The Sea King

by C. L. Wilson

  Summer’s gaze scanned the gathered throng, stopping as it passed over one particular Calbernan. His back was to her, but she knew it was him. The long, greenish-black ropes of his hair hung down his back, drawing her eyes to his muscled shoulders, the line of his spine that disappeared into the flowing skirt belted at his trim waist. Her belly began to flutter. Her skin felt flushed. She drew a shuddering breath.

  “Vivi?”

  “Yes, Gabriella?”

  “Do you think we could convince them to start wearing actual clothes?”

  Spring laughed.

  Chapter 4

  The little honeyrose was avoiding him.

  Standing alone in the shadows, Dilys surveyed the torchlit beauty of the palace’s terraced western gardens. It was midnight. The sun had set an hour or so ago, though its light was still a glow on the horizon, and the reception was in full swing. Music was playing. Food and drink flowed without any sign of cessation. His officers were clearly enjoying themselves, and even though here at the palace, they weren’t as outnumbered by potential lianas as their brothers across the fjord, there was no shortage of engaging feminine companionship.

  Wintercraig’s years of war had left their share of widows even among its gently-bred and noble families.

  Truth be told, Dilys was still surprised by the warmth of their reception. The Calbernans had, after all, landed on these shores last winter as enemy combatants. But so far as he’d been able to tell, none of the women who had gathered here at the palace had lost a loved one to a Calbernan blade or trident. He was grateful for that. War was war, and the price of it dear, but joy would be elusive in any marriage where one party had suffered grief on account of the other.

  That made Dilys wonder if perhaps the little honeyrose was avoiding him because she blamed him for her father’s death. The garm—not the Calbernans—had slain King Verdan, but maybe she thought that without the Calbernans and their army to aid him, there would have been no rebellion, and therefore the king would still be alive.

  Or perhaps she begrudged him the contract he’d broken with her brother, Falcon. Summerlea’s prince had spoken fondly of all his sisters—but most especially of the gentle-hearted one he’d called “our sweet Summer Rose.” Perhaps they’d shared a close-knit bond. Maybe she had wanted her father and brother to take back their homeland, and blamed Dilys for Falcon’s exile.

  Whatever her reason for avoiding him, her sisters didn’t share the sentiment—or at least were much better at hiding it, if they did.

  Autumn had started off a bit haughty and distant. He’d expected that. A woman as beautiful as she was undoubtedly used to men fawning over her, so he’d made a point of approaching her not as a man dazzled by her beauty but as a boon companion. And once he’d discovered her love of food and laughter, indulging her with both had brought her barriers down.

  Spring was a tougher nut to crack. Every bit as cool and keenly intellectual as the reports on her had stated, she wasn’t easily charmed. But Dilys didn’t mind a challenge. After spending perhaps an hour in her company—during which he’d talked to her mostly about several papers she’d written on agricultural techniques and a new breed of pest-resistant crops—he’d taken his leave and wandered off to mingle with the other guests. His departure had surprised her as much as his choice of conversation, and he’d felt her eyes on him numerous times since. Mission accomplished.

  The little honeyrose, however, remained elusive. He’d caught glimpses of her as the night progressed, but whenever he tried to make his way to her location, she was always gone before he got there. Now, instead of trying to seek her out, he found a quiet, sheltered spot that provided him an excellent view of the gardens and observed from the shadows as she worked her way through the gathered throng.

  As he watched, he could see how naturally people responded to her, their smiles genuine, their expressions gentling when she was near. Occasionally someone would say something that made her soft laughter burst forth. When it did, she lit up, her joy incandescent, and people gravitated towards her even more readily, moths orbiting a radiant flame.

  His own men weren’t any more immune to her effortless charm than the Winterfolk. Every time she stopped to smile and chat with one of them, their spines straightened and their chests swelled from the attention she lavished upon them.

