I say, “Open up, Princess, I know you’re in there.”
A few moments pass before a white piece of paper is slipped under the door. I bend down and pick up the note. There are two words on it, scrawled in Helena’s horrific handwriting that is not what I ever expected to see from a Crown Princess.
Go away.
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head even though she can’t see me. “Not going to happen, Princess. We need to talk. I’m going to stand here for as long as it takes. I assume, at some point, you’ll need to use the restroom. I’m happy to wait.”
Silence.
Of course. I expected nothing less.
I’ve never met someone as stubborn as me in my entire life. My mother, gods be with her soul, used to call me her little stubborn octopus. She would tell me that when I was a toddler, I would latch onto her legs and refuse to let go. She used to tell me that I would hold on tight, gripping her leg as she moved about the house.
I don’t remember that. I don’t remember most things about my parents anymore. But my mother was right. I am stubborn, and in this, I will not give up. I need to talk to Helena. Today.
My head rests against the door, and I rally my strength as I wait in the hallway. I can hear her moving around inside the room. My shoulders slump, and I swallow as I lower my voice.
“Princess,” I say. “I’m serious. We need to talk.”
Nothing. As the seconds tick by into minutes, I begin to believe that I may have met my match in this Mer. I have never met any being, human or otherwise, who infuriates me like this female.
It’s getting harder and harder to sort through my anger. I’m angry at myself for being put in this terrible position. I’m angry that I have to hurt this innocent woman. I’m angry at Conrad for his horrible actions. I’m angry at her for ignoring me.
But the worst part is that I know the anger isn’t all I feel. It’s a mask for the deep shame that wracks my heart. And that, more than anything else, angers me.
Because I never used to feel, and I was happy being numb.
Sliding down the wall, I cross my legs and lean against her door. Sailors pass by and give me questioning looks. In response, I glare at them. None of them has the guts to stop and ask me what I’m doing. They just walk around me, hurrying to complete their daily tasks as though I am not doing something completely out of character.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity but is probably more like forty-five minutes, the door creaks open behind me. I brace my hands against the frame, tilting my head back to look at her face. Her pink eyes are narrowed, and her lips are pursed as she looks down at me. Our gazes meet, and for a moment, it feels as though all the air is sucked out of the hallway. Something foreign stirs within me.
Eventually, she scribbles something on a scrap of paper and drops it on my lap.
Well? What was so important that you had to block my door?
The word important is underlined twice, and for some reason, it kindles fiery emotions that lick against my insides. I push myself off the floor and brush my hands on my pants as I stare at her. The room behind her seems so tiny. I grimace.
Images of Conrad on top of her, touching her without her permission, play on repeat in my head. It’s like a bad song that I can’t get out of my head. I curl my fists, my knuckles turning white as I fight the urge to hit something.
“Let’s talk in my office,” I say, avoiding her eyes and turning around. “It’s bigger.”
Lines bracketing Helena’s mouth dissipate as she lets out a long breath. She hurries down the hallway towards my personal office. I watch her walk and note that every time we pass a member of my crew, they dip their head toward her. She leaves a trail of smiles in her path.
Soon, we are both in my office. I’ve claimed my seat behind my desk. The comfort of being in my personal space is helping to ease my emotions. It also helps mask the fact that I’m exhausted.
Helena doesn’t sit. Instead, she walks around and runs her fingers down the spines of my books. Her delicate touch is respectful and gentle, and for a moment, I wonder what it would be like to have her touch my face like that.
I shake my head in surprise at the stray thought, watching her move. She ignores me completely, her attention fixated on the books.
“Princess, will youpleasetake a seat?”
She turns and looks at me, raising a brow. I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind as she tilts her head, studying me. Her lips curve into a smile, and she walks towards me, swinging her hips as she moves. I’m a bit shocked at the way she so easily changes expressions. It’s as if the fear I saw so clearly etched on her face when Conrad had been touching her never existed.
How is she okay with everything that happened?
Helena heads for the chair on the other side of the desk, but she doesn’t sit. Instead, she leans over, removes papers from my work pile, and sets them in the available seat.
Then, as if she hasn’t a care in the world, she sashays over and slides onto the edge of my desk. Her legs are dangling over the side, dangerously close to mine, as she stares at me. She smirks, and my nostrils flare.