28. Enna
Chapter twenty-eight
Enna
On the way to the tavern, I give the prince and Odissa a wide berth, hanging back with the watchful group of guards.
He guides us into the underwater districts and, just as before, Odissa clings to him like a horny bloodfish.
At the reef's edge, a large cave structure extends above the waterline. We follow a narrow channel, surfacing inside the heart of a cavern. Stalagmites surge up from the stone floor to support scattered tabletops, each surrounded by chattering merfolk. The room is packed to its gills. Noisy.
I haul myself into the humid cave air, my tail splits into a wobbly pair of legs, and I step onto the smooth stone floor. I watch the patrons closely, waiting for the tension to arise. In Vespyr, there’s always a tavern fight. But it doesn’t come. The merfolk laugh and toast their ale. When they notice the royals, many pause and touch their gills.
The prince points to an empty table at the back of the room. “There’s our spot. You ladies get settled in while I grab us some drinks from the bar.”
He brushes the small of Odissa’s back, and she leans into it, resting her head momentarily on his shoulder. “You’re leaving me alone?”
He smiles at her. “I’m sure your handmaid will protect you.” His gaze lifts to meet mine, and he whispers, “Won’t you, Wicked?”
I nod, heat skittering across my neck, and cross to the table he indicated. Odissa follows quietly, and we settle into chairs across from each other.
“What the fuck was that?” she hisses. “Wicked?”
“It’s nothing, Your Highness.” I shrug, avoiding her gaze. After a beat of silence, she huffs her retreat.
Beside us, two mermen play a game of Stones, placing them in intricate patterns on a lined stone board. A large male twirls a whiskered spine dripping from his top lip. With a crooked smile, he slaps down a black stone, then leans back in his seat and guffaws. The sound rises above the chatter of the room.
It was a good move. In my father’s house, I would sneak in a game of Stones with the butler.
“Oy!” calls the waitress, who carries five foaming mugs of ale in one hand. With the other, she hands another patron their bill. “Shut it down, Krass.”
Krass’s laugh grows louder, and the waitress shakes her head, smiling.
His opponent, a smaller male with two round eyes too big for his face, frowns at the table. His antennae twitch, peeking through a mop of gray hair. He places a small white stone. Krass stops laughing, squinting at the board. With a growl and a swipe of his large fist, the board clatters to the floor. The pebbles scatter, landing at Odissa’s feet.
She kicks the stones away with a sour expression. She mutters to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes.
“Apologies, my ladies,” says Krass, stooping to retrieve the pebbles.
Odissa looks pointedly at the ceiling and moves her foot out of his reach.
I hop from my chair and scoop up the few stones that landed near me and hold them out for Krass. He accepts them with a deep bow, touching his hidden gills with two fingers.
I drop the stones into his large blue hands. “Next time, don’t leave your left flank so open,” I whisper. “It was a fair move, you know.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he rumbles, his pointy smile spreading wide. “Truly.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say, returning to my seat.
Odissa pins me with a glare as the males return to their game.
I raise my eyebrow at her. “Something chewing your fins?”
She shakes her head. Prince Soren arrives with three mugs of ale and a plate of seaweed crisps balancing on top. He slides into the chair between us and distributes the mugs.
“Ladies,” he says, tipping his head.
“How kind of Your Highness,” Odissa purrs. She lifts a mug to her lips, the foam clinging to her upper lip.
He takes a long pull from his own mug. With every bob of his throat, he sucks down the liquid in rapid rhythm, draining the liquid in a few gulps. Then, he licks the foam from his lips.
Odissa watches him, her eyes widening with each gulp.
He plucks a crisp from the plate and crunches it between his teeth. “This is my favorite spot,” he says, glancing at her.
She forces a smile. “Oh, really?” she says, taking in the room. Her eyes dart between the tables, snagging on Krass, who leans in our direction with interest, and swivels his large ears.
The prince tips his mug, studying the bottom of it with disappointment. He signals the waitress.
A small band has taken post at the far end of the cavern, coaxing a lilting tune from their stringed instruments. Mermaids spiral in a free-flowing dance, laughing and carrying their mugs of ale to the dance floor, amber liquid sloshing onto the stone floor.
Odissa flexes her jaw. “What a lovely place.”
“You think so?” He leans across the table, studying her face intently.
Next to us, Krass belches loudly, thumping his fist onto his table repeatedly. His opponent snickers as he places a white stone.
