Page 122 of In Rising Tides

Aegir swam from side to side across the dais.

The crowd followed him with their eyes. He put on quite a show, stroking his jaw and looking unsettled.

“I’ve been thinking long and hard about a way to heal our kingdom. To navigate us out of the path of so many disasters. But I fear that I have failed this congregation,” he said, with polished lament. There were shouts of denial, and Aegir bowed his head. “It is not enough that we observe the tides and punish the wicked—if we are being led by one.”

The words rippled around them. Was he truly condemning them and twisting it as concern? They were natural disasters, not a punishment.

“Our kingdom awaits the accession of an unwed prince and a mermaid who lived with elves.” He drew the words out like he was drawing a bow and knocking an arrow.

Drystan ground his teeth. It was uncommonly loud, as if he had taken a fistful of shells and crunched down on them.

Aegir continued, blissfully unaware of the wrath he was incurring behind him.

“Our king is still not crowned, and such delinquency could lead to the destabilization of our very kingdom.”

The attention of those gathered shifted from Aegir to Drystan. Varied expressions on the faces of nobility ranged from confusion to anger.

It appeared that not all knew that Drystan hadn’t been crowned yet, not until he took her hand in marriage.

How extraordinarily bold of the Tidal Master to throw a gauntlet of challenge so unhindered by the thought of its consequences.

Drystan’s face was eerily calm and still before it cracked into his rendition of the happiest of smiles.

“If that is the solution you found for us to be free of Ennosidas wrath, then I am very pleased I can put our people at ease,” Drystan announced, his hand still gripping Lyra’s as he propelled them forward, closer to the edge of the dais. “Our wedding …”

Lyra’s knuckles turned white against his as she squeezed his hand in warning.

Don’t.

Drystan’s eyes flashed with warning as he shifted his grin-turned-grimace on her.

“Has a date at last!”

The crowd erupted with cheers and whistles of congratulation. Lyra’s left eye twitched with irritation as she scowled at him.

“Master your face,” he hissed, raising their conjoined hands above their heads. “Or he will win.”

Lyra slid her attention over to a carefully quiet Aegir who wasn’t close enough to hear the exchange, but studied them with the same kind of ferocity that a sobek displayed during an attack.

She hated Drystan, but her loathing of Aegir was quickly becoming its equal.

It was hard to breathe, being between two males she would like to see dead and in front of a kingdom whose favor changed quicker than the tides.

Instinctively, she reached inward toward her magic, just to ensure that it was still there, still viable.

The throbbing behind her eyes intensified.

The dim light in the room became brighter, painfully so. Sounds were sharper, grating on every fiber of her being.

The light tunneled, and she felt a heaviness pulling down on her arms and tail.

“Drystan,” she hissed, hoping he could hear her over the excitement. “Help.”

Her body swayed, her tail brushing against his, drawing his attention to her.

His eyes widened before he cleared his throat.

“Tidal Master,” Drystan said calmly. “I’m afraid the sacred energy has overcome my bride. Please commence the ceremony in our absence.”