Escape to the Sea (Tangled Hearts #1)

Chapter 29 A Fireside Chat

Ephraim

I sigh as I pluck at the bubbles surrounding me. I'm not typically one for bubble baths—you always have to take a second rinse, in which case why bother in the first place? But tonight I’m… sentimental.

Tommy is settling as well as I can expect. The servants are distant with him, but both Bertrand and Lenore report that he's been affable and subservient, completing tasks efficiently and thoroughly. He takes criticism seriously and, for the most part, doesn't make the same error twice. Folding laundry, apparently, is an exception, and Bertrand's already moved him off of laundry rotation.

No, tonight my mind drifts back to the night in the Wyrd Sea. Perhaps it's hearing the rough waves crash against the cliffs outside my window, but it's more likely because Bertrand asked me, again, about Lady Emeria.

“You seemed so enthused, Your Highness. More than I have seen in some time. Are you sure you don't want me to try and locate her?”

I made up an excuse, I hardly remember what, but it doesn't matter. Despite our argument, I’m still disappointed that our last conversation was so fraught, and it’s doubtful I’ll ever set eyes on her again. Never witness her prowl and strike without hesitation. Admire her green eyes as they sharpen in analysis or soften in amazement and awe. Hear her delight as she giggles, her hand wafting through the magical bubbles as they form around her.

It’s so silly, pining after an elf I’ll never see again. No sense in wasting energy or moping. I’ll simply have to move on. Like most of my life, in that way. I should expect it, really.

The rest of the bath concludes quickly, though I’m considerably more dejected than when I got in. It's no matter. I'll simply settle into bed with my book and a glass of wine.

Sliding on my fluffy, comfy robe, I set out of the bath, my bedroom cozy from the lit fireplace in the corner. The light tones of the lute and harp duet playing on the gnomish record player set my mind at ease. I quickly change into my usual bed attire, thin blue silk pants and buttoned shirt. I pull back the covers and reach for my book on the nightstand.

…Except it isn’t there. Odd, I thought—

The unmistakable shifting of parchment as the page turns catches my ear and I look up, alert. Then, I stare in shock. Reclining in the sitting area next to my fireplace is a figure in all black leathers.

The figure sits, legs kicked up onto an ottoman, boots and all, completely unconcerned with my presence. Smooth purple skin of jacaranda. Perfectly braided and pinned dark blue hair of globe thistle. And sharp green eyes that I still haven’t managed to accurately describe.

Atrea.

My voice catches in my throat as I drink in her form. She doesn’t move, turning another page casually with an invisible hand, completely engrossed. Finally, I regain the ability to speak as she takes a sip of wine from what is unmistakably my wine goblet.

“Excuse me.”

She raises a finger, signaling me to wait. Me? Wait? In my own chambers? In my castle? With a jutted chin I march over to her. “You have no right to be here. I don’t even know how you got in and—”

The book lowers in the air so I have a full view of her narrowing green eyes. “I’ve been here for over an hour and I’m almost done with this chapter.” The book raises, and her attention goes back to the text. Oh, how rude of me to have interrupted her breaking and entering! Oh, yes, please , you she-wolf dressed in thieving clothes, enter my private quarters, and help yourself to whatever you like!

“Oh my,” she chuckles, amused. The invisible hand snaps the book shut and she guides the book over to the table, resting it next to a pair of neatly folded black gloves. The magical hand dissolves and she keeps hold of the wine goblet in her actual hand, straightening a little and crossing her legs with a cat-like fluidity.

“Interesting book. Befitting for such a… proper prince.” She smirks and my cheeks burn. It’s a lurid romantic tale with mild court intrigue and includes a threesome between two humans and an elf. That particular detail is not of any significance.

“How did you get in here?” I cross my arms and sit in a nearby chair.

Her eerie, cold smile should send a shiver down my spine. It should set off all my alarms and call for the guards. Instead, I’m enthralled, helpless under her haughty and predatory gaze.

“Come now, Prince Ephraim. Relax. Pour a glass of wine. It’s not a sorenya, but this villeigne is quite exquisite.” She makes a show of taking a sip and I can’t help the way my eyes drop to the burgundy stain on her lips.

I lean forward, near standing, before I catch myself. “I don’t think it’s wise to drink with someone who broke into my personal apartments.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically, as if this is part of her show, her theatrics in showing off her skills as a burglar. “We’re past that, don’t you think?”

I ease back into the chair, crossing my legs. “I haven’t decided. I’m sure I can find a sentencing for you too.”

She chuckles, the eerie smile widening. “Do you really think you or any of your guards can catch me?”

