For me.
And the very thought of something harming me terrified him.
Terrified King Aramus of Mar-el.
The mightiest king in Triton.
I had a feeling I could tell him I was a mermaid and he’d care naught about it, except to do all in his power to keep that secret safe.
Me safe.
And I would tell him.
Eventually.
My auntie had told me that to win my mother, my father would have found a way to travel into the skies to gather a star to bring it to her, if this was what she desired.
I did not want a star.
I wanted to be free.
I also told my husband that.
And in a time when I did not think I would ever feel that again, Aramus had found a way to give it to me.
I stroked the back of his neck with my fingers, asking, “Can we kiss some more?”
“I would ultimately very much like to use my cock in ways both of us will enjoy. When that joyous occasion happens, it should not be out of commission due to balls being irretrievably blue,” he griped.
I started giggling again.
“Now that really isn’t funny,” he clipped.
I pressed my lips together again, this time to stop laughing.
When I controlled it, I noted, “It’s heartens me to know you’re an exceptionally skilled kisser.”
He looked above my head and complained, “I see my penance for being a massive arsehole is not complete.”
“Aramus,” I called quietly.
He looked down at me.
Or, he scowled down at me.
“I forgive you.”
He instantly stopped scowling, though his face was no less intense, this I caught nary a second of before he started kissing me again.
It became heated very quickly, what with that talented tongue of his, those full, soft, but firm lips, and both our hunger.
He rolled us so he was on his back in the sand and I was on top (and I had the feeling I liked this positioning better, though I’d definitely try the other again, just to be certain) and both his hands dove into my panties.
Oh yes.
Aramus broke contact with our mouths, bent his head and shoved his face in my neck as his fingers dug into my arse.
“Fuck,” he groaned.
“Darling,” I breathed.
“Baby, this feels good,” he whispered, his hands moving over my arse.
He had that right.
“We have to stop,” he told me thickly.
He was right about that too.
Now that he offered it, I wanted special.
Sirens-dammit.
I kissed his jaw.
He pulled his hands from my panties, sat up so I was straddling him, but wasted no time in wrapping an arm tight around me so he could heft me up even as he got to his feet.
Mine fell to the sand.
He let me go, but took my hand, bent to snatch up the toweling, and turned us back to the camp.
We started walking.
Slowly.
“I’m not sure I’d mind a bit of sand,” I murmured.
“Stop it,” he replied on a squeeze of my hand.
“Truly,” I said.
He looked to the sea. “All my thanks. You sent me a siren, and now I’m lost.”
I smiled at his profile.
Aramus looked forward and ordered, “Stop smiling at me.”
“I can’t. You’re being endearing.”
He continued not to look at me as he noted, “You intend to torture me fully until I can find a suitable time to get you under me, don’t you?”
“I was thinking I’d be astride you.”
This time, his head tipped back, and he begged of the heavens, “Someone kill me.”
I walked closer to him and let my head fall to his shoulder, murmuring, “Not until I get astride you.”
We took several steps before I felt his lips on my hair where he kissed me.
After that, he again looked forward, but I kept my head to his shoulder, and my husband and I walked silently under the moonlight with nature’s most beautiful melody of waves lapping the shore serenading us the rest of the way to the camp.
49
The Breakfast
Prince True
Fifty Miles Inside the Southern Border
WODELL
“This is ridiculous. An unacceptable delay,” King Gallienus announced pompously as all sat around the large dining table that Mars’s servants took apart to travel and put back together for them to use when they made camp of an evening.
As well as a morning.
Even a chilly morning.
The sun was bright above them.
But everyone had a rug draped over their chair to ward off the chill of the wood and six barrels of fire danced around the table to give a modicum of heat, not to mention all the women wore cloaks and the men mantles.
Except Mars, who appeared immune to cold which gave new meaning to the ancient title his ancestors bore.
The Fire King.
“This wedding nonsense needs to just be done,” Gallienus concluded.
True had presently finished explaining what he’d woken early to tell his mother and father.
Something his mother was delighted about, for he had been correct, it gave her more time to build a bigger spectacle.
Something his father didn’t seem to care much about.
Then again, True had known the man for thirty-one years, perhaps twenty-six of those when he was somewhat fully cogent, and he had no idea what his father cared about.
Now all at the table knew that he and Farah were off to explore Wodell and they would meet the others in Notting Thicket a month hence.
Farah, sitting at his side, shifted, and he turned his head to her to see she looked uncomfortable.
Therefore, he reached a hand to hers, and when her fingers curled around his, he brought them to the arm of his chair and held on.
“I think it’s a magnificent idea,” Lord Johan, Silence’s father, declared. “This means my Silence can come home. To Bower Manor. And there she can spend time amongst the dells she loves so, before she has to go back to all that sand.”
“My Silence,” Mars corrected low.
Farah made a discreet noise of alarm.
“And we won’t be going to Bower Manor,” Mars finished, only for Silence, who sat next to her husband in the manner she often sat in the times True had seen her around her father, or really anybody, except True.
