My agitated thoughts come to a standstill as Soren’s bare shoulders begin to rock.
Is he…laughing?
“How is it,” he begins, and indeed he is laughing, for he has to pause and start again. “How is it, Princess, that you have negotiated greater peace between dragons and wyverns this evening than my predecessors have in a century?”
I blink at the fine planes of his back. I was prepared to defend myself. I find myself utterly unprepared to be praised.
“I don’t know, Your Majesty.”
He drops to his knees in front of me and tilts his head to peer into my face. “How many times must I tell you not to call me that?”
His sudden proximity befuddles me further. “I don’t know,” I say again.
He searches my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s only that I thought you would be displeased with me.”Displeaseis a tame word. I expected outrage. Who am I to barter with his kingdom’s limited water?
“I wasn’t angry before,” Soren says. “Why would I be now?”
I moisten my lips, and his gaze follows the motion. “Most kings don’t want their queens brokering peace with their enemies. They’d rather do such a thing themselves.”
“Most kings are fools. I want to see my queen shine.”
For some reason, the statement makes me feel lightheaded. Giddy, even. My eyes fall to his own lips.
“I do have a question, though,” he says.
I glance up, sobering.
“How are you going to marry me early if you’re busy coddling a bunch of half-dressed wyverns?”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “Is that the part you’re concerned about?”
“Yes.”
I glance away from his chiseled chest. “If you don’t put on a shirt soon, I’ll begin to think you’re a wyvern yourself.”
He grasps my chin and draws my eyes back to him.
“I think you rather like it off.”
I let out a playful huff. “You aren’t being fair.”
I expect him to say that he never claimed to be, like he did once before. Instead, his gaze turns serious. Then a bit sad. He traces the lines of my face with a thumb as if committing my skin to memory.
“You’re too good for me, Serah,” he says.
The sudden shift perplexes me, and I’m grasping for the right words when there’s a call at the door. Soren instantly releases his hold on me.
“Enter,” he says. It may be the first time I’ve seen him not grieve an interruption.
It’s Rally, and his mouth is set in a firm line.
“I apologize for yet another interruption, Your Majesties,” he says, “but we’ve just received a messenger bird fromThe Siren.”
I jolt upright.The Siren? That’s my mother’s ship.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
