Page 15 of Dare

Mistaking the comment for flattery, Rhys perked up, thus proving my point. This ignoramus provided an easy target, whereas Giselle put up a consummate fight.

My eyes ticked toward the sharks. They moved in an aimless, trancelike manner, much like born fools in a surgical lab.

“Aren’t they remarkable,” the monarch boasted. “Tell me. Which is the most vicious?”

“Those,” I said, indicating the fish skating along the bottom of the tank, their scales a gradient of red.

The king glowered. “I mean, which of the sharks? I wasn’t talking about the jester fish. Costly, flashy little blights, but …” He leered. “I use them as tank feed.”

A blasphemous waste. If Rhys insisted on defying the laws of nature by fucking with a rare species, then at least use them for progressive purposes. Research them humanely instead of sacrificing the creatures purely to nurse his wounded ego.

Seasons flay me. The amount of energy people squandered on grievances and hurt feelings. Despite how little I thought of him these days, I still would have respected the king more if he’d confessed to licking his balls whenever he was feeling insignificant.

Rhys’s motives had nothing to do with fattening the sharks and everything to do with the pathetic spoils of a grudge. Over a year had passed since the Reaper’s Fest riot, yet he hadn’t recovered from what happened with Poet and Briar.

Regardless. The black and red fish were the most vicious among the inhabitants. Herbivores, yet if threatened they used their radiant scales to restrict vision, causing victims to stagger around the ocean for hours. Plenty of time to drown or fracture one’s skull against a boulder. And while being eaten alive by a shark would hurt more, ruthlessness came in many guises. The jester fish used a methodical, prolonged tactic to defend themselves, instead of a direct and quick one. That made them superior.

Hmm. Rather impractical that Rhys should keep them in a room frequented by citizens and dignitaries.

“Try again,” the king bade. “Appease me and take a closer look at my extensive assortment of pets. Of all Summer’s sharks, point out the fiercest.”

I tapered my eyes. So be it.

Approaching the tank, I scrutinized its dwellers, reminding myself of the glass that separated us. My gaze searched for a creature striped in shades of pewter and sterling.

None to be seen. My shoulders relaxed. “It is not here.”

“What isn’t there?”

“A siren shark.”

The king cracked out a patronizing laugh. “Don’t make me doubt the expertise of Winter. You’re supposed to be the homeland of reason, yet you’d expect me to offer tank space for such a boring shark? You would label it the most ferocious? I can’t wait to hear why.”

“Because it kills you gradually,” I disclosed.

A siren shark lured its quarry. Upon which, the predator’s bite produced a foaming madness shortly before death. It did not feast on human prey but rather turned the person into a fool for three days, stripping them of sanity until blessed death came knocking.

No antidote. No cure.

I did not want to talk about the fucking siren shark.

Like every social moron, the king was only asking because he found sport in quizzing Winter’s heir. A prince on exhibit. Ask him anything. See how much he knew.

As for my answer, Rhys grunted in concession. “You’ve never been a scion of many words.”

I leaned against the aquarium. “There’s a distinction between many words and wise words.”

“I disagree. Then again, we’ve hardly seen eye to eye. Not since you saw fit to side with Autumn, for fuck knows what reason. And the list keeps getting longer. You abused my tower guard, I hear. Exactly how harshly did you punish him?”

“Had you been there, I would have cut deeper.”

“Then your reputation still precedes you. Despite our last encounter, I’m rankled that my son can’t be like you. As we sit here, he’s jamming his cock down a chamberlain’s throat.” Rhys swiped an oversized pepper from a side table, swallowed it whole, and continued his dissertation. “My offspring should be present to greet our esteemed guest, yet the lad has reached a self-indulgent, sex-induced age. When one has itches, they trump one’s sense of duty. I don’t give a shit who he fucks in his spare time, provided he doesn’t abstain from stately obligations. Any advice?”

“Beat him.”

“Anything I haven’t tried yet?”

Withdrawing my attention from the tank, I slanted my head toward Rhys. “Let me do it.”

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