Blue all around her.
Blue overhead.
Blue beside her.
Blue hands steadied her.
She jerked awake.
Felt horribly bound and tied up. She fought the restraints, panic washing through her. Had she been captured?
The weight pressed on her. Swished and rustled.
The sound…
She knew it.
It was her royal robes.
Wet.
Heavy.
Holding her down. This heavy material was not made to be wet. It felt like she was stuck under a ship’s landing gear. The weight held her steady, though she wanted to run. To flee.
But the last thing she knew, she was in the water. And there wasn’t any more air.
Freya would ask about that as soon as she was alive again. Because indeed, she was dead. And the heavens were painted blue…
But she was so tired.
Tired of fighting.
Tired of the existence.
Tired of--
“Ambassador, are you sentient?” a male voice panted at her.
She shook her head. Who was that with such an incredible, sexy voice? Did the heavens have a concierge service?
The blue hands came back again.
“Listen, Mister Blue-Hands. I am a lady. You shouldn’t pant at me like that.” The erotic breathing sent shivers through her in all the best ways.
Perhaps she was delirious from death.
“Yes, I can tell you are female,” he replied. Close to her.
As if he laid with her. She rubbed her eyes.
How close was he?
“You seem to be conscious and sentient.” His voice was a little steadier, but there was still some hard breathing.
“Sentient? I’m not a robot!” she said and laughed, but boy did it ache. Her voice was raspy, and her chest ached. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt anymore.” She laid her hand over her chest as if it would help the pain.
“What would not hurt?”
