Page 17 of Surfaces
My sleep wasfitful when I tumbled into bed an hour before dawn, because even though I spoke with Mayor Deacon, expressed regrets to the families of those killed, and worked with one of Deacon’s local heralds to compose the announcements full of both regret and reassurance to be delivered in the town squares the following morning, I couldn’t help but circle back to that kiss with Watkins.
Time and again.
Our anger had reached a boiling point, a peak.
I'd foolishly given into it. And in my dreams, I wanted to again. Over and over. In my dreams, we went further; he ripped out the neck of my conservative dress and dragged his lips over my collar bones, squeezing my breasts and pinching my nipples through the fabric. The dream version of Watkins shoved back my skirt and ground his hardness against me, his pants rubbing against me in just the right way, making me wet, drawing out my moans. In my dreams, he drove me to delirium.
But dreams and reality couldn't have been farther apart. I woke angry at myself, furious that my unconscious mind could betray me so. I ground my teeth as I sat up in bed, shucking off my sheets and kicking my feet out. I cracked my neck and was flexing my wings when my maid, Gita, arrived. She was a sweet-faced woman with an amazing talent for hair and I was glad to see her when she came through a servant's door and was at my side with a quick swish of her golden tail. It gave me a bit of a return to normalcy, to a world in which Watkins and I did not get along.
She appraised me thoroughly, clucking her tongue. "Didn't sleep well, Your Majesty?"
I shook my head. “That would be an understatement.”
"Don't worry. I have just the thing. A quick seaweed pack for your face will have you looking as good as new." She bustled around the room, digging underneath my bed and lugging out a trunk that I hadn't even noticed. As Gita hummed a sea shanty and prepared some kind of slime-and-seaweed concoction to remove the bags under my eyes, Sahar entered.
My siren advisor strode in slowly and stiffly, as if yesterday had aged her. I could only imagine the years of torment she'd felt compacted into a single moment. I, myself, felt older today, more cynical. There was a shadow looming inside my chest. And I was certain she felt it too. When she gave me a haggard smile, I knew I was right.
"Gita," I canted my head toward my maid, though I kept eye contact with my advisor. "Can you please prepare a second seaweed pack for Sahar?"
"Majesty—" Sahar held up a hand to protest. She was already dressed for the day; her hair was done, her cheeks rouged. But she needed it. She was always solid and formal.
"I insist. Get her a glass of bubble too, Gita.” I pointed a finger at Sahar to crumble her protests before she could construct them. “First of all, you need a break. You need not to be my advisor for a little bit. You need to let go. Besides, later on, you're going to be running interference for me with all these outraged Reef City residents. The least I can do is make sure you look fabulous as you face them."
Sahar chuckled and held up her hands in surrender before settling down on a nearby seat. Gita brought over a glass of bubble as my advisor said, "You know, Majesty, you're quite wise for your age."
"I'm trying desperately to catch up to you," I replied with a small shrug.
We spent the next hour sitting on a purple settee in front of my bed with seaweed wraps covering all but our eyes, eating tuna-and-seaweed wraps as Gita fussed with our hair and massaged our hands, claiming that a good hand massage could rid nearly all tension in the body.
“Course, there is one spot that’s better, but you’ll have to get a handsome sea man to touch that for you!” she joked.
I giggled, though Sahar rolled her eyes. But, with the bubble and a bit of encouragement, even my stoic advisor joined us in gossip, devolving into female chatter about the men in the tournament—sans Keelan, of course. Gita was on the Humberto fan-wagon after his huge stunt saving us on the road.
“Like some hero in a fairy story,” she sighed, holding her hairbrush to her heart. “Honestly, Majesty, he’s got to be in your top two.”
I smiled grandly and gave a nod just to be agreeable, knowing he was a crowd favorite. The cardinal fish shifter and I though … we didn’t share any spark that I could find. It didn’t mean that I wouldn’t ultimately ask him to be in my harem. I was hoping we’d build a connection before then, however, because that would make it easier.
Originally, I’d hoped to be utterly strategic with my husband selection. But now that I’d given my heart away to Watkins, binding myself to one asshole for eternity seemed like it might be enough. Finding other husbands that I actually enjoyed was a newfound priority this morning.
“I don’t know,” Sahar said softly. “I think our Queen might have a soft spot for underdogs.” She reached for a cup from the tray of breakfast that had been delivered and gave me a knowing smirk that made a strip of seaweed drip from her cheek. Sahar smoothed it back down before bringing the freshly-brewed bubble to her lips.
My stomach tightened. Was Sahar referring to Mateo? I didn’t want anyone to notice him, much less scrutinize him. Posing as Felipe’s cousin, Mateo was actually the ambassador’s son from Macedon. I’d met him and fallen for him while he was still human. He had searched for me high and low after my kidnapping, and my brother-in-law, Declan, had helped Mateo find me. Now, thanks to my guard, Mateo was posing as a merman—and doing a clumsy job of it. Felipe had put out the rumor that poor silver-haired Mateo had been attacked by a hammerhead when he was younger, which had addled his wits.
But their scheme could fall apart if anyone looked too closely. Was Sahar already looking? Should I have confided in her?
Mateo’s very entrance into the tournament was forbidden. I was glad for the seaweed wrap; it hid my dismay.
Gita, however, latched onto this little detail like a clam to a rock. “Ooooh! Who? Tell me.”
“I like quite a few of them,” I hedged. “Julian is so smart that he’s fascinating to talk to, even if some of his ideas are a bit radical. Valdez … he has a delicious devil-may-care way—”
“Oh, is he the pirate?” Gita immediately latched onto that tidbit and ran with it. “Yes, the servants’ quarters are full of gossip about him.”
“Really? What kind?” I asked conversationally, relieved to have steered the conversation successfully in a new direction.
Gita grinned saucily as she started to remove the seaweed strips from my face. “Well, I suppose it’s similar to a lot of the gossip that follows pink dolphin shifters. They’re so rare, you know. But I’d be careful with him. That attraction magic they exude is so strong. Plus, I’d heard he only joined this tournament to win a bet…”
“What kind of bet?” I asked.
