Page 150 of Rise of the Siren Queen
Twins.
Instinctively, I moved, positioning myself between them and Iryen, hands raised, ready for any attack they might attempt. I was losing my mind. Restless. Agitated. Shaking with something I couldn’t name. It scraped against my bones like broken glass and fire. I couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t breathe right. My skin itched from the inside out, like my soul was trying to crawl out of me just to get to hers. My heart hammered against my ribs, too fast, too loud, likeit was trying to crack open my chest and escape the panic swelling inside.
Everything hurt.
Not just emotionally. Physically.
My muscles ached with the strain of holding it together, of keeping my power from lashing out in every direction. Lightning snapped at my fingertips like it wanted blood. My jaw clenched so tight I swore I heard something crack. But I didn’t care. Pain was a welcome distraction from the worst kind—the not knowing.
“Those are the royal healers, Adrian,” Sienna said quickly, gesturing toward the pair. “Alyssa and Lina.”
I let the tension ease from my shoulders, though not entirely. Nodding in acknowledgment, I kept my guard up. Trust wasn’t something I could afford right now, not when Iryen’s life hung in the balance.
“Your Highness has suffered grave injuries and requires advanced healing,” Sienna said, her voice steady yet urgent as her gaze swept over the twins. “I must ask you not to disclose anything you see or hear during the process. Both of you are here to heal her, and that alone must remain your focus.”
“Yes, Lady Sienna,” they replied in unison, their voices calm despite the situation.
“Once you’ve completed healing Her Highness, you are to attend to Lady Sienna and Lady Elora without delay. Do you understand?”
The twins exchanged a brief glance before nodding in unison. “Yes, Sir Kieran.”
The healers moved with synchronized grace, rounding the bed and seating themselves close to Iryen. Alyssa’s gaze was steady, while Lina leaned in slightly, her eyes scanning for signs of injury.
“Where are her injuries?” Lina asked, her voice calm but urgent.
Carefully, I adjusted Iryen, turning her sideways to reveal thejagged shards of ice still embedded in her back.
“Here,” I said, my voice low, the words bitter in my mouth as I gestured toward the wounds showing them her back.
My chest burned with something deeper than magic. It was grief. No—grief’s uglier cousin. Dread. The kind that settled in your gut and whispered that this might be it. That maybe this time, you don’t get to fix it. That maybe the person you’d burn the world for is slipping away—and you can’t fuck stop it.
And I couldn’t stand it.
I paced the chamber like a caged animal, every step sharp, twitching with energy I couldn’t release. Every brush of the current against my skin felt like a slap. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard the metallic taste flooded my mouth. Still not enough to ground me.
“Kieran,” I called, needing to do anything different from watching the healers weaving their magic.
Her breathing steadied, and the bleeding from her wounds slowed as the glow of the healer’s hands worked over her, removing the ice. Iryen stirred faintly, her brow twitching, and for a fleeting moment, relief coursed through me.
“How do you handle the bodies of traitors here?” I asked, my tone flat, masking the storm raging inside me, my gaze never leaving Iryen.
“We feed them to the sharks,” he replied without hesitation. “Why?”
“Could you attend to this, please? I know I don’t have any right—”
“He will do it,” Sienna interjected, her voice steady but her expression betraying a deeper feeling—uncertainty, maybe?
For the first time, I glanced up at them, my gaze shifting between Sienna and Kieran.
“You are her mate,” she continued, voice softening but still carrying weight. “It is your right to rule beside her if you choose so. And yes, you have rights here.” She hesitated for the briefest moment, her lipspressing together before she spoke again. “We also know about your heritage, Prince Adrian.”
Prince.The word hit harder than it should have. It echoed in my skull like an accusation and a prophecy all at once. For a moment, I couldn’t tell if the tightness in my chest was pride or something colder, heavier—unease, maybe. Disgust. Both?
I scoffed under my breath bitterly. Prince. What a joke.
The title tasted foreign in my mouth, like something stolen or forced, not earned. I wasn’t born for crowns or ceremonies. My mother might’ve been a princess, but royalty never suited me. I’d spent my entire life running from politics, from expectations, from bloodlines I didn’t ask for and responsibilities I didn’t want.
But now? Now I’d drape myself in the damn title if it meant standing beside her. I’d wear it like armor. I’d become the crown, the throne, the kingdom, if that’s what it took to be with her, to protect her, to make sure no one ever tried to touch her again without bleeding for it. If being a prince meant I could stand at her side, not beneath her or behind her, but as her equal. Then fine. I’d be their fucking prince. But gods help anyone who expected me to play nice.
