Page 15 of Of Song and Scepter
I hunch my shoulders and keep my face down, blinking rapidly and willing my eyes to focus and adapt. I drag in a shaking breath to steady my beating heart, pushing panic deep into my stomach. But the air is choking, full of heat and dust, nothing like the clean, cool, and sterile air in the siren sector back home. I cough, taking back everything I ever said about wanting to live in the tropics. This place isn’t paradise. It’s my personal living hell.
I scan the blurry horizon for the escort. They walked straight ahead, I think. Or was it to my right? The white world blurs around me. I grit my teeth, placing one stinging foot in front of the other, and march through the burning sand.
Damn this fucking court. Damn this climate. Damn this sand.
Run, I order, with a mental push on my legs. They, surprisingly, move with more speed than before, and I’m lumbering over the dunes.
Next thing I know, I smack into a rock. Pain explodes through my nose. Stars twinkle across my vision. I blink, forcing my eyes to focus on the rock. Or the chest, I realize, as I take in an impressive display of muscle that is undoubtedly male. Sweatbeads on his rich brown skin, and his breath comes out in huffs. Dark emerald scales kiss the valley between his pectorals and gather around his belly button, trailing down, down, in a glittering path into—
“Seen enough, princess?” a deep voice purrs.
—into a pair of linen shorts, which cling to sculpted thighs.
“Princess,” I repeat, its meaning suddenly lost to me.
I remember then that this rock of a body belongs to somebody, and I put up my hand, shoving hard on his chest to move him—or me—away as quickly as possible. He, as the rock, does not budge, and my shove only sends me plopping onto my ass. My bare, covered by only my loincloth, ass. I leap onto my feet with a yelp, crouching low. In the Drink, I kept this cloth folded in a pouch on my belt, large enough to protect the softer parts between my legs, yet small enough to pack away easily when I transitioned back into my tail. For the first time in my life, I see the downside of wearing as little clothing as possible. Here, it might just be the only barrier between this scalding sand and losing my sanity.
My feet burn beneath me, but I ignore them. Something tells me my skip-hop routine isn’t local behavior. The male doesn’t seem to mind the heat. I glare up at him, shielding my eyes against the sun with my arm.
His face is shadowed, backlit by the sun. But I can make out the hard lines of his jaw, the curtain of long black hair framing his face, the rounded edge of his siren ears, and the perfect slant of his nose. Above his nose, I find a pair of shimmering green eyes, which focus on me, deep and chaotic yet soft and kind, the eyes of a male who’s never had to kill. They sparkle with mischief, roaming over my form as I squat in the sand and gape at him.
“Seen enough, my lord?” I say, smiling at my own wit.
His lips twitch at the corners. “Hard to tell,” he says. “You blend in perfectly. I can hardly see you down there.”
I don’t like this tone of voice—teasing, playful, cocky. My eyes dart to his shorts again. The fabric is pleasantly tight, and I decidecockyis the right word for this male. And that smile? I know an entitled high-born when I see one; they look the same in every court.
He extends a hand to me. “Let’s get you inside.”
I stare at it, noting the smooth roundness of his fingernails, the rich, pretty color of his brown skin, and then I bare my fangs, waiting for the trick. There’s always a trick with sirens. No magic-wielder has ever willingly helped me from the goodness of their heart.
“Feisty,” he says, smiling wider. “Did our escort leave you to wander, or did you eat the captain in transit?”
I stand up, avoiding his outstretched hand. “Your captain is delicious, but unfortunately, she’s not my type.”
“And what is your type?”
I allow myself a moment of luxury, taking in the impressive male before me once again. He’s prettier than any male I’ve seen in the Drink, even prettier than a few of the nobles I’ve killed. Maybe it’s because he’s a living, breathing male, or because he isn’t actively trying to murder me before I can murder him, but I cannot seem to take my eyes off him. This Coral siren exceeds anything I envisioned from the merchants’ stories back home. He’s smarter, taller, broader—a sarcastic tower of muscle I desperately want to climb.
“Short,” I say with a straight face, eyeing the plane of his abdomen. “And preferably with a little more meat on his bones.”
He runs his hand through his dark hair, flipping the long strands behind his shoulders. It’s hard to miss the flex of his muscles, the way his veins rise from his biceps from the heat.“You must be sorry to have stumbled upon the likes of me, then,” he says.
“You’re not much to snack on.” My burning feet cannot bear the stillness much longer. Brushing the sand from my skin and shifting my feet to ease the pain, I peer around him to scan for the escort. I don’t have time for games. I’m here for a job. The quicker I find the prince and marry him off to Odissa, the sooner I can check it off my list, earn my freedom, and get out of this hell.
“And you’re nothing like what I expected.” He’s grinning at me, those green eyes dancing with a triumphant flame.
Grunting, I spin on my heels, heading off in the direction of the keep. The male follows me, and for a few heartbeats, I pretend not to notice. But then he starts kicking up sand as he walks, the hot grains spraying against the backs of my legs.
“Look, pretty lord, I’m in the middle of something,” I snap, turning to face him again.
He raises his hands, flashing me with a brilliant white smile. My heart squeezes in my chest, and I rub at the spot, trying to push the knotted feeling away.
“I’m headed this way,” he says, gesturing to the palace ahead of us. “I kind of live here.”
“Oh,” I say. Another high-born jackass stating the obvious. “Congratulations.”
His laughter is thick and bubbling. Steady, deep. Interesting. Warm.Dammit.