“Mm, Tommy did say that pretty good criminals don’t get caught.”

“Ah, but there’s the difference. I’m not pretty good. I’m the best.” She eyes me like I’m the one caught, a rabbit under the wolf’s paw. “At my particular craft, that is.”

I rise and stride over to the uncorked bottle of wine and pour myself a glass. “Which is?”

She simply smirks and takes a sip. I can’t say I’m disappointed. Atrea is wrapped in mystery, an enigma that I can’t help but find delightful to unspool. I sit next to her closely, turning so I’m facing her. Our knees are almost touching, and the smell of sea salt and lavender wafting from her is unavoidable. Carefully, I drag my eyes up her frame, the black leather doing nothing to stop my memory of replacing it, or rather discarding it to reveal the long expanse of her lean body underneath.

When my eyes meet hers, I make a point to sip the wine. It’s better than leaning forward and kissing her outright.

Her face settles into that stilled elven expression, porcelain and yet thoughtful. Then her gaze drops, staring at her hand slowly swirling the wine in the glass. In Elvish, she says, “You are the water that runs from the mountain, not the ice that clings to it.” Switching back to Aurelian she adds, “You surprise me.”

I frown a little at the expression. It’s not a colloquialism I’m familiar with. “I don’t follow, I’m afraid.”

Her gaze flickers back up to me, quiet and steady. “You fought for him, even if it took longer for someone who’s supposed to be the next primary of Branch Echtarch.”

Ah, this is about Tommy. Not me. Of course. I take a small sip of wine, trying not to let the corners of my mouth tighten. “He helped me. Knowingly sacrificed himself for me. Was I to let him swing at the noose as thanks?”

“I didn’t think you would, but it’s hard to say with you nobles,” she replies.

“Yes, well, with you sitting here, I don’t see why you didn’t skip this altogether and spring him from his prison. He was there for a tenday. Is that not enough time for you?”

Her gaze hardens. “And have him be one of the most wanted men in Ilcanos? A Karstian on the surface? How long do you think it would take him to be captured again? What kind of life would he live? It was better to wait and see before resorting to that. I figured that you would recognize he’s more useful to you alive than dead.”

“Of course he is. Besides, considering you’re here it’s also a good thing I didn’t send him off to perform menial labor.”

“Oh? But wouldn’t menial labor be good for some brute from the Trunk?”

I wince at the reminder but force myself to keep her narrow gaze. “No. That was wrong of me.” I pause before adding. “And it was wrong of me to lash out at you, regarding my mother. I think I always knew… deep down.”

Her gaze drops from mine and she stares into the fire. She doesn’t say anything, simply gazing with that quiet focus. She looks sad almost, but I don’t understand why. The silence between us is so fragile, and I’m hesitant to push to break it. So I sip my wine for a little longer, looking between her and the fire. It’s nice. Easy, in a way.

“You should read more on the Sea of Possibility before using that necklace again. And don’t go alone. Sea-walking is dangerous for the inexperienced,” she says suddenly. Her soft voice doesn’t break the silence as much as it ripples through it.

She’s actually worried about me? I’m touched. “Shall I inform you when the necklace is recharged, then?” She frowns, glancing at me, clearly unsure. I add, “You enjoyed being in the Sea, the dangers aside. It was fun exploring with you.”

She glances away, back to the fire. “Don’t be ridiculous, Your Highness.” Despite her attempted sneer, her cheeks color prettily, the purple in her cheeks darkening.

“Well, I’ll let you know, regardless. You can decide then. My wizards tell me it will take some time for the magic to recharge so there’s no rush.”

“And you’d take me with you to the Sea? A so-called criminal that you threatened to have sentenced?”

“I thought you said you were the best, and the best would never be caught. So slippery that, apparently, there’s nothing I can do.” My lofty reply earns an appraising look and then an ever-so-slight softening.

Unable to help myself, I move closer, my arm sliding back behind her shoulders. This is a very foolish idea, but I simply don’t care. She’s here, in front of me, and I refuse to waste the opportunity.

She tips her glass back, draining the contents, and sets it aside on the table.

“Another?” I ask, starting to rise, but she places her hand on my thigh, stilling me back into the couch.

“No. That was my second. I never have more than two when working.”

“Working? That’s hardly what this looks like to me,” I reply.

Her hand is still on my thigh, and I set my own wine glass down, sitting comfortably close. The air is warmer, and my heart races, beating so fast it may leap right out of my chest.

“In fact,” I continue. “I think I have what I need to capture you.”

Her smirk is light and delectable. Kissable. “Is that so?”

“Of course. You’re someone who needs to be lured.”

