Page 124 of I Summon the Sea

“With the king’s help, huh? Is that how he controls you? How is he pulling your strings?”

“Don’t… make it into anything else than what it is.” He grunts, lifting one hand to rub at his neck where that bruise I’ve noticed before lingers. “The king needs Phaethon. He’s only helping me silence the howling.”

“Hecontrolsyou.”

“I need his fucking help,” he snarls. “I can’t do it on my own. I do my best, but it’s not enough. Without the king’s help, I’ll lose the last of my sanity, and all hope will be lost, too.”

“And how doyoucontrol Phaethon? Tell me.”

His face spasms, the black on his cheekbones shifting again, but he growls under his breath, and more blood trickles out of his mouth. “With pain.”

I retreat a step, both physically and mentally, moving sideways against the wall. “What?”

“Dammit, Rae, I’m trusting you so you can trust me back. I need you to tell me who you are, because I think I might have gone crazy already.” His voice drops and something darker than the dark flashes in his eyes. “I’ve been in love with a dead girl for so long, and then you show up, and I feel… cut right open. Where did you come from? How? How did you appear in the middle of the fucking swamps asking to be taken onto the barge, and why join the games?—?”

I lift my hand and shake my head. I can’t reply to those questions.

His jaw clenches. “Rae?—”

“What is the king giving you?” I ask more softly. “Drugs? Or did he put a spell on you to keep Phaethon in check? How is the king helping you?”

“You still don’t trust me,” he breathes.

“You are the king’s right-hand man,” I say softly. “He adopted you. He’s like a father to you.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried to end him?” His voice rises, hoarse and hard. “But every time…” Blood starts dripping from his nose. He winces and wipes at it with the back of his hand. “Dammit, Rae.”

“Tell me. Talk to me.”

He shakes his head. Maybe, like me, he’s wondering how we went from kissing and making out to throwing barbs at one another. “We have a plan.”

“Who is we?”

“I fucking can’t…” He lets out a long breath. He lifts a hand, as if to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear before rethinking it. “Come to my room. Here the walls have ears. I need to know who you are, why your eyes look familiar, why I’m so drawn to you. Come with me, and we will talk.”

That’s a bad idea, yet it makes sense. I also want to know more, and from the corner of my eye, I see a servant hurrying by. We can’t quite discuss regicide in an open corridor. We’re too exposed.

Iam too exposed—a human contestant dallying with the King’s Sword instead of attending the ball and speaking with an oddly resonant voice about murder.

Nothing suspicious here at all.

He’s watching me from under the thick fringe of his dark lashes, his gaze so warm and unsettling, a door I want to open, a gate I want to cross, a pull that persists despite the fear and doubt.

From the high planes of his marked cheekbones to the thick slabs of muscles on his chest and arms, from the chiseled jaw and soft mouth to the hard lines of that tall body, from the secrets and mystery, the power he wields and the pain that governs him, the sympathy and answering ache he elicits in me for him…everythingabout him is calling me.

I want it all, the dark crescents of weariness under his eyes, the glint lighting them that seems like hope, the memory of all the times he managed to save my ass in these past three days… the hint of that sweetness and the sheer amount of bitterness in his kiss.

I want to understand. Understand why I’m so drawn to him, and what he means with all these riddles.

He reaches out his hand, and I place mine against his rough palm. A zing goes through me at the contact, as his fingers close over mine, resonating through my entire body.

“Come with me,” he says again, and this time I nod.

Just to talk.

Figure this out.

Even if the look in his eyes makes me want more.

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