21. Soren
Chapter twenty-one
Soren
The reef is a short swim from the shore, and we welcome the water as a respite from the sun. Sprouting our tails, we glide over the dwellings that cluster around the base of Aquisa's sandbar. A few mermaids poke their heads out of their holes, their bright faces darkened by the shadow of our bellies.
I lead Aris and her handmaid to my favorite part of the reef. Aris twirls in the water, swimming in the most inefficient manner possible so that her silver hair fans out like a cloud. Her hair is pretty, and I suspect she wants me to tell her so. I hold my tongue to avoid the squeal of delight that would undoubtedly come if I gave in to her wishes.
Reedgrass sways in the low current, carpeting the floor of the Coral Gardens. Lush corals and vibrant fish surround us in a symphony of color. The attendants clip and gather ingredients for the kitchen, silently drifting away as we approach. The garden district is usually a tourist favorite, and Aris is reacting as I predicted: loudly.
She giggles in that ragged, rolling manner of hers—unexpectedly rough for a princess—and flashes me what must be her hundredth smile since this morning.
The princess is all too easy to impress. I could point to a pile of bird shit and call it my favorite , and she would squeal like a screamerfish, clamp her hand around my arm, and proclaim it the prettiest shit she’s ever seen.
During our beach stroll, I pointed out the most boring features of the landscape, checking her reaction. I spotted my favorite species of crab, my favorite boulder, my favorite empty stretch of sand. When the tenth crab crawled across our path and Aris squealed with delight, I had to close my eyes to keep them from rolling.
Where did my mother find her? Is she really Abyssal? Aris acts just like every other female in my court, and I’m utterly bored of her already. They’re all the same—each suitor puts on their own interpretation of my preference, assuming I want a pretty little plaything. Aris is no different. When I look into her eyes, I find a frigid void, hungry not for me but for the power I hold.
I need a queen—strong, fierce, and powerful in her own right. My court is needy; my council, childish. My crown is tainted with years of royals ending in tragedy. My kingdom would eat alive anyone less than a goddess in the flesh. My mother has faired well enough, but only at the expense of her emotional capacity.
So, Aris, unfortunately, might just have to do.
A snapperfish slithers out of its hiding spot, latching onto a passing wrigglefish. The snapperfish twists into a brutal roll, its sharp teeth tearing chunks of pink flesh, clouding the water with blood and sand. Aris curls into my side, as if frightened by the display. The soft tendrils of her tail tickle my own, intertwining and making it difficult to swim.
Enna pushes past us, darting after the flesh, while the snapperfish gorges on the rest of its meal. She snatches the meat from the water and slurps it up.
Aris shrieks again, snuggling closer. Her hand tightens around my arm. Enna glances back at us, smirking. She slides a pink tongue over her fangs. Aris relaxes her grip on my arm, and I grunt as my blood rushes back into the area.
Enna twists over, ignoring us, and uses her hands to push herself over a rock. Her black scales provide a stark contrast with the color around her, somehow reflecting every glittering hue in the brilliant light. I watch her slip through the water, mesmerized by the slick turns of her body.
While the handmaid is a clumsy totter on land, in the water, she is lithe and graceful as a pearlshark. How can Enna be both the female who hopped ridiculously on the beach and this creature of wicked efficiency in front of me now? I study her movements intently, as if the explanation might reveal itself with just a few more moments of scientific observation.
She studies the fish and coral, frowning. Her small fingers pluck a lushfruit, and she pinches it between her claws, the juice spurting into the water. Discarding the peel, she glides to the next crop, running her fingers through the green tendrils with that same snarl twisting her lip.
I frown at the reedgrass, trying to see it through her eyes. She frowns at it, discards it, yet it’s beautiful to me.
“What do you think?” I ask, aiming my question at Enna.
“It’s lovely, Soren,” answers Aris, once again appearing at my elbow. Her hair tickles my skin. Then her fingers trace my arm, following the pattern of scales that circle my bicep.
Enna meets my gaze. She holds another lushfruit between her fingers. This time, instead of squishing it, she opens her mouth and slowly lowers the fruit inside. Her tongue slips out, welcoming the fruit. Her teeth break the seal, and the red juice floods her throat. She closes her lips, blinks, and turns away from me.
Wicked thing.