“I’m not so easily tricked.”

“I didn’t say tricked. I said lured . Into a trap of my own making.”

She chuckles, her thumb now tracing light patterns on my thigh, the heat of her skin seeping through the thin silk. “You? Trap me?” She scoffs, incredulous but still warm.

“Mm, I think I have all the pieces I need. First, an interesting book to keep you engaged, captivated. Perhaps with a warm, cozy fire.”

I trail off, her green eyes fixed on me. I’m reminded of the way she was in the baths with Tommy, with her relaxed and languid demeanor alongside her casual sensuality. She’s confident and breathtaking all at once. The air shifts between us, the air significantly warmer than it should be, the small distance between her lips and mine seemingly smaller.

“Is that all?” she asks, her voice breathy.

“Of course not. If you are the best then it takes more than a good book and cozy environment. Second, a light, exquisite wine, easy to drink but a quality vintage. Then, perhaps, a flower.”

“A flower?”

“For your hair. I never got to shower you in singing zinnias.”

Her lips part slightly, the flush in her cheeks darkening, that pretty plum against the lavender. “And then?”

“And then,” I murmur, leaning in slightly. My eyes start to close, my head tilting towards hers. “I find a way to convince you to have a third glass of wine.”

I close my eyes fully, closing the distance for the kiss when, quite unexpectedly, I find a piece of stiff parchment pressed to my nose.

I draw back, admittedly a little disappointed, to find her holding a rectangular black card with a silver leaf imprinted on it.

“My calling card.”

I take it from between her fingers and turn it over to a blank underside. Running my thumb over it, words in a silvery shimmer appear and then fade into blackness again: Atrea Silverleaf.

“Am I supposed to know this name? It’s not fake?” I ask curiously, running my thumb over the name again.

She stands in a fluid motion, twirling almost as she turns to stand next to the small table. “It is fake, but one with a reputation attached to it—a good one for procuring information and other services, depending. I always complete my contracts. I don’t break them, ever,” she explains in a matter-of-fact tone. “You need information, like who arranged for Benny’s Boys to attack your carriage? That’s something I can do.”

I stare at her, my hand with the card dropping to my lap. “Someone hired Benny’s Boys?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know for sure. But don’t you think it’s odd we didn’t run into the crownsguard? Or that they weren’t scouring the forests?”

“I hadn’t considered it.”

She scoffs, waving me off. “In any case, finding what people want hidden is my specialty.” She points to the card in a now-gloved finger. “If you need my services, talk to Tomlyn. He’ll let me know.”

I turn the card over in my hand again. “So, he could pass along correspondence, like, say, a letter?”

“Yes,” she replies carefully. “So you can hire my services.”

“Mm, of course.” I stand, tucking the card in my pocket. “Well, I thank you for offering. I’ll be sure to write.”

She stares at me. “For work.”

“For work,” I echo, smiling. Naturally I’m omitting that establishing a good relationship for such an important and delicate work is a necessity. An absolute must.

She gives me a long look before shaking her head slightly and starting to make her way towards the large windows in the room. I follow slowly as she unlatches the window and hops up, perching on the windowsill.

“Be careful, the cliffs are slippery when wet,” I advise. She merely rolls her eyes, drawing up the hood of her cowl and her black cloth mask over her nose. “I’ll be in touch,” I pause, her real name on the tip of my tongue before it vanishes like the haze from Desire’s manse. “Atrea.” I say slowly.

With her mask up, it’s hard to see her full expression, but her green eyes seem to glitter against the darkness as she chuckles. “Lure me right, Prince Ephraim, and maybe you’ll learn my name again.”

“It will be a challenge, I’m sure, but a worthy endeavor nonetheless.”

Her gaze lingers for a moment longer and then she’s gone against the black of the night without a sound. I stare out for a moment before closing the window.

Well, that was serendipitous indeed. I never expected to see Atrea, my she-wolf, here. I suppose I ought to be concerned that she broke into my quarters so handily, but I like it. It’s thrilling, right off the page in an exciting adventure. I can picture it now, the heroine sweeping the hero off his feet in a secret tryst.

With that thought in mind, I look forward to my book even more now. Perhaps I should have asked what she likes to read or if we’ve read similar titles or—

The book is no longer on the table. It’s not on the couch, the ottoman, my vanity… nowhere. Gone.

I laugh, turning out the candles and snuggling into bed. First order of business in the morning is to write a request that my book be returned within a reasonable time frame, as I had stopped before the big romance scene and would like to finish, thank you.

The second? Have Bertrand procure a bottle of Sorenya to keep in my quarters. For next time.