  His men’s reaction wasn’t what surprised him. Calbernans thrived on feminine attention. It was the sweetest food for the soul. What surprised him was how much he resented his men for being the recipients of Summer Coruscate’s attention.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was jealous, but of course, that was ridiculous. His planned “courtship” of King Verdan’s gentlest daughter was to be nothing more than a polite pretense. As such, her obvious desire to avoid him should have been a welcome relief—one less distraction to interfere with his determined pursuit of the regal Princess Spring or the beautiful Princess Autumn. And yet, the more Summer Coruscate smiled and charmed his men, the more she poured her bright incandescence upon them while blatantly denying him even the tiniest fraction of her regard, the tenser and more irritated he became.

  He told himself he should let it go and just stay clear of her. Yet when he watched her wander to the edge of the crowd, then slip away when she thought no one was looking, Dilys followed.

  The garden paths were illuminated with lanterns, but Gabriella kept to the shadows, preferring the peaceful anonymity of darkness as she walked down the hill to the shores of the Llaskroner Fjord. The moon was a large, silvery crescent in the sky, its light glittering on the night-dark waters, and the relative silence as the raucous sounds of merriment faded soothed her ragged nerves.

  All evening long, she’d been acutely aware of Dilys Merimydion’s presence, almost as if there were some sort of invisible thread connecting them, tugging at her and setting her senses trembling each time he drew near.

  Keeping her distance had proven shockingly difficult. The Calbernans were every bit as charming and amusing as they were reputed to be, and that was doubly—nay, triply, quadruply!—true for their leader. Everything about him appealed to her. When he spoke, the low, rich timbre of his voice made her pulse pound. When he laughed, the sound sank into her skin, and the flame that lived at her core flared bright and hot and hungry. And when he’d bent his head to murmur something to Autumn or Spring . . . sweet Helos, she’d actually been jealous . . . jealous! Of her own beloved sisters! Over a man she’d barely even met.

  She’d never felt anything like it, and she couldn’t explain it. She must have spoken to at least a hundred Calbernan officers this evening, and not a single one of them—not even Ari Calmyria, who was the spitting image of his cousin Dilys—affected her even remotely the same way. Oh, the Calbernans were all handsome and charming enough, to be sure, but they didn’t set her blood to simmering just by breathing the same air.

  The only upside to her bewildering hypersensitivity to Dilys Merimydion was that she’d known exactly where he was the entire night. That allowed her to take evasive maneuvers each time she sensed him heading her direction.

  That small boon notwithstanding, the whole evening had left her nerves rattled, her serenity shattered. Hence, the solitary walk to the fjord by way of the garden’s quietest, most shadow-kissed tracts.

  The terrace on the shores of the fjord was raised about eight feet above water level, with stone steps curling down on either side to a stone landing and the wooden pier that jetted out into the fjord. A dozen small boats were moored along the pier, including three small sailboats. Pleasure craft that had been brought out of dry dock for the enjoyment of the court, in case they or the Calbernan officers should desire to row or sail on the fjord.

  Summer walked to the end of the pier, scowling a little at the piles of coiled ropes and anchors that had been carelessly left lying near the pier’s edge. She knew the workers were still bringing boats out of dry dock, and giving each a thorough refitting as they did, but honestly, couldn’t they ha
ve cleaned up their workspace at the end of the day? This was a hazardous mess.

  She planted a slippered foot against one of the abandoned anchors and shoved it closer to the edge of the pier to give herself more room, when a voice announced from behind:

  “It is a beautiful night.”

  The sound of Dilys Merimydion’s already all-too-familiar voice made Summer jump and whirl around. One foot slid into the pile of coiled rope, and she had to fight to keep her balance.

  How he had managed to sneak up on her without her notice when she’d been so acutely aware of his every move all night? She didn’t know how or why her hypersensitivity to him had failed her, but there he was, standing at the other end of the pier.

  Just as it had all evening, her heart began to race.

  “Forgive me, myerina,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  No, just to intrude on my privacy, she thought sourly.

