Heiress of the Sea

Chapter 21

WARNING TO FAN GIRLS: SCANDALOUS CONTENT.  PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

(And no I don't mean icky stuff.  We keep it PG-13 here, people).

The Autumn's Feast was a gathering held at the palace for the God's sons, where seasonal game was enjoyed, along with conversation and drink. Soren stopped by my chambers that morning to officially invite me as his fianceé, and of course, I was quick to accept—not too eagerly, of course.

He would be there, Lazarus would be there, and all of the sons of the Gods would be there. As Lazarus had pointed out the previous night, it was the perfect opportunity to catch attention.

I spent the morning with my sister, bringing her things to eat and asking servants to gather seawater for her. She was making a quick recovery from her near-death experience escaping the Sea Kingdom, and was able to speak enthusiastically with me for the majority of the morning.

Unfortunately, she was aware of the prophecy I was meant to fulfill—and she wanted to know all the details.

"So," she coughed, choking down gulps of seawater in between laughs. "You and King Soren...?"

I nodded, rolling my eyes. "You can say it."

"You're sleeping together?"

I shook my head feverishly. "What? No."

"You mean not yet."

"Don't be a pervert, Laena," I growled, shooting her a glare.

All she did was click her tongue. "I wish I could see the two of you together...the way you look at each other. Then I'd know for sure if you're just denying it...which I think you are."

"I can promise you it hasn't gone farther than...," I muttered, stopping mid-sentence as my mind trailed off to the kisses in the forest the previous day, and the ones before that in the tent. I blushed just at the flashback.

"I can tell you love him," Laena murmured, reaching out to take my hand. "Triton knew you would."

"Why?" I asked.

She shrugged. "He just knows those things."

"Yeah," I grumbled, internally admitting that Triton was able to predict and pick up on different likelihoods. "He does."

~

Nela and Cleo were ecstatic this time when I confessed that I was over my days of wearing my precious leather boots to formal gatherings and would, this time around, succumb to the societal pressure on females to wear pokey, horribly painful shoes.

I did need the height, unfortunately.

I curled my locks into big, soft curls, lined my eyes and darkened my eyelashes—begrudgingly—because I knew that I needed to do something to earn attention, even if I was taking the more scandalous route.

As for my gown...well, it was bright red, and mostly lace, with a hem that stopped a few inches above my knees and a plunging neckline that led to a tightly cinched waist. With the dress, I wore a pair of black high heels that made me want to snap my own neck when I attempted to walk in them, but had to say, as I examined myself in the mirror, did a good job of making me look a bit like an adult woman.

Still, I absolutely abhorred high heels.

As per usual, I heard a familiar knock on the door of my chambers and recognized it as Lazarus.