35. Soren
Chapter thirty-five
Soren
The queen’s nails rap on the breakfast table, the only sound in the dining room. She sits with her spine straight, chin held high—her favorite posture for intimidation. She parts her mouth as if to speak, then closes it. It’s a game we play often, and whoever speaks first loses.
I’m not falling for it. I lift my teacup slowly, taking a sip of the steeped lushfruit.
Our game requires every ounce of my self-control this morning, and after my morning with Enna, my reserves are dwindling. I don’t want to be here, sipping tea as the silence stretches. I could have stayed behind those rocks, buried deep inside her. The unbridled shriek as she came still echoes in my mind—beautiful and feral. My cock stirs, summoned by the memory.
I blow on the tea; my mother’s lips tighten. I take another sip.
I know I crossed the line this morning. I shouldn’t have joined Enna in her sparring practice. I shouldn’t have been watching her from my balcony to begin with—shouldn’t have grabbed my trident, thrown Nara’s name as an excuse to my guard, and marched down there with the intention to rile her. To get under her scales as much as she gets under mine.
I took it too far. Her touch, her fire; I couldn’t help myself. And now my body is wrought with tension. Part of me screams to fall back in line and do my duty. The other, louder, part wants to leave this kingdom, to dive into the waves and escape into a world of color and muted sound, with Enna by my side. Away from Aquisa, we could be just two sirens in the sea, leaving the pressures of the crown. The thought is both warming and terrifying.
Impossible. Yet tantalizing, nonetheless.
My mother lifts her own cup of tea, her eyes glinting as she watches me over the rim.
“I need you to hold court again today,” she says, finally. Game over. My mouth twitches in victory.
“And that’s the news that interrupted my morning?”
Hugo shifts behind me, his clothing brushing together in a whisper of disapproval, but he says nothing.
“You’re upset,” she states.
Upset is not the right word. Tense, maybe. Pissed, definitely. I’m frustrated by the beautiful handmaiden—no, highly skilled royal shadow-guard—who slipped through my fingers moments ago, leaving me alone to deal with the consequences.
My mother resumes her anxious tapping on the table, keeping time with the pace of my chewing.
“I’m not upset,” I say, jaw tensed. “Is everything in order for this evening’s ball? The wedding? Would you not rather me gallivant around the palace straightening vases and picking ribbons than sitting in court today?”
The rapping ceases. Her first finger curls mid-rhythm, hovering above the table like a claw. She flexes her hand, pressing it flat against the wood.
“I understand the pressure you are under, but I did not expect you to crack so easily.”
I clench my teeth. “Apologies, Your Majesty.”
“Fill in your cracks, Soren, lest the princess finds them.”
The tension stretches me to the brink of my resistance, ready to snap. I inhale slowly, then blow my next words out in a whisper. “I am not cracking, Mother.”
“And yet, here you are, despite all my counsel, still wishing for a love match,” she says, lifting her tea once more. “Are you not?”
My skin itches under the intensity as she studies my face. Can she see the sweat on my brow? The row of Enna’s teeth marks along my collarbone?
“Your father did not choose me for love, you know.” She withdraws her gaze, peering into her teacup, her bottom lip quivering with the last word. “This kingdom teetered on the precipice of uproar. Your father needed a queen. He had a love match in mind, yes, but she was not suitable. I was.” Her steely gaze meets mine. “There are no love matches when you’re a royal. Love will break you, Soren, and that is a weakness this crown cannot afford.”
I avoid her gaze, unsettled by the sudden anger there, and glance out the window. The waves lap at the stones beneath the eastern terrace. For ages, the tides have followed their predetermined course. The moon pulls, and the tides answer. Any resistance leads to the same end: one way or another, the waves always crash on the shore.
“Is that why he broke?” I whisper. “Because he had a love match, and it wasn’t you?”
The image of my future focuses with clarity—Aris by my side in the light of day, Enna in my sheets at night. Is that what I want? To end up like my father, driven mad by the circumstances he created for himself?
“You’re marrying your best match. This princess will do just fine for you.”
I may have started our game in the winning position, but over the course of the past few minutes, my mother snatched the victory from under my feet. I craft my retreating remark carefully.
“Aris is a perfect match, Mother, thank you,” I say. The words taste like paper on my tongue.
“Good. I wouldn’t settle for anything less for you, Soren. You know that.”
Her teacup clinks as she sets it into the saucer. “I will finish the arrangements for the ball this evening. You will have an excellent ball, my prince. Don’t you worry about that.”
“I’m sure it will be splendid, thanks to your expertise.”
“If you hold court, that will lessen my burden.”
I nod, smiling politely. “Of course.”