Page 33 of Of Song and Scepter
The prince blinks, breaking our spell. He bows to Odissa, who curtsies in response. “Your Highness,” he greets her. Then he tips his head toward me.
“My lady,” he says. The anger vanishes, replaced with a sudden calm. “I trust you slept well?”
“Pleasantly well.” Odissa’s voice drips with cultivated sweetness.
The question was for the princess, but his eyes have not left my face. I consider the rock I slept on and shudder. The corner of his mouth twitches, as if somehow, he knows something I do not.
I look away, searching for anything to draw my attention from the handsome male looking at me how a dredgebeast looks at a meal.
Dammit, Enna, focus.
“And you, my prince?” Odissa says, drawing the prince’s attention.
His appraisal finally slides to Odissa, and my body relaxes at the passing of his gaze.
He inclines his head. “I slept very well, thank you. So well in fact, that it seems I am late for our sunrise. My apologies. I am usually more punctual than my behavior this morning would suggest.”
Odissa laughs. “You missed a beautiful show,” she says. “The clouds were like paints in the sky.”
“Lovely. And which was your favorite color?”
“The pink, of course.”
“Excellent choice. Shall we begin our tour, Aris?” He offers her the crook of his elbow, and Odissa curls her hand around his bicep. “May I call you that, Your Highness? We are to be married by the full moon.”
She giggles, then flutters a hand in front of her lips to cover it up. “Aris would be wonderful, Prince Soren.”
He smiles. “Just Soren, then.” He tugs his elbow and guides her toward the surf. Even if this is all one giant lie, they make a lovely pair.
***
My arm burns withthe weight of the parasol. I clench my teeth with every step, fantasizing about floating in the icy embrace of the Drink. The air grows more humid as the morning progresses, moisture sticking to my skin in an uncomfortable layer of sweat and salt. To our left, the ocean churns restlessly, the bright blue waters reflecting the hot sun.
Odissa remains under the shade of the parasol, while the prince strolls next to her, seemingly unaffected by the heat. I’llnever understand Coral merfolk’s fascination with walking in circles through hot sand.
They make a perfect picture together. Where he is beastly, she is poised. Where she is eager, he is composed. They each complement the other like two sides of the same royal coin. Except, she’s not a royal.
Odissa flirts with him ceaselessly. He points out a bird, and she giggles, grasping his arm tighter. He notes the shape of a cloud, and she throws her head to the sky, exclaiming endless praise. A few times, she feigns tripping just to have him catch her. He obliges, keeping her on course as we walk the perimeter of the city walls, but not once does he look at her lustfully. Never does he pause to sweep her into an all-consuming kiss or offer a piece of jewelry to secure the marriage arrangement with the finality Odissa so desperately needs.
Tephra, pluck out my eyes and save me from this second-hand embarrassment.
The prince steers us inside the city walls, parading through the spiraling streets. Odissa stops to peruse vendors’ booths, delighting in the shiny trinkets. The vendors smile at her and offer her free samples of fruit and wine, which she accepts with exaggerated happiness.
The prince greets every noble family he meets, introducing the Abyssal Princess. The distrust in the nobles’ eyes quickly dissipates and they bow, kissing the back of Odissa’s hand profusely. She basks in the attention while the prince stands there. When they ask if she’s the future Coral Queen, he simply smiles and asks them if they’ve yet received their invitation to the royal wedding.
As the sun reaches its peak in the sky, musicians wander into the streets, tapping out melodies on whitesteel drums and singing lilting Voiceless tunes. One merman sits under the awning of a small, stone abode, wearing a broad-brimmed strawhat to keep the sun from his face. His blue hands skirt expertly over the flat, whitesteel surface, his fingers tapping on random spots to create an eerily joyful melody.
“Enna,” Odissa says, irritated. “Come shade me.”
I smile at the merman and touch my hidden gills, bowing my head. His music stutters as he loses the beat, and he stands from his seat to bow. “Magic-wielder,” he says, beaming at me. “You honor me.”
I step back, bewildered. “You make beautiful music,” I say, for lack of anything better, and hurry after Odissa with the parasol.
Soon, sweat soaks my scalp. My black hair is hot to the touch, and my eyes struggle to filter the strong light. My parasol arm droops, my muscles nearing the end of their use.
“Tell me, Soren,” Odissa says, tugging him away from the crowd of observers. I scurry after her, keeping the shade above her head. “Are sunsets as romantic as sunrises? I would very much like it if you showed me one. Alone.” Her voice dips low on the last word and she looks up at him through blinking eyelashes.
He looks at her mouth, then averts his gaze. The parasol drops, managing to both clock Odissa on the head and clip the prince on his cheek before it lands in the sand.
