If my parents’ marriage taught me anything, it was that a man of unpredictable moods can always turn on the one who tries loving him best, and he likely will. So why am I tempted to believe this dragon king who has shown me half a dozen different sides of himself already?
Mother would tell me not to be foolish. My sisters would say the same, all of them but Selena, who claims she’ll only marry someone who’s madly (wretchedlyI believe was the exact word) in love with her. Young as she is, she would understand this hope in my heart that I’m trying in vain to tamp down.
It can’t be wrong to hope for something more, can it? Something better than an indifferent alliance?
I take ahesitant step closer.
“Then I would be most grateful for your assistance,” I say.
The king’s movements slow. He rises like a man who stumbled on a frightened animal he doesn’t wish to spook, approaching on silent feet. Now he stands in front of me, his face perfectly impassive.
“Turn around,” he says.
I do so, clutching my hands in front of me. When his touch comes, there’s only a swift untying of the lacing ribbon at my back, his fingertips feathering over my skin but never lingering. Unwillingly, a shiver trembles up my spine. The fingers pause before continuing.
“Done,” he says, short and gruff as he thuds his way back to his pile of pillows. “You’ll find everything you need for your bath in the cabinets.”
I whisper a breathythank youand dash to the bathing chamber.
Inside, and with the door latched, I lean against the wood and try to understand this regret welling up in me. What did I expect? For him to fall all over himself? Confess his undying love? Ridiculous. Sighing, I take in the space in front of me.
Unsurprisingly, the bathing chamber is lavish, with ornately-tiled surfaces and a great, circular tub at the center of the room. Two spigots feed directly into the tub, one hot and one cold, an untold luxury for someone whose mother made sure she wasn’t above hauling her own heated water to a wooden tub.
Beneath a latticework window, I find the cabinets the king spoke of, and upon opening one, I nearly squeal. Rows of soaps, oils, perfumes, and herbs await me, and this time, I get to choose.
I’m about to have the best bath of mylife.
While the tub fills, I make my selections– a bit of rosewater, a handful of lavender, and another of chamomile. Finally, I slip off my loosened dress and drop into the steaming water with a soft exhale.
I've always felt at home in the water, and tonight is no different. My muscles instantly loosen; my worries quiet. With the door locked and my mind at ease, I rest my head on the back of the tub, fully relaxed.
In time, I begin twirling a single finger, coaxing the water to circle me in little eddies. It's the first time I've used my power like this since leaving Vasna, and the feeling is welcoming, like a friend’s embrace after a long absence. I continue playing with the water till it froths and bubbles around me, and then I draw in a great breath and sink beneath the surface.
At home, my sisters and I sometimes spent hours diving for pearls, carefully prying open oysters and competing for the largest treasure. I never won, but I gained plenty of experience holding my breath. I fall easily into the habit of pursing my lips and releasing a bubble every now and then as time drifts away from me, the only sounds the water’s churning and my heartbeat in my ears as I soak up the drowsy peace. If only I had gills like the fabled merpeople, I could fall asleep here.
A shadow falls over me.
My eyes ease open, and I barely have time to register the murky figure above before a hand is in my hair, dragging me to the surface.
28
I come up from the water sputtering with fright and outrage.
“Let go,” I cry, and though the hand in my hair immediately releases me, I lift my own hand in a backhanded motion and begin flinging the bath water in whip-like tendrils at my attacker.
“Ow!”
“Get out,” I scream, continuing the barrage with one hand while swiping my eyes with the other. “Get out!”
My attacker shields his face with an arm and stumbles back. I can’t hear what he—for the voice is decidedly male—is saying over the water’s lashing, or see his face between my blows, but I’ll make sure whoever it is regrets ambushing a water drawer in a tub.
“Princ—,” the man splutters, “stop—I didn’t mean—argh!”
I gasp as a spout of crimson flame arcs out and my water whips dissipate in a hiss of steam.
Leaving a panting and very wet king staring back at me. Our eyes widen on one another.
“Your Majesty,” I say, deference overtaking me in the instant before I remember he’s invadingmyprivacy. “What are you doing here?” I demand.
