Page 13 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter eleven

Aethan

I’m out of distractions, and my self-control hangs on by a thread, as frayed as the tattered hides on my bed. One more thought of her , and I’ll unravel.

My latest mug of tea is cold in my hand; cold, like everything in this frigid room. I could light a fire or a torch or any of the tallow candles stored in the closet, but I’d rather wallow in my hoarfrost.

I dunk the herb pouch in the tea, winding the string around my knuckle.

Dunk.

The sight-pool catches my eye, and I fight against the craving in my gut. My fingers itch to awaken its magic and dive into the Rime. But if I cave, I’ll be sucked in by her wiles in an instant, and I’m weak for pretty eyes and a pouting mouth, even when they belong to my enemy.

Guilt rushes in, and I look away from the pool. She’s not my enemy.

Dunk.

Probably not a spy, either.

I shouldn’t assume the worst. Why would the Brine Kingdom care to spy on me now? My family hasn’t made contact for two generations, so there’s no need for them to send a spy.

Dunk.

Besides, Lucas’s report came back clear. She has no hidden weapons, nor any trace of poison. Just an outsider, visiting my keep for an indeterminable and highly suspicious reason.

Am I supposed to fall for her clueless damsel routine? She carries a wit behind her eyes, a creature of far greater intelligence and power than she lets others see.

Which makes her a damn good spy, after all.

I pinch the bridge of my nose to clear the thought. The other royals in Adria do not think like this—they play politics, attend each other’s fucking flower festivals, and trade resources.

But the other kingdoms don’t have secrets to hide, and if they learn mine, I’m sure they wouldn’t hesitate to turn on me. They’d join their forces and threaten my people—my people, who are threatened enough by their own king.

Dunk.

And what would I do when the forces descend? Retaliate? Shred them with my bare claws until the great sea fills with their blood?

They’d call me the enemy, so it’s only fair I position myself now for the reality to come.

She is my enemy, because I am hers, and I will not look in the pool.

I won’t .

Fuck it. The sight-pool stirs at my touch. I growl, appalled by the sound of my Voice, the sight of my own fingers as they dip in that glowing water.

I will not look!

With a flick of my fingers, I abandon the pool as quickly as I started.

But not before I glimpse that prison cell, with its occupant curled in a ball. Her long hair splays on the floor and her golden scales dim with frost. Gentle fingers stroke aimlessly, swiping again and again to reveal the color before the crust clings once more.

My throat tightens.

I dip my fingers again and alter my tune, swiping the image away. I flick through views of my domain: the beach is calm, and the trench is undisturbed. Pikewhales float in the vertical grip of slumber, soft bubbles globing from their blowholes.

In the dungeon, she’s changed positions, approaching the front of her cell where a guard is posted outside the iron gate, his body slouched against the wall.

Vaughn, one of my Frost Guards. She pushes off her hands and glides over the floor toward him.

Vaughn snorts, and his head bobs. She threads her hand through an opening in the grate, reaching for him.

I grip the bowl, peering closer into the sight-pool. Her fingers graze the keys at his hip, she stretches, and her fingers trill out of reach.

Vaughn shifts and floats beyond her grasp.

I smirk. Serves her right.

But then she moves her mouth. Her eyes dart to the guard, checking his reaction.

He slumbers on. Soon, a small fish approaches, and she smiles at it, beckoning.

The fish flutters through the bars, swirling around her head.

She laughs, strokes its fins, and then her lips move.

The fish exits the cage, darting for the guard’s keys. They detach and sink to the floor.

My smirk fades. She’s clever. Too clever.

Lucas didn’t mention she was a strong magic-wielder, and that makes her a threat.

The guard snorts awake and glances around, spotting his keys on the floor. Inside the cage, the female feigns sleep while he scoops the keys and attaches them to his belt, then leans against the wall.

A moment passes before she opens her eyes, pretending to yawn and stretch as Vaughn watches her sideways.

I frown into the pool. I know that look. It was on every guard’s face the moment this female entered my throne room.

She contorts her body, cocking her tail to enhance his view of her breasts and belly. She says something to him, and I curse this silent spell for depriving me of eavesdropping.

The guard stares as she runs a hand through her hair, then along her neck. She brushes the starfish that clings to her breasts, and Vaughn’s eyes bulge. Damn. She’s good.

She floats to the gate and touches his arm through the bars. He leans into the contact while she stretches for his keys with the other hand.

She sneaks a finger through the ring, and the guard freezes. His hand drops to his hip, catching her wrist. He shoves her into the cage, and she slides across the floor.

I sever my spell and stand from my chair, putting distance between myself and that damn pool. I pace, heels digging into the rug.

If she thinks she can fuck with my kingdom from the inside out, she’s sorely mistaken. I am the goddessdamn King of Frost, and I won’t be made a fool of. I grip the post of my bed, and the wood cracks. Blue scales reach my elbow.

Power crackles and streams from my hands, coating the walls in a thick sheet of ice. Icicles drip from the ceiling, lengthening as my anger builds.

This siren will be the bane of my self-control.