“Did Zeus teach you to talk like that too, or is that something you had to learn as part of becoming a prince?” The words were past her lips before she could stop them, an automatic response to the weight of his sanctimony. She took a breath to apologize, then reconsidered. In for a penny…
The arm under her hand grew taut. She waited for the inevitable snarl, the rush of anger that seemed to come so easily to him. He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
“I’m afraid it must be painfully obvious by now that I do not socialize often. I’ve clearly made a horrible impression on you.” He glanced at her. “I am trying.”
Marcela flushed under the subtle chastisement, and her temper sparked in defiance. She wanted to remind him of all the spiteful things he’d said to her. Unfortunately she realized too late that none of them had happened since he’d held her in the sea, or taken her flying over the ocean in a simulated swim. He was trying. Damn him.
“I’m…sorry.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m afraid I’m—”
“Please don’t apologize.” Patricio half-shrugged. “I haven’t been trying that hard.”
She gaped at him in surprise, the joke so unexpected. Slowly she smiled.
“Well, I was hoping for flowers and sweets,” she agreed. “Benita tells me that is to be expected after a man does something foolish.”
“Indeed? I will make a note of that.”
Marcela grinned even as her brain whirled to reassemble her estimation of Patricio. As convenient as it would be to consider him a pompous ass, she could hardly look at herself in the water’s surface in the morning if she scorned such obvious attempts to make amends. She had no choice but to offer him the same kindness and consideration he now offered her. Damn him again.
“You are a princess among your people,” Patricio said suddenly. “Do you find your people treat you differently than others?”
“Yes. My people definitely tend to swim cautiously around the king’s daughter, and the humans I have cause to encounter are usually either flattering me to try and avoid punishment, or they’re overwhelmed with the gratitude that comes from being rescued.”
Patricio opened his mouth then closed it. The skin around his eyes tightened and his throat worked. “You don’t appear to have the same problem I do. Socializing, I mean.”
“You mean talking to people as equals instead of sand beneath my scales?” Again, the words flowed without her permission and she immediately kicked herself. “I’m sorry, Patricio, I—”
He waved off her apology. “The words were well deserved. And you are exactly right.” He shrugged. “I didn’t socialize much at the temple of Ares. I was there to train, as was everyone else there. After I left, I spent my time performing my duties, and there were very few who wanted to be in my presence. Everyone feared me, as if I would kill anyone with a hint of darkness on their soul.”
He stopped, his lips pursing as if he’d revealed more than he’d intended. Marcela stepped closer without meaning to, not wanting to lose this sudden connection.
“It was wrong of them to judge you like that, but it was your responsibility to challenge their belief,” she said gently. “You can’t expect people to treat you how you want to be treated, you have to adjust your behavior accordingly.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Yes, but you can do it. Look at how you’ve changed your behavior toward me.” She leaned back. “You were a complete ass when you pulled me out of the ocean. You spoke about me as if I weren’t in the room, you insulted me with every breath, acted as though I were some disgusting creature clinging to the bottom of your foot.” Patricio flinched, but she pressed on. “But then you changed. You put my needs ahead of your own the night you spent holding me in the sea. You tried to make the witch help me, though you did it in a manner that made such help very unlikely.” She softened. “And flying with me, trying to make me feel like I was swimming. That showed considerable empathy, and consideration. You have it in you to be the person I think you want to be, but you have to realize it’s a lot of work.” She waved a hand in the air. “I’m not this amazing naturally, I have to work at it,” she joked.
Patricio stared off into the distance as she spoke, but she could practically hear the wheels in his mind spinning.
“I used to travel around so much, I never really encountered many relatives of those I’d executed,” Patricio blurted out. “Now that the king has declared me his heir, I’ve remained in the same kingdom for years. I can’t go out at all without running into someone who’s been affected by my curse, someone who sings my praises over the slaying of their loved one. I—”
He stopped, shaking his head. His eyes twitched back and forth as if searching her face for some sign of understanding. Shocked at the glimpse of such severe insecurity, Marcela quickly nodded.
“I understand. It must still be hard to deal with the emotions of bereaved loved ones. But avoiding people entirely or trying to separate yourself with derision is not the answer.”
“I don’t kill to be cruel,” Patricio murmured, his eyes glazed, unseeing. “I don’t want them to be grateful, I just want them to…”
Suddenly the spell broke. Patricio jerked back, the dazed expression fleeing his eyes. The pang of regret she felt surprised her.
“What a bore I must be to you, prattling on and on about myself,” Patricio said briskly. “Please forgive me.”
Chapter Ten
Patricio stepped forward, urging Marcela to continue on toward the village with him. His heart pounded and his throat was thick with yet more words he shouldn’t say that wanted to come out. Never in his life had he experienced such a need to confess to someone, to tell someone his fears and insecurities. If this was what came from spending too much time with a woman, then it was lucky he’d avoided such things till now.
