Page 39 of In Rising Tides

Drystan was giddy with excitement, which was astonishing, given that mere minutes ago he had been furious enough to threaten murder.

He was beyond volatile.

A pendulum swinging from one extreme to the next.

Lyra arched an eyebrow. “If you had something worth responding to, I might consider it,” she replied.

There, let that put an end to it.

But his booming laugh startled her.

It echoed all around them, carried by the ever-churning water.

He threw his head back, and his chest vibrated beneath the breastplate. He was enjoying this too much.

With a powerful whip of his emerald tail, Drystan threw himself into her path and halted them at the same time.

“I know you think of me as a monster,” he began.

She studied her nails to keep from looking into his eyes.

He was too close to her, and it made her uncomfortable. She could never tell if he was going to kiss her or hurt her, but that uncertainty didn’t stop her from replying to his remark.

“Actually, I don’t think of you at all.”

His reaction was immediate as he shot a hand out to grab her chin.

Lyra surged backwards to keep him from touching her, but she had forgotten he was a warrior—a quick one.

Drystan snaked an arm low around her back and pulled her body against his.

“You think your snarky words give you power?” he murmured into her ear.

She could hear the clank of armor behind them from Fang and Angler.

At least there would be a witness to his cruelty if he hurt her. She didn’t think for one second they would intervene, but if Drystan ever lost his position, it would be yet another strike against him.

“I think it reminds you who I am,” she shot back.

Drystan tilted his head, his eyes devouring hers as they flared with delight.

“I knowexactlywho you are.”

His thumb rubbed circles against her flesh, and Lyra’s spine stiffened.

His touch always felt demanding, never tender and adoring, just a reminder that in the eyes of their society she belonged to him.

It made her skin crawl, knowing she had no real power here. Other than the magic that still dwelled dormant in her chest, there was nothing she could do or say to keep him from taking what he wanted.

“Your Majesty,” a feminine voice called from the other end of the hall.

The voice dragged Lyra from her thoughts. She knew that voice, but couldn’t quite place it.

Drystan leaned away from Lyra, but kept a firm grip on her arm.

“Vanora,” Drystan called.

Vanora.