Page 11 of The Dark, Dead, Deep

“You can’t tell him,” she said on a breath.

“I won’t have to if you end up spread out on the sand demanding his cock.” I quirked a brow.

“Maeve!”

Before I could assure Moira that her secret was safe with me, Liam poked his head around the door a moment later.

“Are you both ready?” As soon as his eyes met mine, he stopped and blinked as if he’d been struck. Liam glanced at Moira before his eyes returned back to mine. He was lost for words.

Liam took a moment before clearing his throat and repeating his question.

My eyes flicked between Moira and Liam, but Moira appeared frozen.

“Moira?” I nudged her. “Should we allow Liam to escort us to the hall?” I bit back a smile; it was fun to see her so nervous, even though we saw Liam every day.

I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t noticed her feelings.

Moira was startled but said nothing, looking down at her hands. Liam opened the door and revealed his body—painted in whorls and flourishes. Glowing in the dusk light. He had painted an oyster on his arm, the mouth opening to reveal a pearl. The detail was striking, and I wondered if he had done it himself.

“We clean up well, don’t we?” I joked, laughing nervously as I gestured to all of us.

Liam gave a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You both look beautiful,” he assured me. “Though we will be late for the speeches if we don’t hurry.”

“Yes,” Moira squeaked. “We should go.”

I rolled my eyes surface-ward. “Yes. We wouldn’t want to miss King Irvine’s speech.”

If Liam heard my treasonous tone, he ignored it. He stepped back and held open the door, waiting for Moira to swim through first before stepping up to my shoulder, so we were side by side.

“How was your lesson?” Liam cocked his head to the side.

There were so many things that I could say. That I wanted to say. I wanted to complain about the persistent headache that came with extending my reach into the lake. I wanted to tell Liam that the precious stepfather and king, whom he wanted to serve so badly, didn’t want to sit on the High Throne, so he mademedo it.

I held my tongue as the treasonous thought that I would never allow past my lips or even cross my mind floated up and refused to leave.

That, come what may, after tomorrow evening, I would never sit on the High Throne again—shackled to a male that the gods had chosen for me.

We arrived at the ballroom fashionably late, and I hoped our arrival would go unnoticed.

Liam felt otherwise and immediately greeted a group of male fae that wore the same glowing paint as he did. I recognized a few faces in their group, but not many. Moira and I were alone on the edge of the crowd as everyone in the Undine Court gathered in celebration.

Above it all, on the platform reserved for my uncle, stood the king and his favored courtiers, stuffing their faces with food as the younglings below basked in their hunger.

I stole a glass of blood wine as one of the servers swam past before Moira opened her mouth to argue before doing the same. If the only thing we could drink before the migration was wine, I would get as drunk as an octopus.

“The king is watching.” Moira averted her eyes as she took a furtive sip of her wine.

My smile was tight. “Yes. He is.” I didn’t say anything else on the subject.

Moira and I moved through the crowd, listening to the band as they warmed up their strings, causing the music to ripple through the water and lap at our skin.

Moira searched the crowd while sipping her wine as she pointed out various people we had gone to school with. Children of courtiers and palace guards would cross the bridge to the gates of Cruinn City to learn about magic, history, and numbers.

I had been pulled from school when my uncle noticed my way with the water, so I was not as close to many of our undine kin as Moira. I smiled and waved when she did—even though I knew that most of them didn’t know who I was.

“Oh, sludge,” Moira groaned, her gaze darting to the stone floor.

“What?” I glanced over my shoulder.

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