Page 10 of A Storm in Every Heart (Enchanted Legacies #2)

Daemon and I have never spoken at length about my family or my past. Even in Dyaspora we didn’t talk much about how or why we’d gotten there. At the time, we both knew with absolute certainty that we’d never be leaving the prison. Who we were before Dyaspora didn’t matter anymore.

Even when we escaped a year ago, it still didn’t feel as if it mattered much. The Crown Prince of Hydratta isn’t who I am anymore, and looking back on my life feels like half-remembering a story I heard once. Like my memories belong to someone else.

Before today, only Daemon and Odessa knew for sure who I used to be.

Daemon knew because we’d met once or twice in my previous life.

I don’t know how Odessa knows, only that she’s from Hydratta and not much younger than me.

I always assumed she’d seen me at a parade or something as a child and remembered.

She obviously didn’t care for royalty because she’d disliked me from the moment we met in Alix’s room, and honestly that was part of the reason I never wanted to claim my original identity.

If Odessa’s reaction was anything to go by, I was far better off starting over.

“No,” I say after a few minutes. “I don’t think Magnus would start a war with you. From what I remember of him, he was always calculating. A war wouldn’t make financial or political sense, so he’s unlikely to start anything.”

“I hope you’re right,” Daemon replies. “We’re weak right now. Fox is doing a damn good job with the army, but it will take years before I believe we could actually win any battles.”

I nod. “You’re right.”

“I fucking hate this,” he growls, taking another sip of his drink. “I never wanted to be responsible for anyone else.”

I grin and clink my glass against his. “Likewise.”

Daemon frowns. “Is that why you said you don’t want to go back to Hydratta?”

“Yes,” I reply flatly. “I don’t want to be king. I never did.”

He laughs harshly. “And you think I do?”

“No, I know you don’t, but you’re actually good at it. You delegate well, and the people like you.”

“The people like Alix,” he argues. “They’re afraid of me.”

I shake my head, hiding a smile. This is an argument we’ve had countless times.

Daemon is wrong. The citizens aren’t afraid of him; they respect him. And whatever he believes, he’s a good king. Anyone who was there when Thorne died and he was forced to take up the mantle would say the same thing. “In my experience, bad rulers don’t worry that they’re bad rulers.”

“Then why are you worried?” he grumbles. “You should go take back your own crown. We could control half the continent, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about any wars.”

His eyes glint with excitement as he contemplates it. I need to head this off now. “No, it wouldn’t work. I don’t delegate well.”

“You could get over that.”

“No, I couldn’t,” I say flatly. “I could never entrust work to anyone else, unless maybe it was you or Fox or Jett.”

“Maybe—”

“No, I’m serious. The ability to delegate is an essential quality for a king.

I would know; I watched my father run himself into the ground for years trying to do everything himself until he was so exhausted he didn’t even notice that his own advisor was plotting against him.

” My voice has turned bitter by the end of my sentence and I take another long drink, composing myself.

I’m not being self-deprecating the way Daemon is, and I’m not delusional.

I know that if things had turned out differently, and I’d become the king after my father died, I would have made it work, but I also know that I’m not suited for the job.

It’s not just that I won’t delegate; I can’t .

My self-control—control in general—is too important to me.

I wouldn’t be a leader; I’d be a dictator. A well-intentioned one, but still.

“I don’t want to go back to Hydratta alone,” I say when I’m sure my voice will come out even. “I’d much rather stay here and be an emissary for Vernallis.”

“Unfortunately, that’s just about the only job I can’t ask you to do,” Daemon says. “I need a diplomat so badly I’m tempted to let you do it, anyway. If it were anywhere else, I would, but it would just be stupid to send you to Hydratta.”

“I know.” I knock his nearly empty glass with mine again. “Why haven’t you asked Odessa to be your emissary?”

He sighs. “Because I don’t know if it’s fair of me to ask her to do anything. She’s my family, but she never signed up for any of this—running a country, that is. You and Fox and Jett are different?—”

I nod. We’re different because we bonded in prison, and none of the four of us would be here without the others.

Daemon knows that even if he told us all to abandon him, we never would.

I don’t think Odessa would leave Daemon and Alix either, but I see why he’s worried about demanding too much of her.

