Page 60 of The Ever King

He smiled—I nearly stumbled when a rush of anguished want pulsed along my center.

“Let her go, you damn sea singer.” Celine tossed one of the tin cups at my minstrel’s head.

I might slit her throat should she harm his ability to sing and play.

The minstrel paused, studying Celine with a narrowed gaze, then flashed a cruel grin. “Lost your voice, little siren? Go ahead, try to sing me back, seductress.”

Siren? Foolish of my lovely minstrel. Celine spoke to the tides, not the seduction of the heart.

“How about I cut out your tongue instead?” Celine said in a low snarl. “Release her.”

“Tis my right,” he shouted back. It only added to the harmony in my head. His eyes were a darker shade, and for a moment, his face twisted into something gaunt and sunken. “Claim a heart, my debt is paid, and I leave this pit.”

“She belongs to your king, and—”

“She belongs to me.”

I startled when the minstrel’s face flashed in a horrible, skeletal image. Sharp cheek bones, cracked skin, rotted teeth. In the next breath, when his lips touched the flutes of his pipe, his roguish delight returned.

My pulse slowed.

The surface of my body was overheated. Sweat gathered on my brow, and my breaths were more rasps than anything. I feared any moment I’d combust if the pressure across my body was not satisfied. Before I could stop, my hand slid over my belly, reaching beneath the waist of my trousers for the apex of my thighs. If my minstrel would not bring me relief, I would.

A hand slapped over my wrist, guiding my hand away from my belt.

“Erik?” His name rolled off my tongue like a reverent kind of praise. His name was beautiful. More lovely than even the song in my head. Something about the Ever King pulled me to him, drew a want greater than the minstrel’s haunting tune. Memories of Erik’s body pressed against mine and—all gods—the way he’d kissed me in the sea.

A shudder danced down my spine. I might do anything for a taste of him again.

“Erik.” I stroked my fingertips down the stubble of his jaw, my thumb lingered on the scar over his top lip.

Bloodsinger gripped my wrists and gently eased my palms away. He seethed at Celine and Larsson. “How long did you let her listen?”

“We hardly heard it,” Celine said, a little desperately. “You know I’m numb to their songs, and Larsson favors women.”

Heard it? Yes! My minstrel.

I clutched Erik’s hands and tugged him forward. “You must hear it. It’s beautiful.”

“Aye, love. I’ve heard it.” He looked over my shoulder. “End it, sea singer. She’s not yours to claim.”

“Not even the king can keep her from me,” the minstrel sang. “By right, I’m due the heart I capture. Was a vow of the debt.”

Erik sighed. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “I’ve only just won her, now I must let her go.” He faced the strange minstrel and held out one hand. “The Ever King will abide by your vow and set you free.”

With a twisted sort of glee, the minstrel ceased his playing long enough to clasp the king’s hand. It happened swiftly. The moment Erik had a hold on the minstrel, he slashed his first two fingers on the points of his teeth until a gush of blood slipped over his knuckles.

Without warning, the king shoved the bloodied tips into the ear of my minstrel. I might’ve screamed, I wasn’t certain, most sound was drowned out by bone-splitting wails.

The minstrel clutched his ear and fell to his knees. His beautiful face twisted and split into something horrific. Pockets of skin on his cheeks were missing, and through fleshy tendons his yellowed teeth were visible. His complexion was colorless. Not even pale; it was nearly translucent.

The king took hold of my arm and pulled me against his side. “No vow of servitude outweighs the word of your king.”

“Sing,” the minstrel sobbed. “Sing, I beg of you.”

He convulsed. What looked like sea foam frothed from his ear. His horrid eyes rolled back in his skull. Jaw tight, the creature kept pleading through his teeth for the king to save him.

A crowd gathered. No one tried to help the dying heap of a sea singer, most watched as though it were a delightsome part of the evening. A few gazes lifted to me, curious, maybe a bit unsettled. My body was still pressed against Bloodsinger’s, and the feel of the hard planes of his form had the constant heat on my skin devolve into a maddening boil. I dug my fingernails into his arm, needing him closer.