Silently.
She had been much more animated in Firenze.
She was retreating into herself again.
And Mars wasn’t helping.
In fact, True worried Mars being Mars and not guiding her to an understanding of who he was and why he was that way was the reason she was doing it.
Now his cousin turned her head and stared at her husband’s bearded jaw with a mutinous expression, before she wiped it clean and reached to the teacup in front of her.
Yes, Mars was not doing any guiding whatsoever.
Farah made another quiet noise of alarm.
True squeezed her hand.
“And where will you take my daughter?” Johan asked Mars, as if Mars was making off with her, instead of married to her.
True had never given much thought to Johan, except to think in a vague way he wasn’t very likable and in a not-vague way he was a thoroughly poor father.
Now, True studied him.
And he did not like what he saw in the way Johan glared at his son-in-law.
“It isn’t so far. We’ll go back to the sand,” Mars returned. “My queen should be amongst her people. They should come to know her. It’s autumn. The crocus bloom in the north. We can visit my saffron field.”
“She is amongst her people,” Johan retorted.
Farah made a strangled noise.
Damn it.
Mars appeared curiously, and alarmingly, like he’d grown four inches simply se
ated in his chair as his eyes blazed fire across the table at his father-in-law.
“Silence, haven’t the tenants left Cord Cottage?” True called.
His cousin looked to him.
“I’m sorry?” she asked quietly.
“Cord Cottage,” he repeated. “It’s vacant, is it not?”
“Yes, it is, my prince,” Johan answered for his daughter, giving demonstration to one of the varied reasons why Silence had been silent much of her life. “Why do you mention it?”
“It’s spacious and it’s well-appointed,” True answered. “One of the reasons you haven’t found tenants to occupy it, I assume. It’s costly. It also has a carriage house where Mars’s Trusted can lodge. And land, for his men to camp. And it’s but five kilometers from Bower Manor. Silence and Mars can stay there. The newlyweds can have privacy, Silence can be home, in a manner, and they would be close enough to have dinner with you and Aunt Vanka once a week or so.”
“It’s more like seven kilometers,” Johan corrected.
“All the better,” Mars stated expansively, leaning back in his chair, doing so draping his arm around the back of Silence’s. “This we shall do.”
“I haven’t offered it,” Johan spat Mars’s way.
“I have,” True said.
Now Johan was spitting at him, though doing it somewhat respectfully. “No offense, my prince, but it isn’t yours to offer.”
“Yes, it is,” True’s mother, Queen Mercy, put in blithely, pouring tea into Silence’s now lowered cup. “All lands of Wodell are property of the crown.” She set the teapot down and leveled her eyes on Johan. “When it comes down to it. Am I right, my king?”
“Right, right, indeed,” his father, King Wilmer, muttered before biting into a large cut of breakfast sausage.
Johan started to get red in the face.
“And I’m sure Johan, Vanka and all the tenants, farmers and staff of the Arbor would be honored to play host to the King of Firenze and his new queen, their very own Silence,” his mother carried on, sitting back, smiling a very small smile and aiming her gaze to Vanka. “Isn’t that so, Vanka?”
“Of course,” Vanka chirped nervously, her eyes darting to her husband.
“So that’s settled.” Mercy folded her hands in her lap. “Lovely.”
“Is this your wish, my Silence?” Mars murmured to his bride.
She tipped her head back and replied, “Your wish is my wish, my king.”
Something about her expression, her demeanor, her answer or all three caused Mars to appear impatient for a moment before he muttered, “Would that was so.”
Angry pink tinged Silence’s cheeks as she looked to the table.
“Ah, mia rosa. Amo così tanto il mia rosa,” Mars whispered, but did it loud enough for others to hear.
My pink. I so love my pink.
Upon hearing it, that pink got pinker and Silence became very busy with smoothing her napkin in her lap even if it appeared she’d finished eating.
Mars chuckled.
Silence’s head snapped up and she told the table at large. “Before the tent goes down, I’ll return. I didn’t sleep well last night and could do with a wee rest before we carry on with our journey.”
She started to get up.
“Excellent, I’ll join you,” Mars announced, also making a move to rise.
She sat back down. “On second thought, Aunt Mercy just poured tea. It’d be a shame to waste.”
She then reached to her tea.
Mars settled into his seat and chuckled again.
His cousin’s eyes shot to True.
He gave her what he hoped was an, I’m sorry, I can’t help you though still encouraging smile.
She turned her head to the side, a side where Mars was not, and sipped her tea, sharing she was not encouraged.
True sighed.
“Maybe, prior to us all being off, Farah, Silence and I can take a walk and have some Sisters of the Beast time before we separate,” Elena forged into the breach.
Ah, Elena.
She missed nothing.
And if she could do something to help, she would, which she clearly intended to do if the speculative way she was glancing at Silence was an indication.
“Elena and I are heading to The Enchantments,” Cassius told Mars.
“You are?” Melisse asked.