Privately, I hope Daemon doesn’t ask Odessa to be an emissary. Not because she wouldn’t be good at it, but because that would mean she’d have to travel to other kingdoms nearly as often as Jett.

Daemon and I fall into companionable silence for a few minutes. Madam Magdalena returns with steaming plates of roast meat and vegetables for both of us and puts them down on the counter.

“Another round?” Daemon asks, looking sideways at me.

I start to answer but never get the words out. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar tall, thin male. My back goes straight, and I turn slowly to look.

Yes, that’s definitely him. That’s the shopkeeper I saw Odessa bewitch earlier. That was the most amazing and terrifying damn thing I’ve ever seen.

When I first walked in and saw her leaning over the counter, I barely even registered that anyone else was in the room.

Immediately, my mind flew to all the things I could do to her over that counter, and I was about to break my vow to myself and say something about it when I realized we weren’t alone.

For a split second I saw red, thinking that she was flirting with this random shopkeeper, but then I got a look at his unfocused eyes. What was it she said? He was weak-willed?

“Did you know that Odessa has magic?” I blurt out.

Daemon startles and gestures to Madam Magdalena to bring us another round before turning to me with a furrowed brow. “No, she doesn’t.”

I frown. That doesn’t make any sense.

All Fae can use magic, but how useful it is comes down to training and luck. While natural talent exists—Aurelia being a good example—access to good tutors is the best predictor of how powerful a child will grow up to be.

Both being born into noble houses, Daemon and I were each trained since early childhood, but we’re the outliers.

From what little Fox has said about it, he had some early magic instruction before being sent off to apprentice with the army.

Being an orphan, Jett wasn’t trained at all, so any powers he has are purely instinctual.

Perhaps that’s also what happened with Odessa?

I don’t know much about her life before she went to live with Daemon and Beatrix, and I’m not sure I can get away with asking about it without inviting too many questions.

“Didn’t Odessa train with you as children?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

He shakes his head. “She didn’t come to live at the estate until she was eight, and you know that’s too old to start training.”

“But she has magic…right?”

Daemon’s mouth twists into an amused smirk. “Why do you want to know?”

“Earlier I saw her do…something…to that man over there.”

He glances over his shoulder, and when he turns back his posture has relaxed. “Oh, that . She turned him into a puppet, yeah?”

My brow furrows. “So you do know about it.”

To my surprise, he laughs. “Yeah, but that’s not Fae magic. It’s not really magic at all. It’s the siren song.”

“What?”

“You know, the siren song. You must have heard it in Dyaspora. It’s how they would get men to walk out of their beds and into the freezing fucking ocean.”

I frown, trying to think back to all those cold, miserable years in Dyaspora.

I remember the wailing coming from the ocean late at night, and I knew there were men who walked into the water and never came back, but honestly, I wasn’t all that surprised.

It never occurred to me that they were compelled by anything other than their own misery.

“I suppose I never really noticed,” I say finally.

“Really?” He furrows his brow. “I assumed it just didn’t work on you. It doesn’t work on me either.”

“Why not?”

Daemon narrows his eyes, still looking amused. “Why are you suddenly so interested in this?”

“I was just surprised. I’ve never seen her do anything like that before.”

“She’s never liked using it. There must have been something she really wanted from that shopkeeper.”

I stiffen. Well, now I won’t be able to stop thinking about it until I know what she wanted.

I get to my feet before I know what I’m doing. “Can you wait a second? I’m just going to go…”

I trail off, not waiting for Daemon to answer as I stride across the pub toward the shopkeeper. He sees me coming, but there’s no spark of recognition in his face. “Can I help you?”

“You’re the shopkeeper from next door.”

“And what of it?” he asks snidely.

I clench my jaw. I guess I should just be grateful his brain isn’t coming out of his ears, but I still have to restrain myself from reaching out and teaching him some manners. “There was a woman in your shop earlier. Red hair…unusually beautiful?”

His eyes spark in recognition, and his lip curls. “Yes, the king’s sister.” He glances behind me, and his eyes lock on Daemon before he looks back at me. “You’re one of them too?”

I don’t know exactly what he means, but it doesn’t matter. “Yes,” I say roughly. “What did you talk to the woman about?”

“Why?” he drawls.

My jaw clenches even tighter. “Watch your tone.”

He sneers. “No, I don’t think?—”