Page 14 of Dare

Another reproached, “Not a stitch of lingerie beneath their silks—”

“Shut up,” I murmured.

They held their tongues the rest of the way, then stationed themselves at the throne room’s entrance with the Summer watchmen. A lithe female figure waited beside the arched doors, the wind buffeting her linen pants and a beaded circlet expertly threaded into her onyx hair.

Her features remained placid as I approached. “Your Highness,” Queen Giselle recited.

“Your Majesty,” I returned with an inclination of my head.

“How are your grandaunts?”

“They send their regards.”

She wavered, choosing her next words with discretion. “And the rest of your family?”

My jaw flexed. “They are well.”

The question was to be expected. Nonetheless, I did not appreciate the underlying pity in the woman’s eyes. Sympathy should be reserved for the weak and fallible. My family was neither.

This fundamental point sat on the edge of my tongue. However, I suppressed the impulse. Despite her inquiry, this queen warranted respect for more than merely tolerating her windbag of a husband. Therefore, I would save my insults for the monarch who’d actually earned them. Seasons knew that temperamental shithead would leave himself open to plenty.

In any case, my family was stable. I kept them comfortable and would not have the courts believing otherwise, much less regarding my relatives with anything less than admiration. Not unless the offenders wanted their tongues sawed off with a dull knife.

“I trust you found everything in the tower to your liking,” Giselle hinted. But when I let my silence speak for itself, she raised a pierced eyebrow. “I confess, your tactical instructions to alert sand drifter camps discreetly and in batches struck me. This prisoner must be of great medical value, to go to such lengths to obtain her.”

Nosy woman. Powerful and capable, but nosy all the same. Having been prepared for that, I sidestepped the comment like a landmine. “Winter is an advanced nation for a reason.”

Her Majesty would get no more from me. The woman was far too discerning to be trifled with. Rather like two Autumn troublemakers I had the misfortune of knowing.

Giselle contemplated the response, then tipped her head toward the doors. “You’re in for a treat. He’s feeling ornery today. Come see me after wasting your time.”

I never wasted time. True, I should be conferring only with her. By now, everyone knew who truly ruled this court. But first, I had unfinished business with the infantile king.

My head bowed as Giselle strolled past me. Her security detail and circle of ladies vacated the sidelines to trail behind.

The doors split. “His Highness, Prince Jeryn of Winter,” the sentinel announced before closing the partition and sealing me inside.

Neither of my grandaunts had exaggerated. The throne room did not have an aquarium within. Rather, it was an aquarium. Triangular, with transparent walls and floor-to-ceiling pools of seawater, the surface reaching an unseen terrace and illuminated from above. The tank engulfed the chamber, but it wasn’t so much the size of it that made an impression.

It was the sharks.

A multitude of species infested the aquarium. The glossy figures were long and tinted blue and gray, with razor teeth and gills slicing through their skin. They swarmed the entirety of the space, casting shadows on every surface, including the Summer King himself.

The outline of a fin slashed across King Rhys’s throat and vanished. He slouched in a gilded chair at the narrowest point of the room, a pair of sandals peeking from under his linen robe and an overgrown mustache tugging his face down into a mask of irritability. With such a prominent sulky exterior, it was a wonder the room did not stink of sour grapes.

The man waited for me to bow, then fought to withhold a sneer when I did no such thing. “So,” Rhys began. “Based on your rather large presence, it appears our ocean didn’t sink your ship.”

False pleasantries with a side serving of petulance. I could think of nothing more pointless.

I stared at him. “Sometimes brute force is less effective than technique, Your Majesty.”

“Is that a joke? I despise jokes.”

“I do not make them. I leave that to Spring.”

“One thing we still have in common, at least.” The juvenile swatted his digits toward the empty seat beside him. “You see this chair? It belongs to my wife. We’re quarreling, so I’ve uninvited her to this discussion.”

“Good. That means the meeting will go smoothly.”

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