Sea Witch(30)

But is this real? Am I stuck in dream? Or have I lost my mind completely, and Annemette is a figment of my imagination? Iker, too?

I wouldn’t think him real at all if his arm weren’t still slung about my waist, drawing me toward him, the two of us walking toward a stone bench beneath a shady oak.

Stop questioning, Evie.

Enjoy the spell while it lasts.

He smells of the sea. Of escape. And I want to be there with him, watching his skin go pink and then brown, whales in our sights and free wind in our hair. He turns to me, both hands about my waist now, face angled down toward mine. A smile curves at his lips as he reads my eyes.

“You were worried I wouldn’t come,” he says, and brushes a curl from my cheek.

I don’t deny it.

“I ran into a problem of sorts,” he says, eyes in the middle distance, voice softening. “I lost one of my men. The sea snatched him overboard in broad daylight after we docked in Kal?. Spent the rest of the day and much of the next searching.”

My breath catches. It’s awful, though not unexpected on a whaling expedition. The resolute set to Iker’s jaw mirrors that—disappointment but also acceptance. But then his gaze brightens and he goes on. “Eventually, we found him, floating unconscious between two rocks. Can you believe it? Barely breathing and beaten up, but alive. It was so strange, finding something you doubted could be possible.”

A teasing note then enters his voice. “Just like you shouldn’t have doubted me.”

“I didn’t doubt you. I doubted my expectations.”

Iker raises a brow and his eyes are on my mouth. “And what were your expectations?”

“That you wanted to be here as much as I wanted you to be here.”

At this, he draws me in until his chest touches my bodice and I can feel his legs through the layers of my dress.

“Don’t doubt this.”

He presses his mouth to mine, stealing my breath. He is gentle in that first moment, but then sweeps us down onto the bench.

The scent of salt and limes swirls about me as my heart begins to pound hard enough that I’m sure he can feel it through my bodice and his shirt.

His hands move to my face, thumbs sweeping the curve of my jaw. He holds me there for a second before gently pulling away.

“Proof enough, Evelyn.”

He says it as a statement, not a question, a sly little grin returning.

I purse my lips in thought. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve had a large enough sampling to be certain.”

Iker’s face breaks that sly little grin into something toothy and wolfish.

“I’m free for sampling all afternoon. Nothing princely planned until supper.” He forces his features into serious composure. “Will that be enough time, my lady?”

I lean in and dust a quick kiss onto his lips. “It’s certainly a start.”





FOUR YEARS BEFORE


The visitor stood on the dock, parents fussing behind him, weary from travel, though the journey hadn’t been far. Just across the ?resund Strait—a trip he could make with his eyes shut and in his own boat, if given the chance.

And he was planning to take that chance within the year, permission or not.

The day was clear, sun beating down, drying the wooden planks of the dock faster than the sea could make its mark, the waves angry the entire way from Rigeby Bay.

Footmen filed down from the castle, whisking away the visitor’s parents, trunks, and duties, leaving him alone with the beach and his thoughts. At fourteen, those thoughts were mostly of girls.

Brunettes.

Blondes.

Redheads.

All of them swirling in his head despite what he knew to be true about his station—his mother and her metaphors constantly in his ear.

“Tulips wilt no matter their beauty; jewels of the crown shine forever.”

“Blood lasts longer than a whim.”

“The royal vase has room for but one flower, no matter the harvest.”

His feet led him to the sand, eyes snagging on two girls prancing along the beach, slim forms moving in time with a song that barely reached his ears.

A few yards more and the girls stopped, eyes and fingers pointed toward a sandbar, belly up in the swirling waters. That’s when he recognized them—two girls from the village, best friends always up for an adventure, just like he was, though he got the feeling the blonde was rather difficult to impress. Trailing behind them was a boy, his cousin. Another prince.

Then the girls began to remove their dresses, petticoats suddenly catching the sun’s rays in all their angelic white.

He couldn’t look away.

Not when they folded their dresses and laid them on the sand. Not when they sprinted into the waves. Not when he realized the current was as strong as it’d been in the strait, though he was too distracted by daydreams of their petticoats to warn them.

It was only moments later, when the prince dove in behind them, that the visitor was rudely awakened.

The visitor’s feet told him to run. To help. Neither girl had surfaced—it had been too long. He took five steps and halted. His father in his ear this time, another ?ldenburg ruler in a land full of them.

“Do not be a hero, Iker; you are already a prince.”

His own kingdom needed him alive. If something were to happen to him, the future of his home and his family would be in danger. Yet still, another voice, his own, knocked around in his ears.