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Chapter Eleven

MER

She was going to die, but it was worth it.

A wild laugh bubbled from her lips as the king of Methi glared at her with blood running down his neck. She’d almost slit his throat. Only a few more seconds beneath her shell blade, and he would have been dead.

As dead as Ream—the husband he’d stolen from her.

She licked her lips and continued to fight the warriors that held her.

The dowager queen stepped away from her son, her lip curled in distaste.

The queen mother had been smart, siccing female warriors on Mer.

The Lure didn’t work quite as well with them.

She glanced at the two women, noting they were mirrors of each other.

Same long curly brown hair, same metallic bronze eyes, a sprinkle of freckles across their noses, and warm umber skin.

Twins. How quaint.

Mer dismissed them and locked gazes with the dowager queen. She bared her teeth at the queen mother in a victorious smile. His dear mother didn’t like that.

Mer had planned to ruin the king’s life, but when she saw him on the dock, something snapped inside her that she couldn’t control. The look of horror on his face when he shook off the Lure was enough to satisfy the fire of hate that raged inside her.

Just a little bit.

Mer licked the saltwater off her lips and shuddered.

It tasted nothing like home, less salty and more like algae.

Goosebumps ran up and down her arms as shivers wracked her body.

Swimming in the ocean one last time, even if it wasn’t home, had been worth it.

She’d sung the hunt song with the leviathans, glimpsed the kelp forests with their waving scarlet fronds, and experienced the serenity of the water.

It was the perfect goodbye to this world.

The rain pelted them as the wind and waves battered the dock. The storm was worsening.

Her body wanted to hunch over to conserve heat, but Mer held her head up high. She wouldn’t cower in her last moments. The warrior to the right clipped a set of manacles too tightly around her left wrist, breaking the skin before they clasped her right. The pain was momentary.

Plus, they’d made a mistake. They’d cuffed her hands in front of her. The warriors had given her a weapon with which to strangle the king.

He had recovered, his expression turning from infatuated to frosty.

She smiled at him and winked, watching his expression harden further.

Good. She wanted him as angry as she was.

He pulled a black kerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around his nose and mouth. The king had learned his lesson, it seemed. Raziel stalked down the dock. There wasn’t another word for the way he moved. It was predatory, and it called to the darkest part of Mer.

The warrior to her right kicked Mer’s legs out from beneath her, and her knees hit the wet, rough wooden deck. Pain ricocheted up her thighs, but she ignored it.

“You will kneel before your king.”

“He is not my king,” she snapped, staring down Raziel, the Methian King.

Death was prowling her way, and she didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

He paused before her, and she had to tip her head back to meet his glare from over the edge of the kerchief.

Mer blinked the rain out of her eyes. His dark red hair hung around his face in ropes, looking like rivulets of rich Aermian wine.

His eyes were like the fine edge of a blade as he stared down at her. Sharp and piercing. Deadly.

Was this how he looked before he cut Ream down?

A wave of grief, rage, and hate crashed over her.

Mer lunged for him, managing to get to her feet. He caught her by the throat, his calloused palm abrading her sensitive gills. She snapped her teeth in his face and sank her nails into his forearm.

Two could play that game.

He lifted until her toes scrambled for purchase on the slick wooden deck. Time slowed as she stared up into the fierce eyes of the one person who’d taken her world from her. A deranged laugh gurgled in the back of her throat as she fought to breathe.

“Do it,” she challenged.

King Raziel cocked his head. “What?”

“Kill me.” It was a dare and a plea. She was so bloody tired of the nightmares, of the sleepless nights, of the world and its pain.

He pulled her a little closer until their noses almost touched. “No, I need you, unfortunately, you bloodthirsty little thing.”

Then she’d make him do it. Mer lurched forward to bite his throat, intending to tear it out with her teeth if necessary.

His gaze flattened, and he slammed his head against her temple.

Stars and pain burst across her vision, and she managed to slur out, “You’ll never survive me.”

The Methians did not take kindly to assassination attempts.

Mer discreetly tugged at the manacles that were tightly clasped around her wrists. She’d awoken to the gentle sway of a horse, a pounding headache, and the scent of wet horseflesh in her nose. They’d tossed her over the mount like common goods.

So, they hadn’t killed her. Interesting.

