Page 18 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

But I need her. I feel it. The magnetic pull I cannot shake. At first, it was just my father’s magic leading me to her, forcing this connection for necessity. But after what I felt last night, when she slept, when her breathing steadied, and her mind quieted, I cannot deny there is something deeper at play. A tether neither of us asked for, yet neither of us can escape.

She wears indifference like armor, certain I cannot see past it. She is wrong.

I will not press her. She shares shades of Nyx, but there is something deeper in this human, something she guards fiercely, and something I want to understand.

All I can do is guide her. Help her maintain the storm rising inside her until we reach my kingdom. The magic that has claimed her mind and body will not stay quiet for long.

She stares at me now, expression shuttered, arms crossed like a barrier, like she already knows she does not have a choice. Good. I do not want to have to calm her down. Not again.

I rub the back of my neck. “You should probably change before we go.”

My gaze drops despite myself. Thin bands of cloth curve along her pale shoulders, barely visible beneath the oversized shirt. Her shorts cling to her strong, elegant legs. But I suspect it is the surface of something far more formidable.

She arches a brow, voice sharp. “Why do I need to change? I have a swimsuit underneath this.”

The pink in her cheeks rises fast. Embarrassment? Or anger? I can never tell with land-dwellers. Human emotions blur too easily. They shift mid-sentence, like waves on stone.

“Where we are going, those clothes will weigh you down,” I reply, keeping my voice low, not because I mean anything by it, but because I do not want her to think I do. “I suggest wearing something more . . . lightweight.”

Her eyes narrow. One brow ticks up. “Lightweight? You do realize, this is as lightweight as I can get?”

“I am merely stating it will weigh you down,” I say, tone clipped. “It is a quarter-day swim at my speed. But given your fragility . . .” I motion in front of her with a flat palm, tracing the air like I’m outlining her frame. “We will have to take it slower. It could take an entire day to reach Virellan.”

She does not speak at first. Her expression shifts again, something unreadable. If I were submerged, surrounded by water, I could feel it all. Every spike of emotion, every pulse of doubt. But up here, it is like being deaf in one ear.

Sarah throws up her hands, exasperated. “You act like this is normal. Like I should just smile and say sure, sea king, let’s go for a death swim.”

“It would make things easier.”

“For you. Not for the girl you’re dragging out of her life.”

I grit my teeth and try to breathe, but it’s like trying to contain a riptide with a whisper.

She lets out a huff and spins on her heel, vanishing inside the place she calls home. The glass door slides shut with a soft clack.

I stare out toward the storm-muddled sky, letting the wind cool my frustration. I wait, drag a hand down my face, and mutter under my breath.

How is she the most intriguing thing I've encountered in years and somehow also the most infuriating? Humans . . .

Several minutes pass. She reappears in a thin layer of fabric that stretches across her chest over her swimsuit, and odd peach-colored coverings fastened beneath her feet with a single forked strap, and secured back in a low knot. “I can’t believe I’m going to show up to the beach like this with someone I hardly know,” she mutters as her breaths turn shallow.

“If we leave now, there should not be many people, if any, where we will begin our dive.”

“Can we just get this over with?” she grumbles.

The walk to the shoreline felt like miles, mostly because she wouldn’t stop complaining.

“Do all sea kings drag women into the ocean without explanation?”

“Are you always this bossy?”

“Why did this have to happen to me . . . of all people?”

I tune her out somewhere after the third complaint. In all my years, I have never dealt with someone so stubborn, so loud, so utterly unwilling to yield. I was taught that a king earns respect through compassion and wisdom. But she is not my subject. And I am not her king.

Though despite that, there is something about her fire that I cannot ignore. Goddess help me.

After reaching the shoreline, her voice finally quiets. The wind rises to meet us, carrying the scent of salt and electric tension. The sky remains dark overhead, a dull stretch of silver clouds hiding the early morning sun. In the distance, thunder bellows, low and constant, vibrating through the atmosphere. A fine mist falls, tracing rivulets down my skin. The streets are quiet. The weather has kept most indoors, which makes things easier.