Page 122 of The Hunted

“I know what they are,” Arelle interrupted. “Water fruit dipped in white cream.”

“My favorite,” Misael said with a grin.

One couldn’t tell the man enjoyed sugary treats. Though she knew Misael had to be at least in his fiftieth year, or beyond, if not nearing them, he had not a touch of gray in his hair, no age showing in lines on his face, and he seemed fit and muscular as both the men of her kind and those who walked solely on land preferred. Shame that she’d bet his good looks and healthy appearance came from the enchanted medicines made from the mermaid blood and not a single thing else.

A click of a tongue and a chirp came from across the table, making Arelle lift her head subtly to answer the call of the mermaid on the opposite side of her seat. With a large metal collar around her throat, and her hair pulled back to showcase it with the royal stamp engraved at the front, the woman’s piercing violet eyes made her still in place.

But what she’d said—in their mother tongue—wasn’t lost on Arelle, even if the merwoman had said it quietly and quickly so that the exchange was missed by the others at the table who were still busy between food and conversation. Even the king.

Do not refuse him—the punishment is always far worse than giving him what he wants. Always.

She swallowed hard, and nodded to the slave, grateful for the help she hadn’t had to give, when the king was clearly treating Arelle like a favored whore over her for everyone to see.

“Yes,” Arelle told the servant, “I’ll have one, thank you.”

“Of course.”

The servant didn’t move the silver-plated tray until Arelle had taken her pick of sweet from the bunch. All the while, the table’s movement continued on, the king grinned her way as though he was quite pleased, and Eryx’s jaw became tenser when she brought the sweet to her lips for a bite but passed a look his way at the same time.

It was bad for her to do that.

He was screaming for her on the inside. She heard it as clear as a bright day in her heart and soul.

“Is that true, little thing?”

Arelle’s head swung around to find the king was looking at her expectantly. She hadn’t a single clue what he was asking but thought it better to behave as though she did than to ask him to repeat himself. “Likely.”

The man flashed his teeth in a pleased smile before saying, “Then, you should dance.” His hands clapped together loudly, silencing the table all at once while every pair of eyes turned on him. “Find the music, I want to watch the slave dance—find the music!”

Servants rushed to obey.

The king told Arelle, “Well, get up. You won’t be sitting there to do it.”

Gods.

She should have just asked him to repeat himself.

Slowly, though it was the last thing she wanted to do, Arelle stood from the table. Turning away from her seat, every muscle in her body froze when a crack echoed throughout the room and an accompanying sting radiated over her backside.

He’d hit her.

Slapped her ass, in fact.

Disgust rolled heavily through Arelle as laughter filtered down the table. Her stare found Eryx, who was now grinding his teeth and not even making an effort to hide it. In the sea, that act alone would have gotten another man killed by her mate.

Here …

All the rules changed.

The man who had been sitting beside Arelle stood, saying, “Perhaps the den would be a better place for a show like that. We’re a bit tight in here, Misael. Care to let me walk her there while you finish your treats?”

The king nodded. “Sound plan, Mattue.”

Mattue offered Arelle his arm, smiling all the way. She took it reluctantly, if only because she didn’t trust this man, and his encounters with Eryx before this evening had never seemed to sit right with her. They followed a few others who readied to leave the table out of the room. It was only once the king—and Eryx—were behind them that the man spoke to her.

“She was right, you know,” Mattue said.

Arelle glanced his way, wary. “Pardon?”