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“It sounds like you’ve been thinking about this for a while,” I say, leaning back in the comfortable armchair beneath me. It’s wrapped in a turquoise fabric that shines in the light, shells capping each arm. “Why haven’t you negotiated with the Hyperboreans before? Why haven’t you taken on Lamia? In fact…why don’t you go now? You’d probably do better than I will.”
“Have more faith in yourself,” Cressida says. “You won’t survive without it.”
“Okay, okay…”
“I mean it, Fiona,” she snaps.
Her voice is low, harsh. There’s not an ounce of softness in this woman. I don’t want to end up like that.
But she’s right; I won’t survive without that level of resolve and confidence.
“Are you going to answer my question?” I ask, confronting her. “Why?”
“I have two very good reasons,” she says. “The first is that, since we were children, my sister has been trying to supplant me.”
I gape at her. “Calypso? The person you made mehave tea withevery day? She’s trying to kill you?”
“Such is the life of a Merati queen,” Cressida grimaces. “Get used to it.”
“So you’re already distracted with Calypso–okay,” I say. “And the second reason?”
Cressida glowers at me, her eyes narrowing. “If this news leaves this room, I’ll kill you myself,” she murmurs.
“Understood,” I say. “What is it?”
She sighs, then looks out the window, her fingers curling on the arm of her chair. “I’m pregnant.”
I try to school my expression, but I utterly fail. “Uh…that’s a damn good reason.”
She almost smiles—almost—but she’s far too disciplined for that, far too serious. “It’s also why I won’t be leading my armies into battle. I wish I could kill Lamia myself and avenge my mate, but I have to keep what’s left of him alive.”
Three years ago, this conversation would have made me sob. Because I know what it’s like to lose a parent—to grow up without them. Cressida’s daughter will never know her father, and that hurts in a very deep, very personal way.
“I’ll do this for you,” I say. “And…for Damarion.”
It’s the first time his name has come up in this whole conversation: a ghost looming over every interaction we have. Partially because I know it hurts her…and because, when I think about how he died, all I can see is my men in the same position.
“Damarion knew the risks,” Cressida says, a pained tinge to her voice. “But regardless of his sacrifice, what matters most now is ensuring my daughter’s survival. I don’t intend on taking another Consort. She’s the only future Triton has.”
“That’s a lot of weight to put on a girl’s shoulders,” I say.
“She’ll bear it, just as you will,” she says. “As I did.”
And as we stare out into the stars, that weight feels heavier than it ever has before.
CHAPTER FIVE
RYKER
My impulses are getting harder to control every day.
I interact with the rest of the crew; I laugh with them, I joke, I play a round of stones every so often with Aramis and Sten.
And more than anything, I try to stay away from Fiona.
Because her scent is starting to drive me mad. When I see her in the corridors during the day, I can barely resist the urge to shove her against the wall, to fuck her in front of the rest of the men. My urge to have her–toclaimher–is nearly overwhelming.
It takes every bit of discipline I have to stay away from her during the day.
