Page 23 of Siren's Treasure

Taking a deep breath that filled his lungs with too much of her essence, Raggon put a pause on his good deeds. “Relax.” He tried to sound more in control than he felt, even as she stiffened beneath his hands. “I’m not going to eat you.”

Again, that explosion of temper in her eyes, like cannon fire over dark waters. He hid a grin. Well, who knew what merfolk did to their women? Maybe she had reason to fear that he’d swallow her whole.

Manners, Raggon! He could almost hear Morris’s sermons echoing in his ears, especially as the prince took in her vulnerable state.

His mermaid looked adorable in all these layers of clothing. She almost resembled a waterlogged laundry pile thanks to his brilliant “warming” plan—and still horribly wet and miserable; the cambric shirt hugged the damp dress beneath. He groaned. A gentleman would’ve offered his jacket. That’s what he should’ve done!

Cursing his stupidity, he shrugged out of his well-worn leather coat and began the same sweet torture of dressing her again. The leather swallowed her small frame, but this time he noticed that her shivers subsided.

That was progress at least. He felt less like a monster.

“Raggon!” Morris shouted at him from outside, his voice carrying the sharp edge of concern that always preceded one of his lectures. His dear friend must think that he’d taken one lookat the mermaid and tried to serve tea to his parrot while using the porthole as a plate.

Given his current predicament—perhaps Morris had reason to question his faculties.

“Open this door at once!” The Duke ordered. “There will be talk!”

“Wait a minute!” Raggon called out. First, he had to make sure that the mermaid didn’t try to slip from his fingers. Searching under the bed, past Maddox’s cluttered treasures, Raggon fished out a small silver bell. Its surface sparkled under the chandelier. “Not that I think you’ll get too far with those new legs of yours,” he murmured.

Her eyes narrowed at his teasing tone.

He shrugged, sliding the bell through the discarded ropes. She might not be able to walk yet, but he’d put nothing past her if she escaped. “Don’t think I won’t hear you if you try anything.”

Once again, feeling the villain and chiding himself for caring, he bound her hands, though he tried to be gentle. The bell chimed softly with each movement. “Someday we’ll laugh about this… after you get me that dagger.”

Not skudding likely, but they could always pretend they could let bygones be bygones. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth when he dwelled on what could’ve been.

His gaze shot to Sterling. The parrot’s bright feathers ruffled in defense. “Polly wants a cracker,” Raggon said. “That’s what you say if she tries to leave. Got it, bird?”

Good luck getting Sterling to have the brains to follow any order, but she didn’t have to know that. The parrot just cocked its head, beady eyes reflecting the lantern flames.

“Raggon! Have you no care for propriety?” Morris scratched at the door like an impatient cat. A chuckle rumbled through Raggon’s throat at the familiar lecture. “I must insist, Your Majesty!”

He’d used the title—Morris had reached the end of his patience. Raggon glanced over at the mermaid and tried to ease the tight wrinkle of stress against her eyes. “You hear that loudmouth out there?” he asked her softly. “He’s a good man. It won’t be all bad here, I promise. If you need someone to trust, then he’s the best friend you’ve got.” He dragged a thick woolen blanket over her lap, and dropped more soft fur throws on her for good measure, grateful to find some practical items in this useless finery. He patted her cheek, ignoring how his hand lingered against her soft skin. “See ya, Clam.”

He couldn’t help the grin at her sharp intake of breath. That fire in her eyes was like the finest rum—warming his blood and giving him a thirst for more.

The door shook with a violent tremor, the brass hinges rattling. The Duke wasn’t messing around anymore.

“Relax, old man,” Raggon said, casting one last look at his captive. The sight of her wrapped in his coat, swimming in fabric that normally molded against his shoulders, sent an unexpected wave of satisfaction through his chest. She no longer had anything to complain about—siren voice or not, he’d turn her to his way of thinking in no time! “I’m coming, Morris.”

Bracing himself for a diatribe the length of their country’s ancient charters, he charged through the door in a spray of sea mist. The cool night breeze caught him as he materialized on the other side, smothering him with mingled scents of tar and brine.

Lanterns cast pools of amber light across the deck. Morris glowered at him from the other side of the threshold, looking every inch the disapproving nobleman.

Raggon made sure the door was shut with the kick of his boot and grinned, though the expression felt forced. “Take it easy, friend. It’s only a mermaid, not an attack of Circe’s armies.” The words tasted hollow even as he spoke them.

“Is she…” Morris’s face flushed with delicate horror at his charge’s reckless behavior, “—at peace?”

“What? Do you think I killed her with my rum-soaked attempts at poetry?” He laughed at his friend’s scandalized intake of breath.

“Brute! I’ve a mind to box your royal ears for speaking that way! You likely terrified her with your headstrong ways! Never mind she’s a mermaid—she doesn’t know the kind of man you are, especially after all that storming around like an overbearing troll in a rowboat!”

Overbearing? Never! Raggon brushed past his advisor, though the humor didn’t quite ease his discomfort—evenhehad felt like a cruel captor. “If you’re volunteering to be her nursemaid, you’re more than welcome to take the job.”

Ironically, Raggon wished he would.

“This is not a joke,” Morris said, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. The old advisor’s eyes darted around the deck, taking in the rough faces of the crew moving in the growing darkness. “I don’t like the looks of the men on this ship. They’re a rough sort, nothing like our usual Sylphorian recruits. The way they watch that door…”

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