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The bard’s smile grew at her attention. “It’s a fishman’s song that originated in the villages along the coast. I stayed with a family there once, and they taught me. It’s a warning to those about cavorting with the sea. It can be enchanting but cost you your life.”

“Very true,” she murmured. “And Ceto is meant to be the sea? It’s a unique name, no?”

The bard set his lute on the floor and nodded. “In our kingdom, Ceto is an old myth. A dark god of the sea. Fishermen bless or curse him according to their luck. Many believe he pulls ships down into the North Sea to appease the bloodthirstiness of his people.”

“His people? Do you mean Sirenidae?”

The bard shook his head, eyes widened. “No, my queen. Demons.”

Mer staredat the ceiling of her dark room, the moon hidden for the night.

She couldn’t take her mind off the song.

It was as if it spoke to her. Like the meaning was just out of her grasp.

One thing she did know was that she needed to travel to the fishman’s coast. Lilja had traveled the world, collecting songs and stories like trophies. She shared them with Mer. Not oncehad she ever mentioned this story or a character with the name Ceto.

If this story originated in the fishing villages, there was a high chance the Ceto was associated with the Pernicious had passed through that area or even been raised there.

She kicked off the blankets and rolled onto her stomach, hugging a feather pillow to her chest. Sleeping in a bed on land was an adjustment. Between their seaweed cocoons and floating moss beds, it was as if the ocean had coddled her almost every night of her life.

Here, her body cramped and sagged into the bed uncomfortably after a few hours, and she was constantly too hot or too cold.

Her eyelids finally drooped, and sleep began to claim her.

The bed groaned, and she shifted a second before her scales stood on end.

Mer’s eyes snapped open as her face was shoved forcibly into the pillow and mattress. She tried to scream but only ended up sucking fabric into her mouth as a heavy weight settled over her bare legs. A large hand squeezed the back of her neck, pinning her in place, unable to breathe.

She bucked her hips and swiped at her attacker, not able to reach them. Mer changed tactics and pinched the hard thigh straddling her with all her might. A man hissed above her.

“Get her hands, you fool,” Keventin whispered harshly.

Mer tried to push herself upward, only to have her arms yanked roughly behind her back and tied. Dizziness washed over her as she tried to inhale, panic rising higher and higher.

“Leave us,” Keventin commanded. He leaned down. “Now I have you where you belong, you sanctimonious wench. Hold still as I show my queen a proper welcome,” he sneered softly in her ear like a lover.

Her eyes widened as a calloused hand caught the hem of her nightgown and yanked it over her hips, cold air washing over her skin.

This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening.

Mer struggled against his strength and cried out into the mattress, wildly flailing.

“Won’t it be fun to see if the next heir looks like me or Raziel?” he murmured. “You’ve been asking for this since the moment you stepped into my home. Always challenging me. Always glaring at me.”

She registered a belt being undone and an eerie sort of calm settled over her.

This is happening. Fight. Remember your training.

“You want this just as much as I do. Stop playing hard to get.”

Mer pushed past the terror and dizziness and disgust, wiggling a little to get a sense of his position.

One right hand on the back of her neck, left hand fumbling with his pants.

A body off balance.

She lifted her left thigh and hooked it over his left one.