as they’d claimed the shattered ice.

Please, she whispered silently. Do not do this. Be still.

Her frantic efforts paid off as the Imperial ships rocked and slowly righted. But Naia’s relief was short-lived, and she watched in horror as the ships’ gunports swung open.

“Battle stations!” Einar barked, his deep voice booming out across the decks. “Ready for attack!”

The crew hurried to comply, manning their assigned stations with a quiet, grave efficiency that spoke of long years of bloody experience.

But no attack came. A loud bell clanged out over the bay, and the beleaguered Imperial ships closed their gunports and began to withdraw.

“Well,” Aleksi said. “That was . . . terrifying. And impressive.”

He clearly—and reasonably—had assumed that Naia destroyed the walls. She could breathe again, so she dragged in great lungfuls of searingly cold air as she willed her hands to stop shaking. “I don’t understand.”