Page 68 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea
The stranger who had pulled her from the water and immediately found something for her to cover herself with. Who had carried her despite his own exhaustion. Who had offered her a safe place to stay.
The man who had introduced her to his friends, never minding that she could barely walk and spoke not a word of his language.
The friend who had made her part of his world. Who had laughed with her after being soaked in the rain. Who had risked everything to help her family.
Who had fought his way back to her, even injured and in pain.
A sob escaped as she pictured the way his hazel eyes crinkled when he laughed. The sun shining on his curly hair. His quiet strength, which he offered her when she needed it. His lean, strong hands that he’d used to find a way to speak with her. The way his face lit up when he noticed her enter a room.
The way he had wanted to kiss her.
The tears came at last, hot and drowning. She rolled onto her side, burying her face in the pillow. Sobs wracked her until she couldn’t breathe. And the familiar ache tightened ever so slightly around her heart, reminding her she wasn’t alone.
Arickclosedtheheavydoor on the flurry of preparations and schooled his features to hide his own swirling thoughts.
The central hall held the usual mix of nobles and visiting dignitaries. Guests were already starting to arrive for the ball in a few hours, and servants passed around trays of light refreshments, a teaser of what would come later during the formal supper. Banners in the kingdom’s blue, green, and gold tartan hung from the balcony railings, and garlands of ivy and summer blooms wrapped the columns in cheerful defiance of the storms that had plagued the coastal city.
Arick kept his head down as he crossed the hall. A bath and a few hours of rest had soothed the worst of his exhaustion but not his thoughts. After a brief conversation with Thomas, he had set out to find the king. Thomas had wanted to join him, but his steward had insisted the prince needed longer to prepare for the ball, seeing as it was in his honor.
The king hadn’t been in his private chambers, so Arick sought him in the more public offices. But to get there, he had to pass through the central hall. Exhaustion still tugged at him, but he needed to talk to his uncle as soon as possible. He passed a guard, refusing to make eye contact lest the man shout for his arrest. What would his punishment be for freeing the merfolk? MacIsaac and his cronies had made their stance clear, but King Craig had been tight-lipped on the topic.
Either way, Arick was prepared to face the consequences. He’d gone against the council, so there was every chance they would imprison him for it. He only hoped his uncle would take pity on him and allow him one last night with Sorcha before locking him away. One last chance to break her curse.
Tightness wrapped around Arick’s chest, but he no longer resented it. It was a welcome reminder that Sorcha was nearby. He adjusted his path so as not to cause her extra discomfort and turned down the corridor to the council chambers, the bustle of the hall fading behind him. A servant with an empty tray was just leaving the receiving room beside the main chambers, so Arick quickened his steps to catch the door before it swung shut. Upon seeing the occupant of the room, he sought to slip out again without being noticed, but it was too late.
“Arick! Come here, lad,” the rotund Lord Beattie called out to him, scone crumbs flying as he beckoned with a hand full of his snack.
Groaning inwardly, Arick stepped back into the room, schooling his face to not betray his eagerness to leave. “Lord Beattie, how are you today?”
“Good, I’m good,” he said, pausing briefly to stuff the scone into his mouth as more crumbs dusted the front of his well-adorned jacket. “You’re just the man I wanted to see.”
Arick folded his hands behind his back and adopted the relaxed but attentive stance he’d learned in the navy. But inside, his thoughts churned. This was wasting time when he had so little of it left with Sorcha. “Why is that, sir?”
“Well, I was hoping you’d have an answer for us today. We haven’t got much time left, you know.”
Arick took a deep breath to control his impatience. He didn’t have time to rehash this argument. “I believe I made my answer perfectly clear already. I will not commit treason by taking my cousin’s throne.”
“I can understand where you’re coming from. You love the boy. And MacIsaac — well, I can’t blame you for getting a stick up your spine around him. The man does the same to me by times. But you have to look at the facts. Thomas’s recent attempt at convincing the council that merfolk exist is a clear indication that he’s not ready to be king.”
Arick opened his mouth to protest, but Beattie waved him off. “Let me finish my points before you argue.” He helped himself to another scone, smearing liberal amounts of clotted cream and jam on it before taking a massive bite. A glob of jam stuck to his beard. “Where was I? Oh yes. Young Thomas. You were there. Even with your help, he could barely finish his speech, and, well…the council ripped him to shreds, didn’t it? Is that what you want for him for the rest of his life? Wouldn’t it be kinder if you stepped in? Saved him from all that?”
Arick shifted his feet. Seeing Thomas humiliated like that had been hard to watch. He’d give a lot to ensure that never happened again.
“Ah, I can see it on your face. You know I’m right. You can do some real good. The people respect you. And without the stress of the crown, Thomas may even thrive. Spend more time with his animals. He’s a good lad; I’m not denying it. But he’s not ready to be king.”
Arick dragged a hand over his face. He’d tried so hard to help Sorcha. They’d stopped the storms, yet she was still a human, still in pain. If he couldn’t save the woman he loved, maybe he could help his cousin instead. Maybe doing something would ease the helplessness clawing at his chest.
He shifted his weight, rolling the idea around in his mind. Could he do more good if he took on the role of crown prince? More than as an advisor? More than Thomas could?
Beattie slurped the last of his tea. “Look, I won’t push you to give me an answer right now. But you need to decide. The coronation is tomorrow. The king will need to know before then.”
He lumbered out of the room, humming to himself, and shut the door behind him.
Leaving Arick alone.
With his thoughts.
And that was the worst possible thing he could have done.
