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“Not exactly.” She appraised the older woman. “I come from the sea, my lady. We don’t have cooked meat as your land does.”

Understanding dawned across the dowager queen’s face. “Would you like fresh fish brought to you?” The older woman looked slightly ill as she asked.

“I will survive on bread and fruit in the morning. If I desire fish, I will obtain it myself.”

“A queen does not fish.”

“A queen doesn’t try to murder her husband, and yet here we are.” Mer grinned.

The dowager queen rolled her eyes in a very unladylike way. “You’re just as bad as my son. You mustn’t say such things.”

Like the king. Mer’s smile turned into a frown.

She didn’t want to be compared to that blackguard in any way. Crossing her arms, she arched a brow at the older woman. “Did you come here to critique my eating habits, or is there a reason for your visit?”

Clasping her hands together, the dowager queen smiled, but it was a touch devious. “I’m here to help you acclimate to yournew schedule. We’re already late. Your ladies are waiting just outside. Shall I call them in to help you dress?”

So that’s why the dowager queen was here. To make sure she dressed appropriately.

Mer grimaced. “Let them in.”

She kneltat the chapel in Onyx Palace. Her legs still burned from all the stairs they’d taken to reach the base of the palace.

Mer stared at her embroidered skirts and resisted the urge to tug at the long forest-green sleeves that ended in points at her middle fingers. She’d always admired the fabrics above, but wearing the scratchy material was something else altogether.

She had a feeling her wardrobe had arrived at the palace but was being hidden from her. Mer smiled. It was no matter. Soon enough, she’d discover its location or make her own as she’d done for the banquet the night before. While she was now a Methian queen, she didn’t have to dress like one and erase her Sirenidae heritage.

“Why are you smiling?” the dowager queen asked from her right.

She peeked at the woman from beneath her lashes, keeping her head bowed. “Should I not?”

“It looks as if you’re planning something devious.”

“Maybe I am,” she whispered.

“Stars help me,” the dowager queen muttered. “Pay attention. Soon you shall lead the morning meditations.”

“This seems an odd custom. Do you really do it every day?”

“It’s to bring peace to the mind. The world can be a difficult place, and as a queen, there are many responsibilities that you must carry out. It can feel like too much if you don’t center yourself and distinguish what is truly important. Meditation helps with this.”

An interesting practice, but why only the queens? “And does the king meditate as well?”

“Yes.” A smile curled the dowager queen’s lips, and her gaze flitted past Mer’s shoulder.

She stiffened as Raziel knelt to her left, the sleeve of his own shirt brushing her arm. Heat soaked into her body, and she tried to shuffle closer to the dowager queen, but to no avail. The bloody skirts kept her immobile. Why did humans prefer so much fabric? It seemed like a waste.

Her musings screeched to a halt as the king reached for her hand. Mer’s head snapped up when he laced their fingers together. Cold silver eyes held her own, daring her to pull away. She narrowed her eyes at him for a second.

Mer registered the queen edging away from them. The bloody traitor.

“Your head is supposed to be bowed and your eyes closed,” the king murmured, a wry note in his voice.

“You first.”

He blinked at her and then, to Mer’s surprise, bowed his head and closed his eyes. She studied his profile with suspicion. Just what was he up to? Why acquiesce so quickly? Her gaze ran over his strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, and sooty lashes. He had an aristocratic nose that had been broken once, at least, and full dusky lips. He’d tied his wine-colored hair back, revealing several piercings along his rounded ear. Mer eyed a black marking peeking along the edge of his collar. What was that?

“You’re staring.” His voice was flat.