Page 43 of The Stolen Crown

I reached forward, desperate to find him, touch him. He was gone. Only empty waters sprawled ahead of me in suffocating darkness.

Spots clouded my vision. My lungs screamed. The horrible truth was I would not drown if I did not surface. Fae were not mortals. We did not die the same.

The threat to sea fae on land was feeling a horrid sort of dryness if they didn’t soak their skin. For earth fae in Sea Folk waters, it was the violence of the tides that would crush us before drowning.

Fear of being trapped deep in the Ever Seas drew out an underwater shriek. Another flow of briny sea flooded my throat.

What a horrid way to exist. Waterlogged, always on the cusp of drowning, but never meeting the Otherworld until the pressure snapped the ribs and skull.

I forced my legs to kick, forced my arms to scoop water. I prayed to the silent gods I was swimming for the surface and not deeper below it.

Kick. Scoop. Thrash. Gulp. My head burned like flames had been set inside. My chest screamed in agony. My limbs were feathery the longer I went, as though the water stole away every piece of muscle off my bones until I was flailing.

Then my head broke the surface.

I swallowed air in the moment a wave pounded down atop my head, spinning me again below the water.

Kick. Scoop. Thrash. Gulp.

On the surface again, I kept my wits long enough to draw in cold air before another wave slammed down atop my head.

Over and again, I surfaced, only to be pummeled by the strength of the seas.

Exhausted and gasping, part of me wanted to give up, let the Ever Sea pull me under. Perhaps Vanna or other merfolk would go against their curious nature and not keep me prisoner in their grottos. Perhaps they’d find me and bring me to the Royal City without…Tait.

I broke the surface, glancing frantically side to side. Where the hells was Tait? In the thrashing darkness, I did not see the massive wall of water rising. I had time to let out a half scream before the wave devoured me.

The force of the tide, the weight of the water, blackened my vision. A haze filled my mind, and I wasn’t entirely certain if I was awake or locked in a dream. Somewhere in the fog, it felt as though arms encircled me.

Chilled night air struck my face. Someone spoke, rough and low, near my ear. My spine hit something solid, soft, wet.

A groan slipped free when my wrists were raised above my head, my arms extended, and I moved. No, I was dragged. Until it all stopped.

Salt coated my lashes, but through the blur, I made out a darkened shape in front of my face.

“Gods, please.” A palm furiously tapped my face. “Mira, dammit, wake up.”

I loved when he said my name.

Fire crackled. A breath of sweet smoke burned the back of my throat. I cracked my eyes open, blinking against sand and salt. There was light at last. The faintest glimmer of a rising sun against the gleam of firelight.

When I attempted to sit up, I groaned. Good hells, it felt as though a dozen stones rattled in my skull. Every hinge in my limbs, every muscle down my spine, throbbed in tension.

“Slow.” The familiar gruff tone drew my attention.

Tait approached. Naked from the waist up. My eyes were wide now. Pale sand coated the tattoo on his chest, silver rings still glinted around most of his fingers, and his dark hair was damp on his neck.

I glimpsed at my body. What in the three hells? Only my thin chemise covered my naked flesh. Not that it mattered; with my still-drying skin, the thin material clung to my breasts so tightly I could see the darker flesh of my nipples.

Tait—no doubt in horror—attempted to cover me with strange waxy leaves.

Across a broken branch, my gown and his tunic and scarf hung out to dry.

A stony overhang shielded us from the night sky, the lip of a small cavern from what I could see. Twenty paces away, the sea lapped in and out from the shore. How deceptively peaceful it seemed now.

Tait crouched at my side. Feet bare, his strong, carved body locked in enough tension I could make out every strand of firm muscle.

“Move slowly.” His voice hummed through my damp bones. “Your head was struck in the water.”