by May Sage
Silvia wasn't into name-dropping; most of her acquaintances didn't know she was familiar with the King of Alenia – even after he'd named her as his sister, she'd declined the invitation to feature in their family portrait.
It may be different for the likes of Sandro, who was universally adored wherever he went, but if those she met despised her for what she was, she was above begging to be liked for who she knew.
She didn't mention Gerry; yet the old couple who greeted her treated her like royalty. She was used to five star customer service, but that was something else entirely.
What was it with Denkerian?
•
Lying on his back, his arms folded behind his head, long after Vanessa had fallen asleep, he thought of it until the need to check it again became unbearable.
He opened his drawer and got the phone out. It was one of those pretty, expensive pieces of crap which were so popular in the continent so, of course, the battery was already almost depleted. He was going to need to purchase a charger.
There it was, the picture.
The woman was flanked by two men he had no problem identifying; he ignored them both, concentrating on her. She wore a pencil skirt and a blazer – both grey – and she was doing the awkward smiling thing Erik resorted to when he wasn't certain how to handle a situation, when he was on his guards; awkward or not, the ghost of the smile was beautiful.
Her face, her hair, the color of her eyes were exactly like what he visualized, not in his actual recollections of the day on the deck, but in his dreams, when she’d been fighting nature itself to bring him back to life.
It was no surprise that he hadn't managed to find her before: he'd never thought to look for his savior on land. Now he had, he wasn't sure what to do with it. Reaching out to Daniel de Luz wasn't an option.
When the previous King of Alenia had been murdered, the alliances, treaties and agreements between the kingdoms of Europa had been redefined. It was obvious to anyone that the continent had been on the brink of war.
Denker firmly stood with Ferren, and against Alenia. Erik hadn't even needed to think on it: King Leopold had been an absolute prick and it had been past time someone had grown the balls to do something about it; if Regent Stephenson really was guilty, he owed him a high five.
Given his position, he couldn't imagine a phone call to Daniel de Luz starting with "so, that hot secretary of yours," might go down well.
And even if he did somehow get in touch, what good would it do? What he'd imagine wasn't an option – not anymore.
Glancing to his left, at the slight figure under his linen, he sighed.
He really was great at making a mess of things.
The next day, he resolved to get as many answers as he could – what, if and whens had kept him awake most of the night and he just wasn't functioning in the office; he could see people talk but heard nothing, lost in his own mind.
So he pulled a sicky and locked himself in his library, a fair bit of coffee at the ready and a computer on his laps.
He started by researching the Royal staff. Most governments had a website with a comprehensive list of officials; if she had a picture in between the King and his brother, Daniel de Luz's arms around her shoulders, she was high up.
When he failed to recognize her heart-shaped face, he found himself feeling a strange mixture of worry and exhilaration. Employees weren't the only women regularly admitted to palaces. The doors were also generally wide opened to courtesans.
A long time ago, that term referred to courtiers who lived at the palace for official reasons, but there wasn't such a thing this century: unless an event justified it, royal palaces were the home of the kings, queens, their families and the staff, no one else. Keeping useless nobles all year around was expensive, pointless and dangerous.
So when someone said courtesans nowadays, they meant whores. They were very classy whores and they advertised their services in terms that made the general public believe they were useful – anything from “temporary secretary” to “private staff” and “entertainers,” during events – but Erik was in a position to know exactly what they did behind closed doors.
Erik had never personally called a courtesan to his bed; however, others had on his behalf, and he wasn't one to turn his nose up at a present. There always were dozens at each royal party, and he'd screwed his fair share.
If The Woman was a whore… The thought did horrify him, but there was a noticeably growing part of him which didn't have anything against that prospect.
Regardless, he needed certainty.
Courtesans also had their websites, well protected ones, at that, but Erik, like every king, had been opted into every single database in the continent. He loaded the Alenian Boudoir and tried his generic password.
By the time he'd clicked on the fourth profile, he was hard as a rock. It was a good thing he hadn't logged in before, because there was a distinct possibility that he might have made use of these facilities on a regular basis.
The best example was Mila Veich, who was the picture of sweet innocence, with her youthful grin, her cherry mouth and her adorable smile. Clicking on her page, he'd been directed to a photograph exposing her from the back on all fours, wearing stockings held up by a garter belt and nothing else; her perky little ass was an open invitation.
Her description informed viewers that she was surgically barren and thus, could be safely fucked without protection, in every orifice. A short video showed her as she rubbed her clit and begged to be taken. Erik played it. Twice.
Understandably, his research took a certain amount of time, but as he had been very thorough in his examinations, he could affirm that The Woman she wasn't any of them.
It was strange that it took a pornographic website to see that he didn't desire Vanessa; not on any level. He could decide "now is the time to have sex," and consequently take her, but it wasn't about her, it was about release, just like the three hundred and eleven whores he watched while stroking his cock.
