37. Soren
Chapter thirty-seven
Soren
“Hugo, I need you to distract me.”
My attendant rifles through the formal attire in my wardrobe. He turns to catch my gaze in the mirror.
“And from what event could Your Highness possibly need a distraction?” His eyebrow lifts, then flattens, and he turns back to his work. “Was holding court that unbearable today? Or perhaps my prince is having second thoughts about his upcoming marriage.”
Court had been unbearable, though thankfully this time void of more marriage proposals. I grimace, kneading the soreness from my lower back. “Says the male without a propensity for gossip.”
He pulls two garments from the wardrobe. “It’s not gossip if I’m discussing it with my prince directly. Now, what does His Highness think of these?”
I eye the white leather pants and light blue silk shirt, the constricting staples of Coral male two-legged fashion. The pants will be uncomfortably tight. If a certain mysterious shadow-guard is in attendance tonight, the entire court will get a view of my attraction to her.
“Looks good enough.”
“His Highness is avoiding the question,” Hugo says as he dresses me.
“You’re not good at distractions,” I mutter.
“I’ve known you your whole life. I’ve watched you grow from a carefree guppy sneaking out to play in the reefs into this”—his eyes flick over me—“carefully chiseled image of the crown. That little guppy, so full of light? I’m afraid you’ve snuffed him out.”
“That little guppy wasn’t ready to be king.”
“You hold the weight of a kingdom on your shoulders, and you do it well, Your Highness, because you must. Your mother has been grooming you for the throne for the past decade, even more so since your father’s death three years ago. You are ready,” Hugo insists in a gentle tone, finishing buttoning my shirt.
Even before I marked my third decade and came of age to inherit the throne, my mother shoveled more and more responsibilities into my lap. “I’m more than ready,” I growl.
“Yes. And yet here you are, on the eve of your wedding day, tangling with a female behind the rocks and asking me for a distraction.”
I tug at the collar once more. Anger flares at his implication that Enna is some random female, a simple means of escaping my duties. I bite my tongue to keep my retort unspoken.
“I do not think His Highness can afford any more distractions,” Hugo says. “Do you?”
“This morning didn’t feel like a distraction. It felt like freedom.”
“Ah.” Hugo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Your father said much the same thing to me once.”
I swallow, the familiar hole in my chest reopening at the mention of him. “And what advice did you give him?”
Sadness swims in his soft blue gaze as he whispers, “I didn’t. I should have said something, but I didn’t.”
“What do you wish you’d told him, then?”
“Your father needed more freedom in his life.”
“Hugo, you dirty fish,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder.
The male shrugs, then chuckles softly. “Will your freedom be in attendance at the ball tonight?” His eyes sparkle with mischief as he picks up a comb and begins tugging it through my wet curls.
My stomach flutters, a school of guppies battering against the walls of my gut. Surely, Enna will be there.
“I hope so,” I breathe, and the admission lifts a weight from my chest.
The Grand Hall crowds with merfolk nobility, each stuffed into tight, colorful garments as they twirl and dance to the pluck of a string band. As I make my way to the queen on her throne, I scan the crowd, searching for a pale streak of white skin, a mess of black hair. Finding none, I push down my disappointment and greet my mother.
“Lovely ball,” I say to her. It’s true; the evidence of my mother’s efforts fills the room with vibrant color. Large bouquets of flowers post in each corner. Garlands of pink roses drip from the ceiling and twine around the marble pillars, the proof of Lady Myrrh’s vision filling the room with their soft fragrance. The hall’s perimeter lines with rows of tables with food and drink, attracting clumps of laughing guests as they pick at the delicacies.
“She’s not here yet,” my mother whispers, “but don’t upset yourself. If she takes much longer, I’ll send the captain to fetch her. A princess should be on time. Even if her brother couldn’t bother to show.”
I catch a glimpse of her scowl before she hides it behind her careful mask. “You expected Rion to show up?”
“I’m not sure what I expected. An appearance, perhaps? This is the beginning of an alliance, after all.”
“At least he sent a note.”
“The disrespect, after what we’re doing for his kingdom.” My mother sighs. “I’m signaling the captain.”
Nara stands near the punch bowl, helping herself to a scoop of the frothy pink juice. With a lopsided grin on her face, she hands the drink to a female guard, their hands brushing in the exchange.
“The captain is occupied,” I say, smiling to myself.
Just then, the crowd stirs as a guard announces the arrival of the Abyssal Princess. The music lurches to a stop, and the broad sea of faces turns toward the gilded doors, each one lifting to stare as the princess enters the hall.
Aris is a vision in deep pink. She blushes from the crowd’s attention and curtsies with a coy smile. Her gaze finds mine, burning with hunger. Even as my scales prick in warning, my mouth moves into an answering smile. I rise from my chair with stiff limbs and march down the steps. The crowd parts around me, clearing a path to the princess.
And then, from the shadows of the doorway, Enna steps into the room, and all breath sucks out of my lungs, leaving me dry and wanting. The silver silk clings to her skin like moonlight on soft waters—but looking at her isn’t enough to soothe the ache in my chest. My hands flex at my sides, anxious again to touch, to claim, knowing I cannot have her. Not here. My pace quickens involuntarily, and I force my body into submission as I approach the princess.
“You look lovely,” I breathe.
Aris giggles before me, dropping into a curtsy, but my gaze still rests on her attendant. Enna’s eyes swim with emotion—distant, then sad, then angry. They transform from quiet lavender pools into burning, hot flames, and I flinch at the intensity. She flicks her gaze to Aris, who stoops before me, and my cheeks warm with embarrassment. I extend my hand to the princess, and she takes it, returning to her full height.
The crowd erupts into applause, and the musicians strike a joyful tune. Aris sidles close, looping her hand around the crook of my elbow to anchor me to her side. She gazes up at me with sparkling eyes. “Ready to whisk me off my feet, my prince?” she says, turning us toward the dance floor.
I follow her numbly to fulfill my duty, mentally calculating the minimum number of dances to meet the appropriate quota for a betrothed royal couple. Just one would be a slight on her honor; five would be tempting mine. An unhappy three, then.
We settle into a waltz, spinning across the dance floor. She clings to me, her feet barely brushing the ground. With every turn, I scan the room, locating Enna’s position among the faces. If I cannot have her in my arms, I can at least keep her in my sight.
And my heart aches, knowing that will never be enough for me.