  When the Calbernan froze for an instant, looking taken aback, a tide of red-hot mortification flooded her cheeks.

  Merciful gods! Had she just said that out loud?

  She had!

  “Forgive me,” she muttered. It was one thing to avoid a guest of the king. It was another to be rude outright. As a royal princess and a ward of the crown, her behavior reflected directly on Wintercraig’s king and queen. “It’s been a very long day.”

  Instead stomping off in a fit of offended male pride as many other suitors would have, the Calbernan prince merely lifted his brows. Then the corner of his mouth curled up in a wry smile. “So you have been deliberately avoiding me all evening. I thought it could be no accident.”

  Under normal circumstances, when safely tucked behind one of her usual masks, Gabriella could have managed a smooth response that gave nothing away. Instead, being flustered, she snapped, “You didn’t seem to be lacking for company,” then wished the ground would open up and swallow her when Dilys’s smile deepened.

  “Ah, myerina . . . I’m flattered that you noticed. It is true your countrywomen have made my men and I feel very welcome, but those women are not the ones I sailed halfway around Mystral to court.”

  He had to know just how dazzling his smile was, all those straight white teeth and those gleaming gold eyes, such a vivid contrast against his bronze Calbernan skin. He was probably used to getting his way in all things. Flash that smile and those eyes, flex those impressive muscles, and most women would fall like ninepins.

  He began to walk down the pier, closing the distance between them. With his every step, she became increasingly aware of his height, his beauty, the essence of fierce maleness that wafted off him like steam from a kettle. And of course, all those hard, rippling muscles flexing beneath the acres of warm, dark, satiny skin displayed so disturbingly by his scanty Calbernan attire. The iridescent sheen of his blue tattoos shone with an otherworldly beauty in the moonlight, as if he’d been sprinkled with stardust. The sight was strangely and strongly compelling.

  She dragged her gaze away before her eyes followed the glimmering pattern of those tattoos to places she didn’t want to go. Everything about this man was dangerous to her, and since avoiding him didn’t seem to be working, it was time to try something a little more straightforward.

  “Please, Sealord, let’s be honest with one another. You didn’t sail halfway around Mystral to court me either. You came to court my sisters.”

  That stopped him. Truth often had a way of doing that to a man. But she had to confess, this time it hurt a little to know he was no different from the others.

  “Why would you say that?” he asked.

  “Seriously?” She rolled her eyes. “Do you know how many men have come to court the Seasons of Summerlea? Spring did the math last week. Seven hundred and ninety-two. You make seven hundred and ninety-three. Kings, emperors, princes, dukes, nobles and sons of nobles, even the occasional merchant king, anyone with wealth, power, or an ancient name. Autumn’s the Season most of them come for. She is the most beautiful, after all. The suitors who value intellect over beauty come for Spring.”

  His head tilted to one side. His golden eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

  “And who is it that comes for you?” he asked softly.

  Gabriella could have kicked herself. She wasn’t usually so careless with her tongue. Or so honest.

  “That wasn’t an invitation for pity,” she snapped. “And it wasn’t a solicitation for your attention, either,” she added quickly, lest he decide she was a wallflower in need of care.

  But he wasn’t watching her with pity or with the look of a man whose impeccable manners or innate generosity demanded that no person in his sphere feel slighted. Instead, he was regarding her with an expression she could only define as thoughtful.

  Oh, no. No, no, no, no. No.

  She was not going to be “interesting” to him. She was not going to be a puzzle he felt compelled to solve. She was not going to be anything to him at all except that third Season he didn’t really notice or think about.

  Summer Coruscate! Get your head on straight, and send this man away! Right now!

  “Sealord Merimydion—”

  “Dilys,” he interrupted.

  “Sealord Merimydion,” she repeated with a warning look, “I invite you most wholeheartedly to concentrate your courtship on Their Royal Highnesses Spring and Autumn. I’m quite sure neither is opposed to entertaining a match with Calberna’s prince.”