Thinking back, it had been the same with Ariena. She had been hot, he'd been horny. The only woman he'd genuinely been curious about was the mysterious stranger who looked at him through the screen of the mobile phone he was yet again holding.
Who was she?
Without expecting to find much, he researched de Luz.
Here she was, and there. Also, on that page. What the hell? She was in more than half of the pictures popping up on his screen.
God. To think he'd believed Vanessa beautiful; he'd seen her without makeup and it wasn't all that.
On the background picture of her phone – as well as in his memory – The Woman had been hiding. The clothes were well made, but designed to give one particular impression: professionalism. It was still the case in some of those shots, but there were others.
People took pictures of her in the street, when she didn't seem to be conscious of it, capturing her hopeful, dreamy expressions. She wore t-shirts and shorts, sometime, and that body had all the right things in the right place, to say the least. Her legs were long and lean, her waist, a tiny little thing, but she somehow managed to match the skinniness with a round ass and a very generous bust.
One picture showed her asleep against a desk, her halo of blonde hair – usually hidden away at the back of her neck – was a long silken mess around her face.
Damn. He was hard again.
He clicked on it without consciously deciding to, and was taken to a fan page entitled "Behind the Scene."
The sleepy picture was their banner; the website, it seemed, was entirely about her. The welcoming page, updated less than two months ago, thus stated:
"Most people didn't know about Silvia Undine before the King dropped his bomb.
Well, I did, because my life went to shit. My parents run a farm and after a storm a few years back, we lost about three years worth of income. We were desperate, and one day, I gave ringing the Palace a go.
I didn't expect much. My call was returned by Ms. Un
dine, and she didn't give an inch. She explained that funding was tight and that our case would be reviewed. I thought that was a nice way of saying "nop, no way, you're dreaming."
The following week, Alessandro freaking Primerius drove down to us and assessed our lands. We received a grant to keep us going. To this day, the palace orders its livestock from us.
You're here now because of what Daniel de Luz has recently revealed, but this website is four years old, dedicated to the woman who runs this country behind the scene."
The bomb the blogger was referring to was the fact that the woman was apparently a child of Leopold de Luz, and consequently, the current King's half-sister; a princess of Alenia.
That was the proof that Erik had been cursed.
One day. One day after he convinced himself to propose to an unsuitable, unrefined, unliked, conniving girl, he found the woman he'd been looking for – and to top it all off, she turned out to be a freaking present wrapped in a red bow; if he'd managed to get her, he would have had a way in to calm things down with Alenia and Atlantis.
Hell, with Daniel's ear, he could possibility have managed to completely dissipate the entire hostile atmosphere in the continent.
De Luz had suddenly decided to halt every preparation towards an assault ten weeks back, and every Kingdom – save for Atlantis – had chilled out. If he wanted to further improve the relations, he could: Alenia was the heart of Europa.
And Silvia Undine – as well as being a bundle assembling each of his fantasies in one delightful package – might have been a way in.
This was, assuming that Erik would have managed to get the girl. It wasn't a given. He was no pretty, flawless poster boy.
His frequent sailing expeditions had given him an all around tan suiting his dark hair and amber-brownish eyes. He had muscles – bulky ones, one might say. He had large callused hands, scars here and there and he often happened to forget to shave or cut his hair for long stretches of time. This didn't make him unappealing, but it did classify him as a “type,” unlike the flamboyant de Luz everyone lusted after.
Women looked at him favorably, or they didn't; worse yet – sometime, they didn't, but they pretended to because of his position.
Just like, I don't know, your fiancée, moron.
He tried to comfort himself by admitting that there was a good chance that a polished woman who lived in a suit wouldn't actually take a fancy to an enthroned sailor, but the issue was that now he'd never know; there would be what ifs.
He was a man of his words and Vanessa hadn't done anything to deserve being jilted.
Hadn’t she? a little voice whispered in his ear.
He ignored it. Wishful thinking wasn’t getting him anywhere.
But your most loyal advisors can't stand her, there must be a reason.
He’d convinced himself that his two advisor’s animosity was due to the fact that a consort might have the power to sway some of his decisions; and there also was the possibility that she might actually become Queen, which would completely change the structure of the government, but there were wholes in this theory: the two men had repetitively encouraged him to look for a wife, which meant that their disapproval was personal.
What could she have done to warrant it?
It was perhaps due to the video he’d watched a few minutes ago, but what Erik imagined was unsavory, to say the least.
No, it wasn't possible; he'd known if he’d chosen some sort of a courtesan, wouldn’t he? Someone would have told him. Surely.
The one question left was, what was Silvia’s phone doing at the creek? Was she here, in Denker?
Ultimately, it didn't matter. If he couldn't have her, he was better off not seeing her again.
A knock interrupted his session of web stalkery; he sighed before shutting the laptop and returning to the real world.
Ludwig was bringing news, and they weren't good.
