He wanted to kiss her.
Gods, he wanted to kiss her.
Eric stood close enough to feel the warmth of Ariel's skin, to see the seawater drying in droplets along her collarbone, to watch the delicate rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. And then a flutter at her neck—her gills.
He'd been fascinated by them since watching her eat at lunch. The differences between them—her gills, her claws, her eating habits—should've given him pause at least. Instead, he was fascinated by each and every nuance of her. Especially her mouth.
She licked her lips as she regarded him. Was that an invitation? Did he have the right to kiss her?
They were betrothed by treaty, bound by duty. Theywere headed to state their vows to one another. But she hadn’t asked for a kiss, and she was an innocent.
Their first kiss had been a life-giving one—and he hadn't even been conscious for it. He would be the next time. He would gorge himself on it, he was certain. It would be his second kiss.
He'd had plenty of opportunity for flings, just not a lot of time. There was always a matter of state or a crisis created by his father and the king's excesses. Eric had kept his head down and his lips pursed as he worked through problem after problem. It looked like it was going to pay off.
He literally had the woman of his dreams in his arms. The next words he'd speak to her would be vows of forever and fidelity. Then he could spend the rest of the night, the rest of his days practicing and perfecting kissing her.
So he shouldn't kiss her now. He should wait. It would only be a few more minutes.
Minutes of him aching to touch her, to press his mouth to hers and see if her kiss tasted like salt and freedom, like the memory that had haunted him since the shipwreck.
He swallowed, trying to find sense in the chaos of emotion stirring in him. Was it madness to want her this much after only moments on land?
But it wasn’t only moments. He’d known her beforehe’d known her name. She was the voice in the water. The red flame in the dark.
Red. There was something about red. Something important. Her voice, earlier… what had she said?
The flag. She’d pointed out the strange flag, commented offhandedly that she’d seen it in another kingdom.
Eric's head turned, the movement sharp. The ship in question still lingered in the harbor, sails slack in the salt-heavy breeze. A symbol gleamed on the mast.
Wrong ship. Wrong flag. Wrong course.
He led Ariel down the dock, guiding her aboard a naval ship with quiet assurances, murmuring to the guard to see to her comfort and keep her aboard. Only once she was seated with a cloak over her shoulders did he turn back, face set.
He crossed the harbor in long, purposeful strides and found his lieutenant near the bow of a smaller patrol cutter. The wind had shifted. Eric could feel it—the tension on the dock, the watchful stillness of his guards as they stood poised, waiting for orders. The salty breeze carried the scent of damp wood and brine, but beneath it, there was something else.
The stench of deception.
The flagged ship had been docked too perfectly, its sails furled too neatly, its crew too disciplined for a simple merchant vessel. The false flag had been meantto trick them, to lull his men into believing this was just another ship passing through his waters.
Eric wasn’t fooled. “Board that ship.”
Steel clanked against steel as his men moved into position, ropes thrown, swords drawn. Boots thundered against the wooden planks as they climbed aboard.
Minutes passed. Then—a cry rang out. Guards reappeared, dragging men in tattered cloaks and dull armor onto the docks. The culprits were unmasked, their faces hard with defiance.
Ravenhold.
The kingdom that had refused to sign the treaty. A shard of coastline carved from jagged cliffs and darker ambitions, Ravenhold had long nursed a bitter grudge against the Coastal Crown. Their rulers dealt in secrets and sabotage, too proud to bow to alliances, too greedy to leave the trade routes alone.
Eric's enemies had almost slipped past his defenses, had nearly succeeded in bringing their treachery into his kingdom. The guards were already praising him, voices echoing across the dock.
“A sharp eye, Your Highness.”
“We would’ve let them pass right through.”
“Brilliant work, sire.”
