Eric's brow lifted in silent question.
“About helping me take back the Sea Kingdom.”
He shrugged, utterly at ease, his hands lazily drifting along her back, fingers skimming the ridges of her spine. “If that’s what you want. We haven’t signed the treaty yet. They don’t know where Ariel is—not that I need another bride. One siren is enough for me.”
“I don’t want the sea crown,” she admitted, surprising even herself. “Triton’s made a mess of things, and I’m tired of cleaning up after him.”
“Then what do you want?”
She took a breath, feeling the weight of her own truth settle in her chest. “I want a say in that treaty.”
The corners of Eric’s mouth curved upward, his grip tightening around her waist, pulling her into the solid heat of his body. “You can have any say you want,” hemurmured, brushing a kiss against the damp skin of her temple. “I trust your judgment implicitly.”
“Even though I tricked you?”
His grin was slow, deliberate, sending a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cool night air. He cupped her face, his thumb skimming the curve of her cheek, the edge of her lips.
“You know the saying, my love. Keep your enemies close. Keep your wickedly intelligent siren wife under you.”
All the tiredness left her body. She sank to the bottom of the pool and pulled her king on top of her.
EPILOGUE
Raveena lay sprawled among the tangled sheets. Her silver hair spilled like frost across the pillow. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the pale moonlight. Beyond the towering window, snow drifted lazily from the heavens, each flake spiraling like a whisper from the gods.
She lifted one hand, palm facing upward, and summoned a single snowflake with a thought. It obeyed. The flake floated toward her, delicate as breath, and came to rest in her palm.
The flake was perfect, so symmetrical, so beautiful. Alone, it was a masterpiece. Joined with a thousand others, it became a force of devastation. A blizzard could bury armies. Starve villages. Snuff out warmth and hope with quiet, merciless certainty.
People should have learned long ago: the cold demanded respect.
Slowly, deliberately, Raveena turned her hand over. The snowflake drifted to the stone floor. At contact with the hardwood floor, it melted into nothing.
Behind her, the bed shifted. She didn't look immediately, choosing instead to trace the last glimmer of the melting droplet with her gaze. Only when the man moved closer did she lift her eyes.
He rose naked from the bed, all golden skin and unguarded laughter, a man who believed—poor fool—that he had conquered the Snow Queen.
He glanced back at her, his smile wide, boyish, painfully trusting.
Raveena tugged the corners of her mouth into a smile in return. A small, brittle thing. A mimicry of warmth she had learned long ago. If he had been wiser, he would have noticed the strain behind it.
"That was amazing, Vee."
Raveena rolled her eyes at the nickname. She let her gaze travel over him, cold and assessing. He was a fine specimen by any standard—broad shoulders, strong arms, a chest dusted lightly with gold. His body spoke of long hours astride a horse, of tournaments won, of idle summers spent in pursuit of glory. His jaw was strong, his spine straight, his stamina impressive in the mindless, bludgeoning way of men raised onblood sport and battlefields. But carnal tactician he was not.
Already she could feel the dull ache blooming between her legs, bruises she would need to tend once he had gone to preen or boast to his men. She would soak them away in a steaming bath, slather herself in oils to ease the sting.
Still. The tumble had been worth it. He was hers now.
Conquered. Captured. Caged.
He moved about the room, gathering the clothing he'd so carelessly scattered in his eagerness to reach her. His tunic snagged on the corner of a chest. One boot kicked halfway beneath a tapestry. At least he was cleaning up after himself.
Raveena exhaled a long, contented sigh at the disappearing mess. That had been the worst part of allowing him to paw at her, fumbling hands grabbing, yanking, scattering as if urgency excused untidiness. While he'd thrust into her, her gaze kept snagging on the his discarded socks even as his rough kisses branded her throat.
Her own gown, of course, had been treated properly. It lay folded neatly across the chaise’s arm, safe from unsightly wrinkles, preserving its silken sheen. Even in the throes of seduction, Raveena could not abide disorder.
Chaos might rule the hearts of men, but she was order incarnate. Precision. Control.
