Page 32 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter thirty

Nahla

“Coming up, you’ll find the throne room to your right.” Deirdre gestures to an engraved wooden door. “The king is in there now, so I can’t show you. Perhaps another time.”

“That’s okay. I’ve seen it already.” I shiver at the memory of my first time in that room. The king prowled before me, deciding my fate.

Asshole.

We round a turn, and I adjust my mental map of the building. It’s a minimalistic layout for a king. Winona’s palace is thrice its size, at least. And he doesn’t have a ballroom. Apparently, this used to be the royals’ warm-season home, and all the balls were held in the courtyard under the moon.

So far, I’ve found only two ways out of the castle—one door shore-side, another back-side into the courtyard.

Centered in the building is a grand parlor with a lofted timber-frame ceiling, housing a double staircase to the second floor.

The primary floor holds the kitchen, dining hall, and throne room.

From the second-floor landing, the eastern wing leads to guest rooms and the queen’s quarters, the western to the king’s residence and library.

It’s a gorgeous home. The architecture has a handsome simplicity, dark and cozy.

The style suits him. Efficient. His family’s wealth is subtle, built into the quality of the imported wood, the richness of tapestry and furs.

He keeps no superfluous sitting rooms or expensive knick-knacks.

A practical king—Winona will never believe me.

I smile, admiring his choices despite myself, as I trail my fingers along the wall. My fingers catch the hem of a navy-blue wall-hanging, and I lean closer to inspect it. Intricate leather stitching, done by someone’s careful hand. I inhale. It smells like him.

Perrin clears his throat, a gentle signal for me to move along. All morning, the young guard has trailed our little tour of three, pointing out his favorite paintings along the way, much to my delight.

His company is the best I could ask for in my glorified imprisonment. Perrin said the library is beautiful, but I have yet to see it.

Ahead of us, a scattered line of merfolk spans the length of the hallway. They hold various baskets and bags, their expressions troubled. Frowning. A few mermaids sit on the floor, tracing lazy patterns in the wood while their eyes glaze over.

The door swings open, and a male guard pokes his head out. “Next,” he calls. The first merman in line enters the room, and the line shuffles forward.

Winona’s supplication days aren’t this somber. With free cake and tea for every subject who comes, the Brine celebrates whenever she opens her doors to their complaints.

I used to think her style was overkill. Wasteful. But seeing the opposite makes my heart ache. When I smile at a Frost mermaid, she looks past me with a listless frown. Her fingers twist the tail of her braid.

Maybe Winona was right. She wasn’t superfluous, but generous . Maybe a little pageantry goes a long way.

Deirdre steers us through the hall, avoiding contact with the waiting line, and we enter the grand parlor. “It isn’t usually this crowded,” she mutters. “Come, I’ll show you the healer’s room, in case you need to find Lucas.”

I file his name away.

“Our staff isn’t big. It’s me, the handmaids you met in the kitchen, the chef, the librarian, and the healer. We’re a tight-knit group.”

“And me, too, Auntie,” Perrin pipes in, hopping on his good foot to keep up.

Deirdre flashes him a warm smile. “Yes, and you too, love. Though the guards keep their quarters in the barracks.”

We take a side door, then descend a flight of stairs. The air grows damp and cold, smelling of salt and aged wood. The scraping sound of Perrin’s crutch echoes deep into the chamber below.

“This is the servant quarters,” Deirdre explains, stopping to turn up the wick of a sconce on the wall.

She stops before the first door and raps on it three times. The knob turns, and the door swings in to reveal the tall, thin male who visited my cell on the first night.

The healer’s gaze lands on me, and my skin prickles with a sudden chill. “Hello, m’lady,” he says, flicking his eyes over me. A wry smile curves. “Are you still experiencing pain in your rear end?”

I grin. “Yep. Still there, I’m afraid.”

Behind me, Perrin coughs.

Deirdre shoots me a puzzled look. “Do you require medical attention, Your Highness?”

“No, no. Just an old joke.”

I peer over the healer to glimpse the room within. It’s cluttered with trinkets and vials. A fire burns low in the hearth beyond, casting a golden glow on the mounted head of an animal.

“You’re welcome any time,” Lucas says. “Perhaps we could explore your thoughts on magic, m’lady. I’d be happy to take another look.”

His eyebrow arches, his gold-flecked eyes boring into mine. What the fuck does that mean?

“During daylight hours, of course,” he adds.

Deirdre exchanges a glance with the healer, a flicker of tension in her eyes.

“Yes, well, we’ll continue with the tour. Not much else to see down here. My room is there, darling. Second door on the left.” The housekeeper points, then shoos us toward the stairs. “Shall I show you the library?”

“You mean I hobbled all the way down here for nothing?” Perrin complains, casting a weary look at the stairwell. He drops his voice to a whisper and speaks sideways from his mouth so only I can hear. “Fuck me, Nahla, why can’t we just swim?”

“Don’t let her catch you saying that,” I whisper, reaching out to ruffle his sandy hair. Perrin’s ears darken, and he shoots me a wry grin.

“Life’s full of disappointments, I’m afraid.” The healer’s voice sounds closer than I expected. I glance back to find him still in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his ankles crossed. His eyes remain steady on my face.

“Up you go, love. You’ll be all right now.” Deirdre helps her nephew get started up the stairs.

As I wait, I peer around the hallway—anywhere to avoid looking Lucas in the eye. The ceiling is low, dripping with moisture. There’s a gap between the stairwell and the far wall, leaving barely enough room to stand.

Light catches my eye from a pool of water on the floor. I step sideways, careful not to draw attention from Deirdre. Craning my neck, I peer around the corner to get a better look.

There, in the space between broken floorboards, is a hole full of water wide enough to fit the shoulders of a grown-ass male. A crust of ice clings to the top, cracked in a few places. Around the hole, several marks scar the wooden planks. Like fingers grasping for purchase.

“Coming, Your Highness?” Deirdre calls.

I scrutinize the hole, trying to compute its purpose. An escape hatch, perhaps? But that doesn’t explain the marks. Something has been getting in , not out.

My toe catches, kicking an object across the floor. I bend to pick it up—a small, blue scale, dark as midnight.

The same shade as the clawbeast’s hide.

My mouth goes dry.

Is the Beast here , inside somewhere? Hope flares. I didn’t know he could venture on land, much less kept a room in the king’s castle.

“Careful, now,” Lucas warns. I leap from my skin. “Don’t want to go poking where we don’t belong.”

I turn to face the healer, clutching the scale in my fist. He pins me with a cautionary look and spreads his arms toward the stairwell.

“You’re getting lost, Princess. Better hurry.”

I tuck the scale into my front pocket and hurry up the stairs.