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Elowen and Myra began to notice my staring, so I cleared my throat and said as evenly as possible, “I did not know the Preserver had been so generous.”
“Oh, come on, Gwyn.” A new voice had joined our midst. “You, especially, should know I am most generous in everything I do.”
I stilled, my cheeks tingling with a wholly new kind of flush. Myra and Elowen giggled as I turned to where I knew Kalen would be waiting.
My heart fluttered and I gawked at him, unabashedly. He stood in the frame of my door with unmatched grace, leaned long and tall against one elbow, his legs crossed at his ankles. Thin poplin slacks fell like sheets onto the thick stone cut of his thighs. Half of his white linen top was unbuttoned, the collar folding out towards his shoulder, exposing the broad curve of his chest. Sand and salt from the air clung to the light fuzz that grew there.
When my eyes whisked up to his, I could see clearly the smug look he wore. His hair was pushed out of his face into a low knot at the back of his head, bits and pieces of blond locks falling naturally onto his strong cheekbones.Kalen looked like he was made by the Mother himself. A gift she brought to the Sea, and he knew it. That wherever he traveled, in each place he was the person who not only belonged, but commanded. Standing there at my door, Kalen could be the king of anything.
Without another word, his hand reached out with his palm facing the ceiling, waiting for me to join him. I rose with as much grace as my haggard body would allow, sweeping my skirt up in my free hand. I was embarrassed enough to have been shown up in front of the handmaids, the last thing I needed right now was to fall on these shell-marbled floors. My new phame friendscurtsied deep, once for Kalen and once for me, before backing into the room and shutting the door.In the hallway, I dropped his hand immediately and turned on him.
“Did you know Rebekah was a phame?” I asked accusingly, keeping my voice low so those who lingered throughout the halls would not hear.
“What do you mean, did I know Rebekah was a phame?” Kalen looked back at me as he began his descent down the palace stairs to the main floor. When I didn’t answer, he said plainly, “Of course I did.”
“All this time you have been trying to figure out who is spreading the rumor of my return and you never thought of her? A phame whom you let befriend your biggest kept secret? Please, tell me how that is clever in any capacity.”
Kalen winced. “Rebekah and I have an...understanding.”
“Well,” I said, stopping on the last step before the landing. “Do tell.”
“Rebekah is my...parrot, for lack of a better term. She only speaks to you and me. We struck a deal that she was to report to me about your habits.”
“Habits?” I glowered at him, crossing my arms. Kalen shook his head and continued. I raced on the stilts my handmaidens had called ‘shoes’ to catch up to him. “You know you could have just asked me what my habits were.”
He flashed me a cocky grin. “That would be giving up the game.”
“I’m suddenly very grateful I never talked to her about you.”
Annoyance pinched in my chest. I’d been left out of the loop again. It felt redundant to keep being shocked or hurt by that concept, so I just didn’t bother.
“Why?” He asked. “What would you have said?”
“That you’re an insufferable moron who needs his arse kicked.” Despite my harsh words, I let my arm hook through hisas we reached the teal and gold doors of the dining hall.
“I think my arse has been kicked plenty since you arrived,” he grumbled, eyes rolling.
I sighed. He did have a point. “Would you please just escort me through this door so I can ignore you for the next few hours?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
DINNER HAD BEEN ANunusually quiet arrangement, each of the twelve guests only speaking when directly addressed by the High Mer. I choked down my laughter as those seated at the far end of the enormous dining table shouted reports of their well-being at her.
While the answer was often, “I am doing well, thank you, Your Highness,” there was the occasional inquiry after one of the court member’s relatives. This led to many rather embarrassingly inappropriate digressions. I almost lost hold of myself completely when one of the court’s governesses yelled, “Yes, my brother’s nasty rash has disappeared. I cannot be more grateful that Your Highness had such an astute knowledge of sea lice.”
The moments of silence in between the bizarre chatter were filled with a myriad of bell-like tones from silverware against porcelain plates and the nearly soundless shuffle of butlers’ feet as we were served enormous plates of charred fish, root vegetables glazed in ambrosia, and loads of sea creatures I could not even begin to describe, even if I had the stomach to.
I averted my eyes from the little shelled things with an inexhaustible number of legs only to find myself looking at the tiny translucent warrior that had made his way in with our party this afternoon, his striped pincer now laying limp against his shell. The warrior and at least a hundred of his comrades piledup against each other with dollops of butter cascading down their dead backs.
I couldn’t figure out which would offend the High Mer more, refusing to eat or yacking all over her very expensive dining linen. After a few moments of staring as everyone else made mountains of the stuff on their plates, I caved, scooping up the little warrior and a few of his friends, and then resigned myself to staring at my lap for the rest of dinner.
The evening began to come to a close, and I was grateful to have my untouched plate cleared and replaced with what looked like a rather edible-looking parfait of fresh fruit and cream. Silently, I sent a prayer to whatever deity the little warrior might serve and hoped the nausea that roiled in my stomach would ease.
As if everyone’s mood had immediately improved, each side of the table fell into their own quiet conversations about this and that. I remained pointedly unengaged. That is until my handsome companion shifted in his chair, and I felt the overwhelming anxiety of having to attribute something of substance to the party.
I was sitting next to what was possibly the most gorgeous man the Sea had ever washed ashore, and the undersides of my arms began to sweat. Tyr, Ione’s General, and frequent lover, folded his right leg atop his left knee, leaning back as he took a sip from his wine. The curves of his body were sensuous though he looked to be the most fit of us here. The muscles on his chest, visible thanks to his untied tunic, contracted under his soft brown skin as he reached his arm across the back of my chair and draped himself arrogantly against his own.
“So Gwynore, my darling queen tells me that you are the one to thank for that horrendous bruise on Aconitia.”
