“We’re here for Bandthral,” Audrey replied with a calm tone.
His eyebrows rose, and he shared a look with his companion that was difficult to decipher while they wore those facial coverings.
“I’ll escort you.” The soldier nodded in agreement, while his companion waited for us to step ahead so he could walk behind us.
Sirens of all shapes, sizes, and colors littered the main road. Playing music on the side of the street, having meals at a table with friends and family. Riding e-bikes with little baskets on the front and back, filled with purchases.
As a cream-colored castle came into view, surrounded by trimmed pine trees and wild grasses, an excited squeal made me turn my head to the side. A group of teenage siren girls were on their phones, talking in a language I didn’t understand. I smiled at them, something the siren soldier behind me noticed as he turned to see what caught my attention.
“They seem excited,” I whispered to the soldier behind me.
“They’re talking about Bandthral,” he replied. He sounded young, maybe early twenties.
“Oh, right,” I replied. “Does everyone participate in that?” I asked.
“If they want.” The soldier nodded forward, indicating that I needed to keep moving. “And as long as they are of the age of maturity.”
Twenty-six.
That must be the equivalent of being a legal adult here.
“Are you going to participate?” I asked him.
His eyes widened a fraction before they scanned me from head to toe quickly. So quickly, I could have missed it.
“Are you?” he asked, instead of a response.Easy, tiger. I smiled. I still had no idea what Bandthral was. Audrey said it wasn’t, but I was still convinced it was just a massive orgy.
“I’m not sure if humans are allowed.” I replied. His brow pinched at that before he cleared his throat and stood taller. The conversation was over, because suddenly we were being led through large, wooden gates into the Siren King’s estate. Another courtyard came into view, and in the center of it, a large stone statue of a woman with long hair and a formal gown, donning a crown, stood tall. She wore a bright smile, with her hand angled toward the gates, as if inviting people in.
I stepped up to Audrey and whispered in her ear, “Who’s that?”
“The former Siren Queen, Astrid Shaw,” she replied. “Ilia had it made immediately after her passing.” Ah, Drustan’s mother. At least Ilia wasn’t a total piece of shit to not memorialize his dead mate.
As we approached the front doors to the castle, I inhaled a breath of confidence.
Here we go.
Sitting on a throne that wasn’t nearly as elaborate or decorative as I expected it to be, was King Ilia.
He sat stiffly, with a ramrod straight back. Based on the age in his face, I would have guessed he was about sixty years old, not well over a hundred. His long fingers curled over the armrests of his seat, tapping a rhythm of impatience as we approached the center of the courtroom. His gold eyes narrowedon us; mistrust was evident in his scowl. He had a trimmed white beard, accompanying his pale blonde hair that fell just past his shoulders.
A thin gold crown with emeralds rested on his head, as well as gold medals on the breast of his shirt. He didn’t wear a cape or anything else superkingly, but his dress clothes elevated his status above everyone else in the room, who dressed in what looked like staff uniforms. He held himself with unmistakable authority.
Next to him, casually leaning against the throne with his weight shifted on one hip, one ankle crossed over the other, was his son.
Drustan.
His arms were crossed over his chest as we approached; his shoulder-length dark red hair was down. When he lifted an arm to brush his fingers through it, away from his face, it showed off golden loops in his pointed ears.
While Ilia’s body language portrayed strict dominance, Drustan’s body language was lazy and sensual. Relaxed. I was immediately flooded with the reminder of how it felt for Drustan to tower over me at Fergus’s party. How he smelled, how my body reacted to the barest of touches from him. How my arousal from his proximity and manhandling felt so natural and yet out of my control at the same time.
I was better prepared this time.
Drustan wore a billowy cream tunic that was completely open. Enough for me to see his pierced navel. He paired the shirt with an open grey vest, stitched with delicate golden thread, illustrating artistic images throughout the material. The vest and shirt combo accentuated the hard dips and planes of his exposed torso, the bulge of his biceps. The large thighs that pulled tight at the tan pants he wore.
I knew better than to get too distracted by him, though. I had a thorough understanding of how dangerous a siren’s ability to manipulate emotions and hormones could be. Assuming he intended to get close enough to sniff my neck again. Perhaps I was being overdramatic.
Drustan’s eyes locked on me, and even though we were fairly far from each other, I could see something flare in them.
