Page 137 of Across an Endless Sea

“By your logic,” I reply. “All I have to do is be a half-decent person.”

Drystan snorts. “Decent people don’t make good royals. Good leaders do. To be one of those, all you have to do is keep your ego in check.”

I swallow back a nervous giggle, because the idea ofmehaving an ego is laughable. What do I have to be egotistical about?

“You don’t have a very high opinion of them, do you?” I ask curiously.

“I’ve seen the shit they’ve done to get power and keep it,” Drystan retorts. “They wear those crowns because they bathed in the blood of everyone who opposed them. You’ll wear yours because Danu chose you to.”

My silence must speak volumes, because he sighs and asks, “Don’t you trust Danu’s judgement?”

“Do you? She’s the one who gave Caed a second chance.”

He hums under his breath. “More like a prolonged death sentence.”

“He might surprise you,” I find myself mumbling.

“There is nothing he could do that would be enough to make up for the shit he’s pulled.” The high fae sighs. “Regardless, you should get some rest. After tonight, we won’t always be sleeping on soft mattresses. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

I stand and turn towards my bedroom, then back to him. “You could teach me to shield my aura,” I suggest. “That might make me tired.”

“Unlikely.”

“Do you have to be like that?” I demand. “I’m trying to help you. Weeks stuck with me on your horse are going to be awful if you can barely see.”

Drystan sighs, rubs his eyes, then waves me towards the space on the bench beside him. I take the seat, and both of us freeze as we realise how small the space really is. Because he was sitting in the middle, our thighs are now brushing. I stare at him, waiting for him to comment or shift away, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he ignores it—and the buzz where our skin touches. I wish I could do the same. My entire attention is fixed on that spot and our bond, which is pulsing like a second heartbeat in my chest.

“You can’t shield your aura unless you know what you’re looking for.” Drystan distracts me when he pulls off his glove and then shoves his sleeve up, exposing tanned skin. “Focus on me. I’ll unshield mine a little so you can see it better. You’re focusing here—” He points at an area just above his skin. “Tell me when you can see it.”

That’s it? No further instruction?

I squint at his arm, but I can’t see anything. “Do I need Danu?” I ask.

“No. You must have the sight, or you wouldn’t be able to see the spirits so clearly.”

Am I supposed to be looking at him like he’s a spirit? I relax my eyes and focus past him, just like I would if I was struggling to see Maeve in bright sunlight.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually I catch my first glimpse. “Yours is dark,” I whisper. “Black and orange.”

He nods curtly. “Now try your own arm. It will be harder to see.”

I slip my arm out from my shawl and stare at it for a minute, then another. “I can’t see it,” I say, despondent.

“I told you it would be harder.”

“Instead of telling me how hard it is, why not tell me how to make it easier?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because I’ve been doing it since I was a toddler, and I’ve never had to teach anyone before. Have you ever had to teach someone to see? To smell? It’s just another sense to me.”

Groaning, because that makes sense even if I don’t like it, I go back to studying my own arm. Then I shift to my hand, wondering if my fingers will be clearer.

“Yours is golden,” Drystan mutters. “If it helps.”

It doesn’t.

I squint, look past my hand, in front of it… nothing works. I don’t mean to drift off, but staring into space is so boring, and soon my eyes start to feel heavy.

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