In the Veins of the Drowning(6)
He gave a bitter laugh. “And why would he do that?”
I kept my lips pinched, not eager to offer up the true answer: that my family had been wealthy, and it was my inheritance that kept King Nemea’s kingdom afloat. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
“I’d rather not speak to the man, so I’ll guess.” I’d caught my breath, but King Theodore kept us at a maddening crawl across the dance floor. “You are a sprig of mint in a fetid mouth. You are the balm that soothes the lash of his cruelty. Why else would he dress you up in half the archipelago’s available crystal if it was not to make it look like both his coffers and his heart were depthless? In Nemea’s mind, he cannot be seen as truly despicable if he’s looked after someone so lovely and charming as you.”
I didn’t hide my wince. He’d given me no compliment; rather, his words curled with scathing distaste. I managed a wide, sweet smile despite the way my stomach sank. “And you, Your Majesty, are clearly too shrewd to fall for his elaborate scheme.” I boldly met his gaze. “You seem far from charmed by me.”
When our eyes locked, he stopped dead and stared in astonishment. His jaw slackened. He let go of my hand, released my waist. “I do know you.”
“What?” I made a quick scan of the room. “Please, you’re making a scene.”
He shook his head, a small movement, but those keen eyes of his studied the lines of my face further—the arch of my brow and the swoop of my nose, and lower, to the bow of my lips and the sharp dip of my chin.
“What are you doing?” I raised my arms, waiting for him to take my hand again. King Nemea had come to stand at the edge of the floor, his head tipped back in suspicion. “Please, Your Majesty, you’re drawing attention.”
King Theodore took a step away from me. A young woman spun into his back, but even that did not break the way he stared. Finally, he strode toward his guards, leaving me standing in the middle of the dance floor as the music dwindled to an end.
Fingers dug into my arm, jerked me sideways. “What did you say to him?” King Nemea said gruffly into my ear.
“Nothing at all, Your Majesty.” My heart was a lump in my throat. “He said he knew me. I have no idea what he meant by it.”
“Come.” Nemea took my hand and pulled me toward the dais. His grip was too tight, his body stiff, his long strides plodding. He stepped onto the dais, and I barely cleared the riser after him. My hand crushed in his grip as he took his ruby-studded goblet and drank. “What more did he say?”
“He complimented my dress.” I fought to give him a warm look. I imbued my voice with as much gratitude as I could, but I did not dare take my hand from his. “He praised the feast. And I agreed. I can’t thank you enough, Your Majesty, for giving the captain and me such a celebration.”
His hold on my hand grew even tighter. The ring Captain Ianto had given me dug into my flesh. “You didn’t truly think all of this was for you, did you?”
I shook my head, trying to keep the pain from creasing my face. “No, of course not, Your Majesty. I only meant to express my gratitude. As you’ve said, I’ve been given far more than I deserve.”
He grunted at that, and my knuckles crunched with the force of his grip. But his voice—his voice was soft as a feather’s touch. “You were meant to defang him, Imogen. To placate him. The last thing I need is a war with that arrogant twit.”
Wet, sticky warmth filled the tight space between my fingers. “You’re hurting me,” I finally whispered.
But Nemea paid me no mind. His attention was now on Captain Evander Ianto, who stood before the dais looking formidable and hopelessly disarrayed. He held his black helmet to his hip. His sand-colored hair was windblown and sweat beaded over his tanned skin.
“There you are,” Nemea snapped. He finally released me, and I curled my fingers into a fist to hide the blood he’d drawn.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Evander bowed. Exertion colored his cheeks. There were clumps of wet sand stuck to his boots. “I got delayed in Port Helris. The ships kept coming and my men needed help.”
Nemea gave him an approving nod. His captain was nothing if not a good soldier. “Take her.” He dismissed me with a quick wave of his hand.
My curtsy was deep, reverent. While bowed, I mastered the pain that might have rippled my face before stepping to the edge of the dais. Instead of helping me down, Evander tilted his head back and took me in. He did not look at me like Nemea did, to assess whether I was sufficient. Nor did he look at me in the unsettling way the king of Varya had—haunted, dissecting, and scowling. No, he looked at me with solemn, surprising adoration.
I basked in it. Stared back. I’d always found the captain handsome, with his amber eyes, and the creases ringing them like sun rays. I liked the smatter of light freckles that sat on the bridge of his nose, the exceedingly pleasing cut of his features. The corner of his mouth tipped up. “You look… beautiful.” He let his gaze slink down my body and dropped his voice to a whisper. “And very uncomfortable in that dress.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot dance a reel in it.”
He smiled. “Then we’ll waltz.” He extended a hand to help me down, and when I stood before him, almost chest to chest, I froze. The scent of the sea clung to him. Salt spray coated his armor, his skin, and it wove itself straight into my nostrils. An intoxicating heat rolled through my body, like a wave ravenously lapping the shore.