An enticing laugh tinkles from her throat. “You were much more fun fifty years ago. When did you become so repressed?”
“What I am is tired, Melité. We have had this conversation too many times already.” His voice hardens to stone. “I will not repeat myself again. Next time I witness you influencing my citizens into acts they do not have the cognizance to consent to, you will find yourself without a villa in the royal grounds. And not even Tethys will stand by you if you’re forced to return to that seaweed-covered cave your mother pushed you out in.”
Fury flashes over her face. Her eyes turn completely black, the whites around her irises swallowed by ink. But her voice reveals not an iota of her rage as she says, “Fine. I’ll behave…for tonight.”
Leaving those rather threatening words in the air, she makes her way to the opposite end of the veranda. I quickly lose sight of her in the crowd.
Yara blows out a breath. “Fuck, I need another drink. You want one?”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer, merely starts walking toward the bar with Bretiax. I follow in their wake, cutting through the thick crowd, winding around the mismatched hodgepodge of tables and chairs strewn about. The atmosphere slowly comes back to life, conversation restarting in lurches and lulls as the moment of Melité’s influence passes. By the time we reach the bar, it is as though nothing happened.
“Titan gin, and make it a double,” Yara instructs the barkeep, squeezing in between two other Paexyrian who are nursing frothy pints of Daggerpoint lager. I know their names are Harpina and Thisobei, though we have not yet been introduced. Harpina has pale freckled skin and honey-hued locks that hang to her chin; Thisobei’s hair is so close-cropped she is nearly bald, and she sports a perpetually impish grin.
Yara glances over her shoulder at me, brows arched. “Another round?”
“She’s had enough,” Soren cuts in before I can say a word.
I spin around as he comes to a stop before me. He is standing close—it is quite crowded by the bar—and does not move away, even when I tip my head back to glare at him.
“Have I?”
He leans forward into my space, not stopping until his mouth is at my ear. His hushed words are for me alone. “If you want another drink, that’s your prerogative. But Titan gin is three times the strength of that mulled wine you’ve been nursing for the past two hours. The Paexyrian may guzzle it like water, but if you plan to make the climb back down the ladder to thecanals, I suggest you quit while you’re ahead.” He pulls back a few inches—just enough to align our faces, so his eyes stare directly into mine. “Unless you’d like me to carry you back to my villa.”
My teeth grit. “That will not be necessary.”
His smirk is there and gone, disappearing in the time it takes him to straighten back to full height. I look at Yara and shake my head. She rolls her eyes knowingly, then turns to chat with Bretiax, Harpina, and Thisobei.
Soren hasn’t moved. His arms are crossed over his chest as he stares down at me. A lock of dark, lush hair is falling across his forehead. I have the strangest urge to push it back for him.
“You look like you’re about to fall over,” he informs me, voice blunt.
The urge fades instantly.
My reply is acerbic. “Such flattery! I may swoon.”
“I just meant…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, an uncharacteristic display of unease. “Look, if you want to drown your sorrows, that’s fine. All I ask is that you wait until you’re back on solid ground.”
“Who says I’m drowning my sorrows?”
The awareness in his gaze sets my teeth on edge. “What happened earlier, with the cannon…”
I flinch at the soft compassion in his tone. His flippancy is easier to withstand. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want to think about it,” I whisper quickly, before he can say anything else. My words pour out faster as the feelings I’ve spent the past few hours suppressing bubble to the surface. “Right now I just…I want to forget. Ineedto forget, Soren. Because if I think about it for too long I might—I might start to—”
“Rhya.”
My heart stumbles. “Y-yes?”
“I have been around for two centuries. I am an expert at forgetting. But…” His eyes striate like stars. “There are better ways of distracting your mind than dulling it with drink. More…pleasurable…options for untangling that knot of tension inside you.”
What sort of ways?
One part of me wants to ask; the other part is wise enough to keep silent. No verbal response feels entirely safe at this moment. My emotions are frazzled from Melité’s thrall, my body not fully back in my control. My whole frame is strung tight.
His tone turns to gravel. “Would you like me to show you?”
My lips part, but no sound escapes.
Soren does not seem to be breathing. He is perilously still, awaiting my answer. Only his gaze shifts—dropping down to watch my throat as I swallow against the thick lump lodged inside it. My skin tingles under the weight of his heated stare. He’s never looked at me that way before.