I tightened the dress’s laces over my stomach and tied them into a bow at the swooping neckline. It was a perfect fit, and somehow I did not question that Theodore had known it would be. “You bastard,” I mumbled, not knowing if I intended the curse for Theodore and his flawless gown or Nemea and his torturous one.
Frustrated, I shook out the wrinkled skirt and swallowed back a flood of saliva. It was sickness that had pulled me from a nightmare-suffused sleep. And from the way the light coming through the massive wall of windows had begun to melt into a luxurious evening gold, it had been a long sleep too.
The minutes passed and I only managed to nibble at a bit of appleas I paced the room. Then to the basin to heave up what little I’d eaten, and then toward the cabin door in hopes that Theodore would return and give me some relief. The golden light began to deepen, and I stood at the window watching the lambent sea ripple and slice. The spume haunted the peaks of the waves, there and gone, and there once more. I awed, and wondered if I should love it, or if I should fear it. If I should see something of myself in its changeability, in its ceaseless, churning want. In how I could never truly know what lurked in its depths.
My mind was yanked from its thoughts with my next round of dry heaves.
“Priggish ass,” I groaned, wiping my mouth. “At least you’re sick too, wherever you are.”
I trudged back toward the door and tried the handle. Locked. I pulled back the green velvet curtain that hung neatly over the door’s glass and stilled.
There, in a leadlight window, was a depiction of a Siren hovering over a rocky shore and a vine-covered ship. There was nothing ominous in her portrayal. Rather, she looked like she had been… adored. Her black wings were wide. Rays of yellow glass shone down on her from above. In comparison, the ship below her looked small, overshadowed.
I stared, curiosity swirling, for a long moment before I pounded on the door. “Let me out.”
A shape rippled through the stained glass. The lock clicked. The door swung open, and there stood Lachlan. He seemed even taller now than before. A dark stubble had grown over his jaw. I stared up into his scrutinizing eyes, yellow-green shot through with brown, and said, “Ugh.”
Lachlan arched a brow. “Not happy to see you either, but let’s make the best of it, shall we?”
“Where’s the king?”
“Working.”
I looked over my shoulder at the paper-cluttered desk on the wall opposite the wide bed. Then at the long polished table that held two trays of food—the breakfast and lunch I’d slept through. “Why isn’t he working in here?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Theo likes his privacy.”
“Please,” I begged, “I need this sickness to stop. Please, go get him.”
Lachlan gave me a flat, unbending sort of assessment, and I knew he wouldn’t.
“I hope he’s vomiting all over his paperwork,” I seethed. “All right. Agatha, then. Where is she?”
Lachlan’s entire countenance changed. His shoulders fell and a long exhale pushed through his lips. “She’s locked herself in her cabin.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What did you do to her?”
“You sure it wasn’t you?” He counted my sins on his fingers. “What with your murdering, and your almost getting yourself killed, and your king-stealing?”
We glared at each other for a beat.
“Fine.” I crossed my arms staunchly over my chest. “I’ll concede that I’ve very likely helped send her into a fit, but only if you tell me what the hell is going on with the two of you.”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“Liar,” I said, just as my stomach muscles clenched. I ran toward the basin and retched and retched until my ribs ached so badly, I moaned. As I wiped my mouth with a cloth, I heard the door close and lock.
Lachlan strode toward the settee and collapsed onto its cushions, propping up his feet. “I’m not lying. There is nothing going on between us, however much I would like there to be.”
“But last night the two of you had obviously been kissing at the very least.”
“That we had.” He massaged his brow like it hurt. “She also yelled at me for writing so often, even though she always wrote back. Apparently, I have not let her ‘move on’ and we are ‘no longer compatible,’ but we felt pretty damn compatible last night, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to fucking do with that.”
“I think we’re tied,” I said, before I dry-heaved once more into my fist.
He snorted, then gave me a pitying look. “You’re almost a full day into your bond now. One more day to go.”
“I don’t consider myself a petty woman.” I made for the shelf where the box of little glass vials sat and searched for some tonic that might give me relief. “But I hope that the king is curled up in a ball right now, spectacularly miserable.”