Odissa flicks her eyes to the game. Her lips quiver as she holds them in a smile. “Of course,” she says. She reaches for the prince’s hand, smoothing the back with her thumb.
I guzzle my liquid. It’s smooth against the back of my throat, and I close my eyes, letting it slide into my gullet. I soon reach the bottom of my mug, too, seeking the buzz. But this ale is weak, and I’ve spent a lifetime building my tolerance.
“I think the palace kitchen does a fine job, as well,” she hedges. “That cake on our first night was to die for, don’t you agree?”
He flips his hand and catches her thumb between his fingers, giving it a squeeze before releasing.
“Oh yes, the royal chefs are fantastic. But sometimes, I fancy a good meal away from the pomp of palace life.” He leans in close, whispering now. “Don’t tell the chef, but the food here is better.”
He places another crisp between his teeth, offering a second to Odissa. She pinches it between her fingers.
“Try it. You might like it.”
She places the crisp in her mouth and chews, swallowing slowly.
“Excellent,” he says. “I figured it’d be nice to relax away from the palace for a while, get to know the people. Have an ale.” He nods at the approaching waitress. “Or two.”
The waitress delivers the next round of ales with two plates of roasted wrigglefish and one plate raw. The prince slides the uncooked meal to me. “For you, my lady. I know you like it raw.”
I reach for the fish eagerly, tearing into the meat.
With a flourish, he skewers a piece of roasted fish with his fork, then lifts it to his mouth. Seasoning dribbles down his chin. His red tongue swipes out and collects the juice.
I glance down at my plate, ignoring the warmth spiraling through my stomach at the sight of his tongue.
Odissa eyes my meal with longing, pinching her fork between her fingers, angling it to stab efficiently at the roasted flesh on her plate.
She gulps down some ale to chase the charred fish. “What do you like about this place?”
He leans back in his chair, the picture of a male at ease. A lopsided grin spreads across his face, and his eyes light up. A stray curl falls across his forehead, caught in a ray of lamplight.
“It feels real,” he says. “Every now and then, I like to come here and remind myself that there’s more to this world than marble walls and elaborate feasting.” He waves a hand to the room. “I’m sure you understand. Palace life can be constricting.”
“Yes,” she says. “Of course.”
Odissa takes another long drag of her ale, finishing it with gentle flourish. I tear another piece of meat with my teeth. Odissa’s fork connects with an empty spot on her plate, grating in an unpleasant shriek. She frowns at it, blinking rapidly as her cheeks stain pink.
“You okay there?” the prince asks.
Odissa stabs again, this time successfully snagging a bite. She chews slowly, her eyes slightly unfocused.
Shit.
“Your Highness?” I say, lightly touching her hand.
“Hmm?” She opens her eyes to glare at me, her gaze watery. While Odissa could easily keep up with me at the bar in Vespyr, there’s no telling what the limit is for her borrowed body. We may have found it already.
The prince is staring at us, those green eyes sharply focused.
Odissa glances down at her plate, searching for something. “Oh, goddess,” she whispers, attempting to stab with her fork once more. I squeeze her wrist, removing the weapon from her grip.
“Does Her Highness usually get drunk this easily?” He moves his fork out of her reach.
I shrug, studying her face. Odissa’s forehead prickles with sweat. She reaches for her mug, tilting it to peer into its empty well. I panic under the prince’s watchful gaze. When Odissa drinks too much, she gets sobby and prone to spilling her guts, and I can think of at least one secret this prince can never know.
“I’m out of the drink,” Odissa says. Then, to my horror, she laughs to herself. “Out of the Drink!”
I snatch the mug from her hand.
She pouts, then scrabbles her hands across the table to grasp onto his wrist. “Your Highness. Soren , darling. I require the ladies’ room. As it seems, my handmaid is… too drunk to accompany me, would you do me”—she hiccups—“the honor?” She blinks her eyes rapidly, drawing attention to her fluttering eyelashes.
“Of course,” he says, lifting his hand. I wait for him to stand up and escort her, but he stays firmly planted in his seat. Footsteps approach, and the guard moves to stand behind Odissa. “Please assist Her Highness.”
Her lips tighten, but she nods and stands. She pins me with a watery look. “No more ale for you,” she says, hiccupping again.
I show her my sharp fangs, but she’s not as impressed with them as I am. With a sigh, I push up from my seat. I should assist her, make sure she doesn’t spill her guts to the guard in the ladies’ room.
But the prince leans over the table, reaching out to stop me. “Enna,” he says. My heart flutters at the sound of my name falling from his lips. “Stay.”