Marcela’s gaze bored into him, a heavy weight that scanned his very soul. Despite his unease over having shared so much about himself with her, even now Patricio had a throbbing need to see understanding in her eyes. It had been too long since he’d met someone like her, someone who felt emotions as violently as he did but still managed to stay in control. He admired her, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking he was no more than a self-righteous killer. He needed her to tell him he was more than that.
“You are full of surprises.”
Patricio cleared his throat. “Oh?”
“Oh, yes. I look forward to getting to know you.”
Patricio opened his mouth to make some excuse to get out of the conversation, but Marcela pointed ahead and spoke before he could.
“Is that the village?”
Patricio looked ahead. The thin rocky soil thickened, grew richer with shades of brown with less gray to haggard it. The road opened up into a broad arena covered in soft earth. Houses and shops surrounded the circle and a large well sat in the center of it. The scents of food and wine drifted past Patricio’s nostrils and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Yes, this is the village. There are manors and farms spread out all around the foot of the mountain, curving on either side all the way back to the sea, but this is the center of trade for our kingdom. This is where people come from the other kingdoms to sell their wares and buy the goods our people produce.”
A deep barking broke the air. Patricio looked up to see a small boy running across the arena with a large dog by his side. The boy threw a stick and it sailed through the air, landing less than a meter from Patricio and Marcela. The dog leapt after the stick even as its young master halted in his tracks. He took one look at Patricio and scurried away. Patricio stifled a sigh as more people noticed him. A murmur rolled through the crowd and everyone that made eye contact with him dropped in a deep bow or curtsy. He could feel his mood souring with annoyance, the irritation that people couldn’t mind their business and let him be without making a fuss.
Suddenly Marcela tugged on his arm. “Patricio!”
He looked down
at her. She leapt up into his arms, yanking hard on his robes. He grunted and fumbled to catch her, flushing when his hands got tangled in her skirts.
“What—?”
“What is it?” Marcela pointed down at the dog.
Patricio continued trying to untangle himself from her dress. “It’s a dog.”
“A dog,” Marcela repeated. She gawked at the beast who had lost interest in the stick and was now watching them. “Is it dangerous?”
“They can be. I know some of the villagers keep them for protection, both for themselves and for their livestock. I don’t believe they attack unless they believe you’re a threat.”
“And how does it determine if I am a threat?” Marcela’s eyes remained locked on the dog tilting its head at her in curiosity.
“I don’t know.” A breeze wafted past them, dragging the scent of saltwater from Marcela’s skin and teasing Patricio’s senses. Without meaning to, he leaned in, smelling the waves of her red hair tumbling down over his arm. He was suddenly hyper-aware of how soft her body was, how good it felt clutched in his arms, nestled in his palms.
He startled as he realized Marcela was looking at him, studying his face. Her green eyes met his. Everything around them faded away, leaving his world consumed with the pounding of his heart and the slight hitch in Marcela’s breathing.
“Prince Patricio?”
Reality screeched back with the vengeance of an angry falcon. The voice burrowed into his head, wreaking havoc as it usually did. A groan barreled up out of his chest and he barely sealed his lips in time to keep it from escaping. The feminine voice exploded against him like the first burst of sunlight encountered upon awakening, brilliant, shining, and unwelcome. He plastered a polite smile on his face and turned, putting Marcela back on her feet as he did so.
“Lady Emiliana.” He bowed slightly. “How lovely to see you again.”
Dressed as impeccably as always, Emiliana stepped out of the coach in a swish of fine pale blue silk, her light brown hair in perfectly coiled ringlets dancing around her ears. The bodice of her dress gave her a miniscule waist and cradled her modest breasts tightly enough to make them appear plump where they were nestled in the silk and lace trim. Her lips were painted a pink so close to a rose petal, it was a wonder the bees were not constantly trying to land on them. Those lips parted for Patricio, flashing pearly white teeth.
“Lovely to see you as well, Prince Patricio,” she chirped, floating to them on dainty slippered feet. “It’s been forever since I’ve had the pleasure of your company. I tried to call on you at the palace yesterday, but your servant informed me you were…occupied.” Her voice trailed off as her gaze drifted to Marcela. Emiliana’s brown eyes flickered over the former mermaid and her smile grew strained. “Patricio, who is this…distinguished matron?”
Patricio fought the urge to roll his eyes. “This—”
“I am Emiliana Vasquez, Lady of the House of Vasquez and twelfth heir to the throne of Nysa,” Emiliana continued, giving Marcela a smile sweet enough to rot the teeth from her mouth. “So pleased to meet you.”
Patricio frowned. This was a casual social situation, titles were hardly necessary. On top of that, despite Emiliana’s lilting tone, her title was flung out as if each syllable was a weapon, each word ringing in the air like cannon fire. Lady Emiliana was a wisp of a woman, dainty and delicate, but at 5’6” she had Marcela by a good three inches. It made Marcela appear smaller and Patricio had the sudden urge to pick her up again.
