The Sea Siren

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Antony

Her hair shimmers across my chest like scarlet gold.

It's weightless between my fingers.

The long length of her back is toned, her shoulders dusted lightly with bronzed freckles—a gift from the unrelenting sun. In our silence, my hand travels mindlessly back and forth over the length of her spine, my fingers deepening into a massaging motion to rid the tension leading up to the nape of her neck.

When once she used to stiffen, she loosens into my touch.

Her cheek remains rested upon my abdomen and I'd begun to believe she'd fallen asleep until she suddenly speaks. "Who do you write those letters to?" I realize her line of sight would be the desk with my journal laid open on top of it. "The ones you never send out?"

"My brother."

"You are close?"

"Very."

The more often we've fallen into bed, the less we've voiced suspicions of each other. Although now she remains quiet, I can hear her questions swirling in the air. Naturally, she'd want to know what I was writing to him—and if any of it would ultimately disappoint her.

The longer we carry on with whatever this is, the more I understand how easily she can doubt intention.

I know little of her past, but it was painful. That's certain.

"Ever since I was brought to the palace, I was raised alongside him. We've always been close," I say.

"He's probably hell-bent on getting you home right now."

I imagine that's an understatement.

If Rayan has any belief at all that I'm still breathing, I know he's preparing to retaliate.

"What do you write of?"

"What a traitorous letch I am." My hand passes over her hair. "How I'm unable to keep myself from you."

She chuckles tiredly. "I don't think they'd be pleased with those admissions."

"No, I don't think they would either."

She tilts her head back, finding my eyes. Hers are swollen, red-rimmed from the heightened emotions of the night. "If I asked you something, would you tell me?"

The feel of her crying in my arms was overwhelming. It's dangerous, how much I hated seeing her that way. These emotions are new to me but still, there is a loyalty to my family imbedded deep within my bones that keeps me on guard. "What is it?"

"Do you know if my father is alive?"

I'm not sure how much the truth would hurt her but considering she's interested in the welfare of the man who is the sole cause of her every struggle, I can presume a lie would be a small mercy.

She wouldn't want to know that he's imprisoned off the coast of the kingdom, continuously tortured for an act he committed more than two decades ago. She might even be asking because secretly, deep down, she hopes he's dead.

I would.

"Your silence speaks volumes," she whispers, drawing her arms to her chest, shielding her rapid pulse. She laughs softly, an unconvincing sound. "You're coming up with a lie, aren't you?"

"Some things are better left unknown, Vivian."

She shakes her head, pulling herself up. "No... no. Not about this." Sitting now, hand on my body, she stares at me seriously. "He's dead?"