Chapter 310
Petra catches my expression before I can mask it. I’ve barely finished blinking when she places a hand on my arm and leans in with a gentle smile.
“You must be exhausted after such a long day,” she says, tone honey-sweet but lined with that same careful steel I’ve come to associate with every word that leaves her mouth. “Why don’t we get you to your room? There’s plenty of time to prepare for the ball tomorrow.”
I nod, grateful for the out. “That sounds… great, actually.”
I reach for the last of my drink, the strange, delicious purple elixir I’ve nearly grown addicted to in just one sitting. But before I can lift the jug, Petra’s hand covers mine.
“That’s quite enough for one evening, I think,” she says, plucking it away like I’m a child caught sneaking sweets before dinner. “Some of our blends can be… potent.”
I offer a sheepish smile. “Noted.”
She excuses us with a graceful bow to the women—who all smile and bow back, still humming with the glow of shared gossip and too many fertility anecdotes. Then Petra gently takes my arm and leads me from the spiraled conch-like tea chamber into the long, glittering corridors of the palace.
I wait until we’ve put some distance between us and the others before breaking the silence.
“I hope I didn’t come off as rude back there. I just—” I pause. “There’s a lot to take in.”
Petra doesn’t look at me, but I catch the soft twitch of her lip. “Not at all, child. You were patient. Kind. Curious, even. And I know how… overwhelming our family can be. They mean well, but there is much they don’t understand about the world beyond our walls.”
The words are soft, but the weight behind them is unmistakable.
Something old. Heavy. Maybe even regretful.
I glance sideways. “You don’t go above, do you?”
She shakes her head. “Few do. And fewer return unchanged.” Her voice grows quieter. “It’s easier for some of us to forget what lies outside the city. Easier still to pretend we don’t miss it.”
The rawness in her tone surprises me. It sounds like… longing.
“I won’t lie,” I say after a pause, “they’re definitely different from what I’m used to. But that doesn’t mean it’s bad. This place is… well, it’s beautiful. It’s practically paradise.”
She slows her pace. “Practically,” she repeats, then smiles without showing teeth. “Yes. Electra has been generous with us. She built this city to last. And all we can do is honor her legacy, do her line justice.”
We round a quiet corner lined with opalescent wall sconces, the flickering lights dancing across Petra’s pale cheeks.
“I believe you and your mate will continue to do the same.”
I stop walking.
Her words don’t sound like a compliment. They sound like an expectation.
Before I can ask what she means, she gestures ahead.
We’ve reached a set of massive double doors carved from pale coral and inlaid with shimmering mother-of-pearl. Each side bears the emblem of Electra—a stylized spiral sun surrounded by crashing waves.
“This is your room,” Petra says, her voice retreating back to that smooth, distant politeness. “There’s a bath drawn in the saltwater spring. Take it. Rest. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my tone even.
She bows her head and disappears before I can blink again.
I turn toward the doors and press a hand against them. They open at my touch with a soft mechanical click and the faint whoosh of pressure equalizing. Inside, I swear the temperature shifts—warmer, softer, humming with some low ambient frequency that makes my skin feel fuzzy.
The room is a fantasy spun from silk and coral.
Delicate drapes billow gently in the currents around a massive seashell-shaped bed covered in layers of silk and velvet. Bioluminescent kelp dangles from the ceiling in long tendrils, casting a green-blue glow across walls lined with carved alcoves. Every surface is etched with curling script and mythic sea creatures that shimmer when I pass by.
It’s so perfect it feels fake. Like a set from a movie I wandered into by mistake.
But the comfort is real. My limbs grow heavier just looking at the bed.
Still, I don’t go to it.
Instead, I shift forms—trading my tail for feet spotted with scales. It feels good. Right. Like settling into my real skin after a long time swallowed by something too big for my bones.
I drift toward the adjoining chamber.
The bathing room is its own private spring, naturally heated and rimmed with smooth stones. The water bubbles lazily from vents in the floor, perfumed with some heady blend of herbs and minerals that makes my head spin. I sink in slowly, the salt-rich warmth curling around me like a lover’s embrace.
Gods, it’s perfect.
I float there for a long moment, letting the tension melt from my spine. My body loosens, softens. The fog in my brain shifts. My skin grows hypersensitive, each droplet brushing over me like a kiss.
I tilt my head back, sinking until only my face breaks the surface.
I don’t know if it’s the drink or the bath or the sheer weight of the day finally hitting me, but my body hums with a different kind of heat now. Not the adrenaline of a battlefield. Something slower. Smoldering. My thoughts drift, slow and molten.
I think of Wake. His mouth. The heat in his eyes when I touch his bare chest. The way he growls low in his throat when I press against him just right.
I think of his hands. How his palms, the same palms that can kill without a thought, are so gentle and careful as they skim down my waist, as they grip my hips.
I imagine his arms around me. His mouth on mine. His hand drifting lower...
Arousal, hot and insistent, pulses between my legs. I shift my hips, letting out a frustrated sigh.
It isn’t just about the sex. It's how he looks at me when we're together. The way he touches me. Tender. Hungry. As though he's drowning, and I'm air.
He makes me feel seen. Wanted. Desired.
Loved.
My pulse flutters. I slide my hand between my thighs and stroke the tight bundle of nerves there, the same way he does with his tongue, his fingers.
A moan slips past my lips. I close my eyes.
My breath hitches as I stroke faster, harder, my hips moving restlessly.
I'm close. So close.
My body tenses.
And as if summoned by the force of that thought, the chamber door creaks open.
My eyes snap toward it.
And there he is.
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