My cock hardens in its sheath, pressing against the thin concealing membrane. This female cannot be giving me a reaction —not again. Growling, I twist away from the princess to hide the bulging evidence of my distraction.
Aris mirrors my movement, twisting to end up face-to-face with me against the corals. She chuckles, placing her hand flat against my chest. Her silver tail slips against mine, nudging my sheath. I growl again as her touch feeds the fire in my veins. Dammit . Her pale eyes lock on mine, her lips drooping into a seductive pout. One hand trails down my bicep, now curling around my wrist, pressing me into the corals.
“Here?” She giggles. “Your Highness is so bold .” Her teeth graze my earlobe.
Behind the princess, Enna treads, staring at us with flashing eyes. From her arms rise those sharp, black spines. Her tail whips restlessly back and forth, as if moving without command. When Aris dips in to nibble along my neck, Enna’s gills flare. She pins me with her glare, those eyes burning a path to the back of my skull.
Aris drifts into my line of vision, obscuring the handmaid from my view. She eyes my lips and palms my cheek with her warm hand. Her nose slides against mine. “Would you like a kiss, my prince? A wedding night preview, perhaps?”
I stretch my neck, peering around her, aching for another glimpse of the handmaid’s face—for my scientific study. One moment, she’d been calm; the next, those spines rose, ready to slice. What triggered her so? I scan the waters behind Aris’s head, finding them empty. Nothing but a splattering of bubbles. She’s gone.
Aris perceives the change in my libido, sliding her tail against me. She withdraws, frowning. “Your Highness?”
And there it is again—that look in her eyes. She does not see me, does not want me. This is all just a game to her, a play for my throne.
The garden fish swim lazy circles around us, nibbling lushfruit from Aris’s hair.
I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat. Aris doesn’t have the barbed teeth of a clingerfish, but she doesn’t need them. It’s her fingers that won’t leave my skin, always trailing up and down my arm as if she’s searching for the best place to dig in.
“Our marriage is just pageantry, Aris,” I say. “You don’t have to play when no one is watching.”
Her hand pauses, fingers lingering over the hollow of my throat.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she says. “But what a show we could put on with a little practice. Don’t you want to play the part well?” She smiles, slipping closer. Her hand trails lower, stopping above my beating heart. She strokes my skin softly, her smile sinking the longer I hesitate to answer.
I wrap my hand around hers, squeezing it, then removing it from my chest. “I’m looking for the real thing.”
“The real thing?” She drops her hand, her face cold as stone. “I see you, Soren. You and I, we are the same. The real thing was never likely for royals like us.”
“We are not the same.”
“We could get there, eventually.” Her eyes flash with hope, and I feel sorry for the female. Even if it’s all a game, she’s an excellent actress.
“Perhaps.”
“What’s the harm in a little practice?” She presses forward until her breasts brush against my chest, her nipples hard through her soft mesh covering. Then her hand is on my chest again, tracing the planes of my stomach.
I remove it from my skin. “No need.” I squeeze her hand until she flinches. “You’re already playing your part perfectly.”
She tugs her hand, trying to free herself from my grip. I tighten my hold, enraged. The more time I spend alone with her, the deeper she’ll sink her teeth. I’ll need a sharp knife to pry this one loose.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Sing yourself out of this.” My anger flares, stirring the magic within me. I want her to push back against me, to show me her strength, her wit. My queen needs to be strong, not some coy little clinger.
But she just treads water, refusing to fight. Her eyes narrow, the blue freezing into pools of ice. “I don’t have to,” she says coolly. She looks past my shoulder, at the mermaids who hover there, murmuring quietly as they watch our exchange.
Magic stirs, wild and hungry. She wants my power? So be it.
My vision darkens. The hold on my magic snaps. I shout, wordless but full of Voice. With the sharp note, tendrils of my magic snake out from my hands, slicing through the garden. The dismembered bodies of fish sink to the reedgrass, littering the water with blood and bones. Snapperfish slither out of their holes, lapping up the unexpected snack.
Aris finally removes her hand from my chest. “Shall we play again tomorrow?” she asks, that coy smile still on her face.
Drained of my energy, I frown at her. Was I not clear? I do not wish to see her again unless I’m required to by duty.
It takes every ounce of my control to keep my tone even as I lean in and whisper, “If this is pageantry, Princess, I don’t like the part you’re playing.”