The Sea Siren

Chapter Ten

Antony

"You've hardly eaten."

The leg of a beast I can't quite make out is lying on a gold plate. Accompanying the main course is fruits and cheeses—many we are accustomed to dining on in court. By no means is this a poor sailors ship. I think that's what she's trying to show me.

"You rendered me unconscious before I learned the fate of my crew," I state coldly.

"We had what we wanted," she says, slicing through the meat with a speared fork and knife. "We didn't wait around to see if they were picked up in time."

Despite the anger I felt knowing I was charged with the lives of practically nurslings to keep me safe by the high-born commanders of Vale, there is a sense of responsibility weighing upon my shoulders, as is usually the case when you march into battle with a common cause.

These sailors didn't have the choice but to climb onto the Zephr, most of them undoubtedly knowing they lacked the sufficient skills to wage such a venture upon the demons of the sea.

The pirates.

There's something different about this one. Something more calculated yet consequential.

"I'm surprised you're upset."

I tilt my head, grabbing the goblet, jeweled with calcified stones around the rim. "I'm surprised you can say that, given your wet eyes at tonight's funeral."

Tellingly, her eyes fall, shielded by her lashes. And I still cannot decipher whether she toys with my mind or not. "If I was in danger, Lizzie or Cerian would have taken the blade to protect their captain. Anyone on this ship would. It's our code."

"Everyone?" I ask, smirking slightly. "None reach for power on this vessel but you?"

"I was chosen to command the Orion, Antony. A captain must choose a successor when they engage in dangerous adventures. Mine is Bastian, the giant of a man who pummeled you to the ground."

This woman's enraging.

"It was one against three, vixen. You'll recall I saved you from such a fight not so long ago."

She smirks, grabbing a shaving of fresh coconut. "I'll give you that."

I gaze into the goblet, seeing dark liquid. In the vale, our drinks are light, glittered from the sheen of our waters. This is something else—a concern keeping me from quenching my thirst.

"Is something the matter?"

I glance up, finding her paused, observing me across the flickering flames dancing in the quiet wind. In this light, the flares twist over her smooth features, shadowed like spelled sigils. Her eyes are always unnerving, carrying a vibrancy I've never seen on another soul before.

I tilt the cup toward her, head cocked in question.

"You've never had Jörmungandr?" she asks.

"Can't say I have."

"What do those royals feed you?" she teases, leaning back. She rests her boot against the other chair on the table, resting her arm on her knee. It's not often I face a woman wearing an outer corset and leather tight enough to visibly shape every curve on her body. "We traded goods with the Lau people for that. It's sweet. Try it."

"It looks like poison."

Her smile grows, slowly. "I wouldn't waste something as rare as this on someone who will be too dead to enjoy it, my prince."

I ignore the way my blood reacts when she addresses me as such, a title I loathe when it comes from other lips—remembering my father's warnings. She's made for this. For men's doom.