  He took a step forward. “And Her Royal Highness, the Myerialanna Summer?”

  His eyes truly were the most amazing gold. Almost metallic. Glittering with light.

  She swallowed hard and took an instinctive step back.

  Unfortunately, she’d forgotten two facts: (1) that her right foot was still tangled in the coils of rope, and (2) that she was standing very close to the edge of the pier.

  Thanks to the foot tangled in the rope, she lost her balance. And thanks to her proximity to the edge of the pier, when she hopped further backward on her unencumbered leg in an attempt to catch her balance, she found all but the very tip of her slipper landed not on solid wood planking but insubstantial ether.

  Arms windmilling furiously and entirely ineffectively, Gabriella gave a startled shriek and fell backward into the fjord.

  The coils tangled around Summer’s ankle went taut, and the anchor that earlier she’d shoved close to the edge of the pier toppled into the water after her.

  The next thing Summer knew, she and the coils of rope and the anchor were plummeting rapidly towards the bottom of the fjord.

  The shock of her fall and the breathtaking cold of the water left Gabriella stunned for a moment, then the need to breathe snapped her to her senses. Her instinctive scream when she’d fallen left her with barely any air in her lungs. Kicking and flailing, she tried to swim back up to the surface, but the anchor tied to her ankle proved too heavy. Instead of going up, she continued to sink deeper.

  There was a splash overhead as something big hit the surface. She paid it no mind. Her entire being was focused on freeing herself from the anchor that was dragging her to her death. Her lungs began to burn as the need to breathe became dire.

  She tore at the rough, swollen rope tangled around her ankle, but the weight of the anchor kept the knots tight. Desperate, she grabbed the rope a little below her ankle in an attempt to relieve the tension so she could loosen the knots and get free.

  When something grabbed her, what little air she still retained in her lungs left in an instinctive shriek that sent up a flood of rapidly rising bubbles. Water poured into her mouth and throat. She coughed. More water flooded in, and a few seconds later the strangest sense of calm washed over her.

  Dimly, she realized she was drowning, but she couldn’t move her arm or legs anymore. She also realized the “thing” that had grabbed her was Dilys Merimydion, who must have dived in after her.

  He caught her arm and tugged. When she didn’t move, it took him half a second to realize her predicament. He didn’t tr
y to unravel the knots tying her to the anchor, he simply swiped a hand down below her feet, and the weight of the anchor disappeared.

  As he spun back around and reached out to grab her, his left wrist slid across her right. The red rose birthmark on her inner wrist—proof of her royal Summerlea heritage—flared with sudden, almost explosive heat, and the tattoos inked across Dilys Merimydion’s body lit up with a bright, blue phosphorescent glow that illuminated him, her, and the dark water around them.

  His gaze, wide, shocked, golden, bored into hers as their weightless bodies went rigid in the cold depths.

  The edges of Gabriella’s vision went blurry, and the world went dark.

  The next thing she knew, she was lying flat on her back on the wooden pier. Dilys Merimydion was crouched over her, crooning, and what seemed like a veritable ocean of water poured out of her throat as he literally sang the water out of her lungs. A moment later, he placed his lips against hers and blew into her a breath that tingled with warmth and potent magic, and every nerve and cell of her body came roaring back to electric, wildly pulsating life.

  When he pulled back, she drew in a long, shuddering breath of her own and stared up into his dark bronze face. His tattoos were alive with otherwordly beauty, the whorls and patterns emitting a phosphorescent glow, as if blue starlight danced across his skin. The stylized wave that curled from the corner of his eye across the crest of his cheekbone seemed to ripple like the surface of the water.

  Despite their recent swim, he was completely dry and so, she realized, was she. Her hair was a mess, pins lost, curls spilled out around her, but every bit of her was perfectly dry.

  Calbernans, it seemed, were masters of more than just the waters of the world’s oceans.