“We’re all going,” Jasmine put in. “Hera and I and Cassius’s guards.”
Melisse looked to Elena.
She then smiled.
“The Enchantments?” Gallienus queried with distaste.
“We have time now, and we might not prior to traveling to Sky Bay after True and Farah wed,” Cassius replied. “I wish to see the home of my betrothed and it will be good for her to have some time there.”
“Waste of time, Ophelia won’t let you in,” Gallienus returned.
“We shall see,” Cassis murmured, reaching to his coffee cup.
“You will, and what you’ll see is that woman not letting you in,” Gallienus retorted.
“You do remember I’m marrying her daughter,” Cassius asked with faux concern, as if his father might be growing addled.
“Don’t patronize me,” Gallienus spat. “And go,” he bid. “Embark on this futile journey. With my leave. I could use the break from you and,” his gaze went specifically to Elena and his supercilious tone turned cutting, “our vaulted company.”
While Gallienus spoke, Cassius took a drink of his coffee with his eyes over the rim aimed at his father before he lowered the cup, set it aside and turned to Elena.
He then drawled, “Ah, the joys you’ll know when you reach the Sky Citadel, my lamb. Family breakfasts just like this every day. And in the evenings, it’s all the better, for there are dozens of courtiers Father can choose from to be an arsehole to.”
Jasmine snorted.
Elena hissed, “Cassius,” but her lips were twitching.
Vanka gasped in affront at the cursing.
True’s mother sighed.
Farah made a noise of amusement and True squeezed her hand.
“Have you not gone yet?” Gallienus asked snidely.
Cassius’s attention swept back to his father and when it did, True braced to move, he sensed Mars bracing to move, and Cassius spoke.
“As you can see, we have not, old man, and if you speak in that manner to my future wife again, I’ll ascend the throne of Airen a far more direct way.”
Elena repeated, “Cassius,” but this time in a pacifying tone, her melodious voice wrapping around his name, making two syllables into a song.
Cassius instantly relaxed.
Watching this, True decided she’d be good for him. The man he was growing up in a den of vipers, he’d become accustomed to being quick to strike.
Elena could be lively and engaging, but for the most part she was mellow and spiritual.
True sensed Cassius could use a bit of all of that in his life.
“Good gods, people, we’re all adults. Can we not get along for one breakfast?” Father broke in to say, exposing a rare moment where he seemed attuned to the atmosphere and an even rarer moment of wishing to do something about it. “Now, someone, hand me the preserves.”
And there was the reason.
He wanted everyone to get along long enough for someone to pass him the preserves.
Vanka reached and handed the pot to her king.
“Melisse,” Elena called, and received her mentor’s attention. “If you’d like to come with us, you know you’re more than welcome.”
“Thank you, my sister,” Melisse said in a manner True knew she was about to decline. “But it’s been some time since I spent any in Notting Thicket. It’s my favorite city outside The Enchantments. And if there’s time, I’ll head to Go’Doan and meet with some friends.”
“I didn’t know the Thicket was your favorite city outside The Enchantments,” Mercy remarked to Melisse.
“Sky Bay may have the architecture, but the Thicket h
as all the charm,” Melisse replied.
Mercy sent her a small, but genuine smile.
Gallienus clearly opened his mouth to speak, seeing as Cassius warned on a rumble, “Not one word.”
True turned his attention to the Airenzian king and watched him clamp his mouth shut with defiant eyes on his son.
True then turned to Farah and said quietly, “You should have some time with the women before we go. We’re in no rush. You’ve all grown close and I know they’ll wish to make certain you’re in as good of spirits as you can be before they leave you.”
She smiled up at him and nodded.
She didn’t often speak at the breakfast table. She preferred quiet, intimate conversations, not only with him, but, he’d noticed, with anyone.
He greatly liked this about her.
He had often, in his adult life, had thoughts of what he wished his life to include (these most frequently coming when he was in a tent, on a hopeless campaign that Carrington, through his father, had ordered him to take his men on).
True was not foolish enough to think, when he was king, he could broker a lasting peace with the other realms and sail smoothly through his reign.
Taxes needed to be paid, and people did not like paying taxes.
Services needed to be offered, and many thought they were never good enough or delivered fast enough.
And people had an alarming tendency to simply refuse to find ways to get along.
But at the end of each day, he’d hope to go up to his private rooms in the castle, to his wife, and share a quiet intimacy. Dine with their children and discuss their days. Have some small amount of normal after a lifetime of royal.
In this, Farah was like an answer to a dream.
So yes, he greatly liked this about her.
As he greatly liked everything about her.
Not mostly, but it must be said, gazing upon her.
Her beauty was incandescent.
And last night he’d learned her laughter was the most pleasing sound he’d ever heard.
“You also should select a servant to travel with us,” he told her.
“I can see to myself.”
“You need to select a servant to travel with us,” he repeated.
“True, I can—”
He bent closer to her. “You are not princess in name, not yet, but you are princess. Select a servant to travel with us. I’ll not have my intended not tended.”
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