Max finally turned to face him, eyes wide with wonder. “Why do you have that?” he asked, pointing at the painting of the dark-haired beauty on a beach.
Tension eased from Wolcott’s shoulders as he looked at the painting with a sad little smile on his face. “That’s Iris.”
“The late sea witch?” Max asked, face contorted with bewilderment.
Wolcott nodded, aggression forgotten. “Surely you’ve seen her before?”
“She didn’t die,” Max whispered as he took in the ethereal face of his mate.
“Oh, she’s dead,” Wolcott chuckled darkly, bitterness back in his voice for a new reason. “My crew found her body near the docks, bleeding out. Her daughter nowhere to be found.”
Max’s eyes widened impossibly further as he whirled towards Wolcott. “Daughter? What was her name?”
Wolcott scratched the stubble on his chin. “Ella, I think.”
Memories of Sin flooded Max’s mind: her scars, her stories, the name she said her stepmother gave her. His heart raced as the realization crashed over him. She likely doesn’t remember her true name. “It’s her,” he murmured. “Sin is Iris’s daughter.”
Wolcott’s brow lifted. “And yet you didn’t know?”
Max shook his head, a million questions and possible answers screaming to make purchase in his mind, his hand closing into a fist. “If she’s Iris’s daughter, then her natural magic might be locked away. What she has now, tempestum, it’s chaos. It can’t be caged.”
Wolcott crossed his arms, watching Max intently. “That kind of power might be exactly what we need. If she trained, if she learned to wield it, she could unseal whatever magic Iris passed down to her. But that’s if she still has it. No witch with tempest magic has ever wielded another. Not even Jafar.”
At that, Max stormed back inside Wolcott’s room, headed for his bookshelf, fingers trailing across the spines of the shelf reserved for grimoires.
The familiar name appeared, and he grabbed it without hesitation. “I need to borrow this,” he said. “But I can’t promise I’ll bring it back.”
Wolcott nodded. “If she’s truly Iris’s daughter, then she can keep it.”
Sin
It was now Sin’s turn to assist with the royal family dinner.
They treated it as if it were a spectacular event every night, and Sin wouldn’t have been close to ready if she hadn’t already been a slave all her life. Serving people had become a talent she wished to long forget.
The last thing she wanted, though unavoidable, was to serve her prince.No, notherprince.
Not her anything.
He belonged to a princess far away. Just another reminder of how little the word mate meant in these lands anymore. How the dreams she wished would never come true.
The royal kitchen, attached to the royal dining room by two sound-filtering doorways, was bustling with busy chefs and staff alike. Food plates were filled, decorated, and covered with steel cloches. Three other servants lined up behind the door, with Sin following behind them as they entered the royal dining room.
Sin forced her vision to slightly blur, refusing to search for who she knew would be seated. She would follow suit of everyone else, serve the food, and then get the fuck out of there.
Easier said than done, she realized.
Sin could feel Max’s unwavering gaze fixed on her. Her stomach twisted, and a flush of heat crept up her neck. She clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the prickle of his attention, wondering if his stare would strip away the last of her dignity.Forcing herself to avoid eye contact, she felt immense pressure under his scrutiny. She wondered to herself if seeing her like this would diminish any respect he may have held for her.
His was much less intense than the scrutiny of the king’s. His presence reeked of malice—his scent hidden beneath an immensely powerful ward on his body. He had no trust for even his sons.
The king slid his goblet over, the sound of metal scraping against the polished wood echoing across the table, signaling Sin to start pouring more wine for him. The rich, red liquid glistened under the chandelier, casting a crimson glow that only seemed to heighten the tension in the room. She lifted the carafe, and before she could make her final departure until the meal was over, a stern voice had her paralyzed.
“Take a seat, slave.”
Sin nearly dropped the carafe in shock and anger. Though she had learned control over her emotions after living with Vivienne and her awful sisters, she would never get used to being called that. Nerves fueled her anger, not understanding why in the hell a king asked a slave to sit at his table.
Breathing hitched beside the king. Maximus. His eyes were widened with rage as he met her eyes, his fists clenching until his knuckles turned white, as if to tell her he had no control, and it was killing him.