“What do you mean, a battalion?”
“About five hundred mermen. They are stationed at the borders; they're letting ships pass, but...”
But for how long?
Fuck.
He genuinely hadn't believed that things had been that bad. The occasional spies here and there were part of the normal running of a country, they were dispatched to enemies as well as allies; but an obvious display of hostilities such as this was a statement. One he couldn't ignore.
This meant war.
Fighting merfolks wasn't wise or clever. They had more magic in their fingertips than most mortals and their alliance with Alenia, the most powerful country of Europa, was sealed in blood; King Dane was the great grand nephew of King Morgan. One call and they'd rush to the rescue.
However, they were also completely secluded in their island, cut off from their foes as well as their friends. A quick offensive might be the only way to stop that madness before it began.
Not what he needed right now.
“They haven't advance in our waters yet,” Ludwig said, guessing his line of thoughts. “In fact, they’re just standing there, waiting. An attack now would be premature.”
“Waiting?”
His blood suddenly ran cold.
It was quite a leap, but his overactive mind connected little dots until he'd come to a very disturbing conclusion.
There was only one mer related thing that had changed in the recent days; he a phone burning a whole in his pocket to attest to it.
Silvia Undine.
He was now absolutely certain that she was in his kingdom, somewhere.
“Prepare the fleet; discreetly. I need my fastest ships ready by the end of the week.”
“Erik...”
“There is a mermaid somewhere in Denker right now; she isn't of Atlantis, and you know how territorial magic folks can be. I need every resource available to help her, if needs be.”
Ludwig was all over that in her heartbeat, narrowing his eyes as he asked: “You'd go to war for that girl?”
Erik turned to his first advisor.
Ludwig, unlike the rest of the officials, hadn't been a relic of his father's reign, or a figure elected by the House of Lords; he was the child of a palace servant.
Thanks to the scholarship the royal family offered to its employees, and to various grants he'd managed to earn, he'd gone to school with Erik, only, he'd beaten him in every single subject, from athletics to maths and politics.
Ludwig was hungry, like every children raised around people who were given everything they'd had to fight for. While it had made him short tempered, unpleasant and rather mean, at times, when he was given leave to exert his will, he was also a brilliant mind, and – strangely – Erik's closest friend.
So, when Erik shook his head, Ludwig called him out straight away.
“Bullshit. You will. So, if there's a woman whom you'd doom us all for, you wanna tell me why you're marrying your whore?”
That word again; there was a lot of that going around this morning.
It wasn't the first time Ludwig had insulted Vanessa, and Erik had let it go each time, somehow convincing himself that it held no meaning; Ludwig was known for resorting to colorful language when the situation called for it.
Now he thought of it, though, Erik couldn't recall one instance whence Ludwig had ever berated any other woman.
“That's a rather strong term.”
“If the shoe fits.”
He raised an eyebrow, demanding clarifications, and after a long sigh, Ludwig relented:
“There are rumors.”
“What kind?”
“The kind a first advisor needs to verify before alerting his King.”
Erik was about to protest, to ask whether fifteen years of friendship counted for nothing, but after a second, he shut his mouth. He might currently be in jeans and t-shirt, while Ludwig wore an elegant formal suit, but once a quarter or so, there was a light silver diadem on his wild hair, and that meant a very unique kind of power.
Other countries had changed some rules over the l
ast centuries but Denker was old fashioned in every possible way. The House of Lords could propose reforms, the council, well, gave their councils, and the parliament was allowed to come up with reforms, but at the end, every single decision came from the King. His rule was supreme, autocratic.
Erik and the seven kings before him had ruled fairly, explaining themselves and listening to opinions, but the thing was: he didn't need to.
It was rational that Ludwig might fear his disapproval.
“I'm looking into it,” Ludwig ensured him. “Give me three months, max.”
Chapter 6: the Witch.
She'd had every intention to remain as inconspicuous as possible during her stay, but that plan went to hell the fifth day.
Silvia was an early riser; she'd taken to swimming from dawn until seven or eight, when the coast came back to life. She'd been walking out of the water stretched at the feet of the Tanner's when the commotion caught her attention.
It was inaccurate. The sounds, she could have easily overlooked, lost in her mind, as she always was after a good swim, but the sheer despair she felt emanating from the other side of the beach wasn't something her nature allowed her to ignore.
After an instant of deliberation, she somewhat reluctantly decided to walk towards the two humans who were screaming and shouting.
Damn, it was too early for that shit.
Drawing closer, she came to a sudden halt. She'd been wrong. There had been three humans, all rather young.
The last one hadn't registered at first, because he was very small, gathered in the arms of the adolescent girl who was desperately calling his name.
He was also dead.
She didn't know what made her walk forward; she'd never been too good with corps and as her experience had taught her, her knowledge of CPR wasn't up to par to do anything useful, in case there was still a chance to save the baby.
