She leans on the rail beside me, brushing wind-tossed curls from her cheek. “Mmm, I’ll never forget her. Or her girlfriend.”
My eyes widen and my jaw drops, but Nadya simply laughs, leaning on the rain beside me.
“Still reading that book?” I ask, trying to keep the judgment out of my tone.
A flicker of guilt crosses her face. “I’m sorry. I just…” She hesitates, then lowers her voice. “I’ve been learning things. Big things. Stuff I want to show you when we’re not surrounded by people who might tattle to the wrong king.”
I study her face for a beat, noting the excitement thrumming beneath her words—the barely-concealed thrill that comes when she’s close to uncovering something. A part of me worries what that something might be. But I nod.
“Tonight,” she promises. “If the sirens haven’t wiped our minds by then.”
I nod, nudging her with my elbow.
Our ship docks, and a procession appears on the shore, awaiting us.
The king marches toward the bow, joined by his guards, and the queen tags along like a forgotten pet.
Dante emerges from below deck, his movements slow and steady. He advances to where his father stands, the sea breeze tugging at his dark hair. There’s stiffness in his posture, and it makes me wonder if it has to do with returning to his birthplace. It occurs to me that this may be the first time he’s been to Messanya since his mother died.
We disembark in careful order, the Hederan court flanked by guards in polished breastplates. Ahead, two Messanyan courtiers await us. Their beauty is so otherworldly, it borders on unnatural. The man’s gleaming skin is practically gold, his dark hair curled neatly at his ears. The woman beside him moves with a dancer’s grace, her pristine, white gown flowing in the wind with a slit that shows off her long, elegant legs.
The sweet song of the Eirenes tickles the hair on my ears. A strange vibration rolls through me. Nothing uncomfortable, though. In fact, I feel the muscles loosen and my mind relax. I glance at Nadya, whose posture becomes less stiff. She slowly sways her head back and forth.
“What is that?” she asks.
“The peacekeepers of Messanya. Their magical song has this effect. Feels like… euphoria.”
Nadya’s smile widens. “It’s incredible. Why would anyone want to leave this place?”
Our procession stops, and I look past the king and queen at the courtiers greeting us. The woman curtseys, and the man bows.
“Welcome to Messanya,” the woman says, her voice rich and elegant. It somehow feels like a warm embrace. “Queen Verina awaits you in the Diapason.” She gestures to a set of carriages.
“Oh, great,” Nadya whispers, taking in the steep road that leads up the mountain. “Just what I need after all that teetering on the ship. More wobbling.”
I manage to nod off during the journey up the mountain, and Nadya has to shake my arm to wake me. I adjust my half-veil and smooth out the skirt of my mourning gown as the coach master opens the carriage door for us.
As soon as my feet touch the ground, I glance around, immediately finding Dante as he disembarks from the king’s carriage. When his gaze meets mine, it lingers, soft and unspoken, as if his eyes alone could trace the curve of my cheek.
We assemble on a tiled walkway, Eleanor taking her place beside the king. He tolerates her nearness, but I know it’s because there are so many eyes on him, watching his every move.
I end up next to Dante, our hands mere inches apart. All I’d have to do is stretch my fingers outward and I’d be able to feel his skin. When I take a chance and glance his way, his eyes find mine, as if he’s thinking the same thing. His gaze softens, and the smallest of smiles pulls at my lips.
The couple who met us at the dock appear before us. They lead usinto the Diapason’s grand entrance, where the air cools my skin and helps to pull me from my sleepy state. The interior is a marvel—a sweep of polished marble tiles at our feet reflecting glimmers of sunlight from between the metal spires. Silk banners float from the ceiling, the material waving in the sea-scented breeze.
The Messanyan courtiers are a vision, as if they stepped from the pages of a legend. Men and women alike wear flowing garments of smooth silks and delicate gossamer in soft, pearlescent shades. Golden cuffs and anklets gleam against golden-tan skin, and their hair flows loose in waves of midnight black, platinum, and sunlit copper. Each movement is languid, deliberate, as if they expect the world to bend for them.
I catch more than a few curious glances cast toward Dante. He doesn’t react, but I notice the slight tightening of his jaw.
At the center of the space, flanked by servants, stands a woman who can only be Queen Verina.
She is breathtaking. Taller than most of her courtiers, she moves with the grace of water slipping over stone. Her long, flowy gown of seafoam green embraces her hips, cut daringly low in the front, the gossamer fabric shimmering as if woven from moonlight. Long, platinum hair falls in soft waves down her back, and her flawless skin is golden. It’s as if sunlight melts when it touches her. But it is her eyes that ensnare me—a shade of violet so vivid, they seem almost unreal.
“King Silas, Queen Eleanor.” Her voice is low and honey-sweet, and though I know the Diapason restrains her magic, I feel the lure of it all the same. She dips her head in the most elegant way I’ve ever seen. “It has been too long.”
Silas inclines his head before stepping forward, his chin then lifted in that regal manner he always carries. “Queen Verina, your hospitality honors us. It is a privilege to stand within the Diapason once again.”
I notice the slight stiffness in his voice, the faintest trace of wariness beneath his polished tone. For all the Diapason’s protections, even King Silas is not immune to caution when standing before a siren queen.