Marcela straightened her spine and met Emiliana’s eyes. “I am Marcela, daughter of King Triton, Princess of Atlantia, and second heir to the throne.” She inclined her head. “And the pleasure is all mine, Lady Emiliana.”
Patricio’s eyebrows shot up at her stress on the word second. All at once he was certain he was missing a vital part of the conversation. The women were both smiling and saying polite things, but there was a tension in the air that left the situation distinctly uncomfortable.
Emiliana ripped a silken handkerchief out of her sleeve and clasped it to her mouth, turning to gaze in horror at Patricio. “Oh, Patricio, how could you?” she whimpered. She closed her eyes, tears trickling down her cheeks.
Patricio put a hand to his temple, wrinkling his nose as a strange, bitter scent teased his nostrils. He blinked, trying to clear the fuzzy feeling from his mind. “I’m sorry?”
“How could you humiliate me like this?” Emiliana continued, sniffling. “Is it because she is closer to a throne? Am I so worthless to you now that you’re waltzing around—unchaperoned—with this woman! This is not the way for a fiancé to act.”
“Fiancé?” echoed Marcela. She glanced at Patricio.
Nausea rolled through Patricio’s stomach. It wasn’t the way for a fiancé to act. Emiliana was right. But… He shook his head, and frowned. No, he wasn’t her fiancé. For months he’d managed to avoid Emiliana’s insinuations and not so subtle hints. He’d escorted her to balls with all the passion of a monk, he’d sat through her incessant visits to the palace with the patience of a saint, and he’d dodged any words that could be construed as a promise of marriage with the verbal acrobatics of a fey. Now all of it was for nothing as Emiliana labeled him in public, called out his behavior with another woman. A choice had to be made. “Yes. We are to be married. Didn’t he tell you?” Emiliana answered Marcela. “We’ve had an understanding for some time.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to agree with her, to admit to Marcela that he and Emiliana did have an understanding, they were to be married. But one look at Marcela and the words died on his tongue. His head cleared like a bank of fog had blown away. A sigh of relief escaped him and he turned to Lady Emiliana before this situation went any further. “Lady Emiliana.”
“Yes, my love?” Her voice wavered, her eyes still sparkling with the remainders of her tears as she gazed up at him.
“Lady Emiliana, Marcela is my guest, nothing more,” Patricio managed finally. He should have stopped there, he meant to stop there. Despite his personal feelings toward the marriage-minded heiress, he knew he couldn’t be insensitive to the politics of the situation. Whether he’d wanted to be prince or not, the position came with responsibilities, and the king had been very clear that Emiliana’s family was not to be offended in any way. But…with Marcela standing right there… “However, I must remind you that no marriage has been agreed upon. Please do not present me as your fiancé.”
“Your guest?” Emiliana echoed. “You mean that she’s…staying at the palace? With you?”
That’s the part you decide to latch onto? “Yes. She is my guest.”
There was a strange glint in Emiliana’s eyes all of a sudden, the warm mahogany of her irises darkening into the color of scorched earth. Patricio leaned back, narrowing his eyes slightly. Something about that expression didn’t sit right with the persona he associated with Emiliana. It was a little too cold, too calculating for the clingy, glittering society maiden he knew.
He drew in a breath of fresh air, releasing the tension that had built steadily in his shoulders. He closed his eyes for a moment, and after he opened them, he also opened his higher senses.
Everywhere around him, souls leapt to life inside the humans scurrying about their business. Children ran by with souls so bright he had to squint against their shine. Here and there, a soul sat like a sooty lump in its physical host, bearing the weight of sins not yet balanced by noble acts. There was no black soul to tempt his thoughts, to draw him away from his current company, and for once Patricio didn’t look too hard. Instead, he concentrated on Emiliana.
Her soul glowed inside her body like a firefly in a dusty jar. He stared hard at the ball of silvery energy, searching for some spot of darkness that might indicate Emiliana had changed since last he’d seen her. He leaned in and inhaled deeply, searching for the sweet scent of sin.
Nothing. Emiliana was balanced, the same as any human being who made mistakes, but tried to be a good person. Unless he wanted t
o send Emiliana rushing back to her family to spread the story of how he’d embarrassed her, he’d have to explain everything.
“Lady Emiliana, do you recall who Marcela said she was?”
“Yes,” Emiliana answered, her dark eyes an unmoving weight on his. Her nose wrinkled, a pinched little expression of annoyance. “Daughter of Triton, second in line for—” She straightened, her brow furrowing. “Wait. Triton? Atlantia?”
She turned her gaze to Marcela, who had been standing silently as the exchange had gone on. The slight smirk Patricio had caught after he’d corrected Emiliana about their “understanding” had been replaced with a careful expression of detachment. If he’d had any doubts Marcela was royalty, her flawless façade of neutrality banished them.
Emiliana pointed at Marcela. “But that would make you…”
Divine Scales Page 13