Keeping her eyes closed and breathing shallowly through the nausea, she pulled on the cuffs again. Nothing.

“Stop wiggling,” a sharp female voice commanded. “Or you’ll fall off the horse.”

The game was up.

Mer stopped pretending to be asleep and lifted her pounding head.

The dowager queen rode beside them. The regal older woman arched a cool eyebrow but said nothing else. As if she was daring Mer to argue with her.

Not in this position. While she hated the king, the older woman Mer could have some respect for.

Each step the four-legged animal took jarred Mer, the shoulders of the horse digging into her ribs. She’d be bruised for sure. Blood rushed to her head, and she swayed. That wasn’t good. A firm but warm hand pressed between her shoulder blades as if comforting her.

Mer’s brows furrowed. That was unexpected.

“Deep breaths and steady yourself,” one of the female warrior’s demanded.

Mer squinted, turned her sore neck, and peered up at the woman who rode behind her. “What’s your name?” she croaked.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she answered grudgingly. “Mazie.”

“What a pretty name.”

Mazie scowled, tossing her head, long curls bouncing with the movement.

“You have gorgeous hair.” And Mer meant it. Although, it seemed impractical not to have bound such hair as a warrior. Gauging from the polished leather uniform, they weren’t planning on an actual attack.

Fools.

Mazie frowned, her deep coral eyes turning downward.

Flattery wasn’t going to get Mer anywhere with that one.

She hummed and scanned the convoy. Ten riders total including herself, the dowager queen, and the king. Very little protection for three royals. It wouldn’t be too hard to...

“You’re not going anywhere, so get that out of your head,” Mazie warned.

“What makes you think I was planning an escape?” Mer replied with a lazy air.

“You just assessed each of the riders.”

Point to Mazie. The woman was sharp.

Mer wasn’t trying to escape. She was measuring what she was up against. The king hadn’t killed her, so that told her either he was extremely tolerant or a deviant who planned to torture her.

A sigh slipped past her lips. There was only one person she could blame for her predicament and that was herself.

She’d lost her temper, and it had cost her.

All the careful planning of the last few weeks went right out the door when she’d locked eyes with the king. His smug-looking face coupled with the ache of losing Ream had overwhelmed Mer until all she could think of was revenge.

It was as if the last six months had not passed. The guilt and loss and rage had all rushed back in a fierce cocktail of pain. One she couldn’t break out of.

Ream’s betrayal hadn’t mattered in the moment when she’d dove off the ship, or when she’d hunted the king from the sea, or when she’d pulled her shell blade and slit his throat.

All she could see was the light leaving Ream’s eyes and the heaviness of his still form in her arms.

A shiver wracked her body as the bloody rain began again. It dripped down her cheeks but not down her back. She glanced over her shoulder, noticing a black cloak thrown over her. It held the scent of pine, smoke, and something spicy. Who’d given their cloak to her?

Her lips thinned as she observed the group.

The king only wore a soaking wet linen shirt and a leather harness on top with various weapons strapped to it.

Immediately, she wanted the cloak off. Childish, yes, but necessary.

Mer managed to unclip the cloak, her manacles clinking together.

She smiled with satisfaction when it slipped from her back and onto the muddy ground.

Mazie sighed, slowing the horse. “You are troublesome.”

“You have no idea.” She shrugged. “If you try to put that cloak back on me, I will only remove it again.”

“Leave it then,” the dowager queen snapped at the female warrior. “If she wants to suffer in the cold, so be it.”

“Yes, my lady,” Mazie replied.

The commotion had caught the king’s attention, and he’d slowed directly across from Mer but not close enough for anything dangerous to occur.

She felt his gaze on her, but she refused to give him any attention.

Instead, she studied the horses and humans alike, even as her skin crawled due to his staring.

Methians were large.

In general, the nation boasted tall, strong humans. Even the women.

Over the course of the Warlord’s War, Mer had observed that Methians had a wide variety of skin tones varying from tan to bronze.

The assembly around her was no different.

It was an enjoyable change to the sea kingdom where her people had a collection of silver, lavender, pale peach, and seafoam skin tones.

The mud squelched beneath the hooves of the horses, and the prickling at the back of her neck intensified. She gritted her teeth.

Enough. Just look at him.