Page 30 of Taken By the Crab King of Atlantis

The ballroom is on the edge of the city, under its own glass dome which serves as the roof, and the colorful coral planted outside serves as ample decoration. Coral tables line the room with hors d'oeuvres on them, and staff circulate with free-flowing drinks, while inoffensive string music rises above the chatter of the privileged.

The ceiling is filled with floating, star-shaped globes; the illuminated creatures inside are happy to oblige for this prestigious event, and the wafting scent of ocean spray circulates on an impossible, light breeze.

There are doors at even intervals around the room, leading to corridors and other rooms, but there is only one formal entrance, with a large, transparent archway. There is a red carpet rolled out through the middle of the room so incoming guests can walk directly to my throne.

It is traditional for the sacrifice to enter after everyone has arrived, but the last delegation of mer-people arrived ten minutes ago, and Yen has yet to enter.

My skin itches to see her again. My mind wanders back to our time in my office yesterday. The smoky, jasmine scent of her lust, the submission in her gaze. And our time in the lift — how softly she leaned into me, trusting me.

My cocks stir, ready to burst free as I think of her. It’s a struggle not to demand she appear.

I sigh, rubbing my temples and look to the door, wishing for Yen, but knowing she will not be allowed to enter yet.

“How is my lord?” Kilandra stands beside me. She’s wearing a dark blue suit that matches her hair and nods to her Oceania lineage and no-nonsense personality. All the other women in the room are in formal gowns.

“Impatient.”

“Naturally. Your sacrifice is quite a woman. I believe she will bring fresh energy to Atlantis.”

“How was she able to win you over so quickly?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“She likes the city,” she says simply, and shrugs. “And I believe she is on her way.”

Kilandra steps away from me, or perhaps I stop noticing her, when the doors open again and Yen enters. The announcer calls her name, and she pauses, eyes wide as she takes in the room.

Her sharp, dark hair is a stark contrast to the long, white dress that plunges low between her full breasts and flows freely around her hips and ankles.

She looks ravishing, and I let my admiration shine in my eyes as her gaze meets mine from across the room.

She is alone, as is customary, but Quan slips into the room behind her, and I notice their hand graze the small of her back encouragingly.

Her shoulders straighten, and she walks with long strides across the room, straight for me.

YEN

In the past, my underwear has been various bright shades of cotton. Comfortable and cursory.

Tonight, hidden beneath my full skirt is a suspender set and the kind of underwear I’d only heard about as a joke. It’s white, matching my outfit, and the gentle rubbing of the lace against my freshly waxed skin is a constant reminder of the physical aspects of this evening, which are easier than the confusing personal history of the god before me.

I didn’t have to wear the lingerie. Quan provided me with some conservative alternatives. But I wanted to. It helps me feel like someone else. Someone desirable. Someone Karkinos would want.

My confidence falters when I step into the crowded ballroom, and all eyes turn towards me. The conversation notably hushes while my mind goes blank.

“Go get him, tiger,” Quan whispers behind me, and I remembered why I’m here. I catch Karkinos’ steady gaze, push down the tremors that threatened to erupt at any moment, and walk across the room.

With every step, my confidence grows as the formality of the ball sinks in. I’m walking on a red carpet, in front of a crowd that watches my every move. It’s like stepping up to a piano recital, and I feel as distanced from myself now as I did then.

Much like those concerts, I will meet expectations because I have to.

I push my nerves aside, focusing instead on walking in my surprisingly comfortable heels, keeping my head back and my strides long.

But when I near Karkinos, the heat in his gaze is unmistakable, and my body springs to awareness that reminds me that underneath this makeover, I’m still ME. Terribly flawed me, nowhere near as perfect and self-sacrificing as his dead queen.

I was full of wine confidence last night, and I hadn’t yet seen Yvette’s image. Seeing her reminded me Karkinos didn’t pick me himself. I’m a one-night deal, and tomorrow I’ll be gone.

I make it to him and bow over his hand, fighting the urge to run, and when I rise, his antennae crane towards me, as if searching for something.

He frowns as if unhappy with what he sees. Disappointment makes my entire body heavy, but duty keeps my spine stiff. “Dance with me,” he says, and it’s not a question, although no others are dancing.