Page 35 of Siren's Treasure

Shudders wracked him through at the close call, his soaked clothes clinging to his skin under the harsh rays of the afternoon. All the while, Scylla’s words sank into the frenzy of his tormented thoughts.

Thessa walked Undine’s footsteps on the same path that would transform her into something else entirely! And she hadn’t bothered to tell him a thing. True love? Kissing under the stars! That was all distraction from a Sea Witch that wanted to win whatever bargain they’d struck! And if Scylla wanted him to rip out his heart and give it to the sea princess, he should probably do the opposite.

He froze at the thought, his heart protesting in defiance and something else—raw anger. These witches crushed every good thing he’d ever known—they wouldn’t have his life too!

And… Scylla would foresee his rebellion and play with his head to stop whatever true thingwashappening between them!

He let out a snarl of frustration. This second-guessing led to madness! Raggon needed to get Thessa to talk to him, but how?

The memory of her warmth pressing against him, the way her eyes had met his like she could see straight through to his soul made his pulse quicken despite his vow to do otherwise. He pushed himself to his feet, water pooling around his boots. He disappeared, rushing for the cabin where Morris was helping her to be more presentable.

Whatever game Scylla was playing, he refused to let Thessa become another tragedy of the sea.

Chapter sixteen

Raggon charged into the cabin, calling for Thessa.

She stopped halfway through buckling her belt over her vest, peering around the makeshift dressing screen that was the only thing separating her from this suddenly desperate man. Raggon was sopping wet. Seawater pooled at his feet, the salty scent of the deep clinging to him like a second skin.

“No, no,” Morris said. He rammed the shouting Raggon back towards the door, his aristocratic hands firm against the younger man’s chest. “Not yet.”

“I need to talk to her.” Urgency edged Raggon’s voice, his eyes darting past the Duke’s shoulder. Thessa scurried back behind the dressing screen, trying to dress faster. Morris had been right—the cabin boy’s things were more her style… plus something he’d found in a chest below deck. A linen turquoise dress, the color of tropical shallows where sunlight dapples through clear waters. She wasn’t sure how much better the dress was than hertail, but the soft fabric was light and flowed around her legs, giving her the freedom she craved.

“And she’s not ready.” The Duke’s voice carried the weight of authority that even Raggon couldn’t easily dismiss. “I’m sorry that my lessons were sadly lacking in manners when it comes to the ladies, but chivalry first.”

“Morris!”

“You’re not getting near her if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“I have a message from one of her, uh… friends. Thessa?” His voice softened on her name, almost pleading.

Finally, figuring out the strange buckle, she moved out from behind the screen, feeling shy in this dress and clutching to the side of the desk for support. Her new legs were like borrowed things, uncertain beneath her. Raggon froze at the sight of her, eyes widening, his lips parting slightly.

Heat rose in her cheeks. Did that mean she looked good? Bad? She couldn’t tell from his expression, but her heart fluttered against her ribs like a trapped seabird as she waited for him to speak. He still wasn’t saying anything, just staring as though he’d never seen her before.

“I can put the breeches on,” she said hastily.

“No!” he said even more hastily, if that was possible. “You’re perfect… that way. You’re…” his eyes shifted to Morris and immediately he cleared his throat and changed his manner to one more brusque. “You look good.”

She beamed—not because he’d been particularly smooth, but… because he hadn’t. Father told her that he’d become as stupid as a moon-struck sea turtle the first time he’d set eyes on her mother. So, was this a good reaction?No, bad… very bad!Her thoughts tangled like jellyfish tentacles.

She didn’t know how to feel anymore, only that she couldn’t control these emotions rushing through her like a runawayschool of fish. Raggon had admitted earlier that he liked her falling all over him, which was maddening, shocking… pleasing? Her fingers tightened on the corner of the desk. “You have a message?”

“Umm… actually? That can wait.” He shoved forward and gently pressed his hand against hers resting against the desk. Immediately she felt like a sea anemone collapsing in on itself—the last of her rigid defenses dissolving. His black hair had lost the ties that held it back and clung to his sinewy neck in wet tendrils. Something in those vivid eyes pled with her, as brightly as the heart of a flame. “Let’s continue those walking lessons where we left off.”

She laughed, her eyes drifting to his boots dripping against the thick crimson rug, and she stepped back to escape, the movement in her legs still awkward but growing more natural by the hour. “How did you get all wet?”

Raggon threw a hand behind his neck and forced a grin that she couldn’t quite trust. “Got too close to the lads swabbing the deck. They’re more cross-eyed than a drunken albatross in a hurricane.” Now Morris watched on with narrowed gaze, suspicion written in the set of his shoulders. Raggon shrugged at him, before turning his attention back to her—his manner softening as he captured her hand. His palm was calloused but warm against hers. “Do you know what dancing is?”

She’d heard tale of Undine doing it, and how the practice felt as painful as shards of shells cutting into flesh. “I don’t want to…”

“I promise it’s… probably not what you think—but first we’ve got to warm you up to it…”

“No,” Morris corrected, his tone as dry as sun-bleached driftwood. “Firstyou must change from those damp clothes. You’re dripping all over her.”

“Oh… yes, of course.” Raggon released her hand with obvious reluctance. “Don’t go anywhere.” He rushed to the back of the partition. The sounds of wet clothing peeling from him.

Morris let out a shocked shout, his hand finding Thessa’s arm. He dragged her out the door, though he still managed to do it with courtly grace. Thessa had far less of that, stumbling after him, all while Raggon continued to get dressed like they weren’t deserting the ship like rats scurrying to freedom. Morris berated him all the more for it. “Your Majesty, can you at least act like a prince? I ask you!”

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