Page 5 of Prima
At Dragon Gate, when he was given the edict concerning vessel size and weapons of war prohibition, he was told—much to his astonishment—that an envoy would meet with him when it was his turn. He was then promptly stripped of all communication devices and couldn’t have found out anything about the envoy’s identity, let alone her tastes and preferences.
“I can only chalk it up to a happy coincidence. These jackfruit mooncakes happen to be what my cook prepared for my journey.”
Although his cook makes these year-round, not just for the Mid-Autumn Festival. And come to think of it, six years ago, when he was finally well enough to return home from the hospital, they—along with a pile of layered scallion flatbreads—were what his cook brought to the table.
I used to like these? he asked, a little astonished. Has he ever cared for sweet things?
Yes, Your Highness. You enjoyed them often and sometimes made them yourself—the mooncake and the flatbread.
Again, Lady Sun seems to both like and dislike his response, her expression a strange mix of upturned lip corners and a grimace.
Does she feel as off-balance as he? He can’t get their conversation to flow where he needs it to. Is she having some similar yet inverted difficulties?
What does she want from him?
Why is she here at all?
In the window behind her, the last vestige of sunset has disappeared. Against the darkness that now cloaks the waves, the windowpane reflects a half-moon of exposed skin on her back—and more distantly, his features, schooled in a stoic endurance that he does not feel in the very least.
He feels like a piece of paper caught in a windstorm, blown every which way.
“But we digress,” she says after a moment. “Prince Nineteen, what I really want to know is how well you know your brother, the aspirant to the Crown. And before you answer, know this: In sending you here, Prince Five has made a gift of you. You are now mine to do with as I wish.”
ChapterTwo
Ten years ago
The girl lurks below the surface.
Given the curvature of the earth, on the open sea, the horizon is only five kilometers away in any given direction—the limit of visibility. But in the water her senses cover a much greater radius. In the water she “sees” the pod of dolphins twenty klicks away and the school of mackerel they are chasing. She “hears” the sway and dance of a kelp forest even farther out. And she feels the soft repose of the great orca that is never more than three kilometers away from the tri-hull almost directly above her.
The boat has not tried to approach her raft—it has not even come close. It only trails her just beyond the horizon.
But she doesn’t want a tail, not even a polite and seemingly considerate one.
The Grand Tour requirement exists because New Ryukyu wants its leaders to prove themselves resourceful and adaptable—and to have seen and experienced something of the wider world. The successful completion of a Grand Tour, however, relies in no small part on the vagaries of fortune. Which might be something else her realm is looking for, leaders who have that element of luck on their side.
Her luck has held so far. All the way to Lion City, the furthest point on her itinerary, her trip was practically incident-free. Subsequently, she did lose her boat off the coast of the Southern Continent—her raft was the emergency escape vehicle—but it was a worthy sacrifice: She rescued the grandson of General Duval, leader of the Offshore Coalition and a staunch ally to New Ryukyu, from a passel of warlords.
To evade retaliation by the warlords, however, she was forced to sail much farther east than she would have liked. To return home on time, she had to cut through a corner of Risshva, and now the same with Dawan.
She’s so close. Two more days and Dragon Gate will be in sight. Can she get rid of her tail with a bribe or will she need to incapacitate the vessel? It has lowered its sails and drifts with the currents—possibly to keep pace with her raft, which drifts a few klicks ahead. If she wants to, she can sink it without warning—but a vengeful orca, if the orca is bonded to those in the boat, might prove inconvenient. No need to create an enemy when a problem can be solved by a transaction.
She is still pondering her options as she breaks the surface.
A crescent moon hangs low, so dim it’s barely visible. The stars, however, are legion, bright enough to cast shadows. The air is warm—the air is always warm in the tropics—the sea flat and even. The tri-hull looks a bit flimsy, but from the way water flows past its main keel, she suspects that it’s of a hydrofoil design and able to achieve sailing speeds that greatly exceed its apparent hull speed.
A figure emerges on deck—that’s fast. She’s sure that she hasn’t made any sounds that could be heard above the sea nudging the boat along. The figure, that of a shirtless young man, ambles a few steps toward the stern, a harpoon in hand, his gaze already locked upon her.
He is beautiful, coolly, austerely so, his tumble of shoulder-length hair frosted with starlight. She forgets to breathe. Ah, what lovely asphyxiation, this sweet agony in her chest.
She smiles at him. Her smiles rarely fail to have an effect on boys; even boys who don’t like girls that way smile back and want to be her friends. The boy looming above her, however, only frowns. Is his night vision not as good as hers, or does she make for a less-than-ravishing sight, with just her head above water, her hair plastered to her face?
She floats higher, so that her shoulders and the rise of her breasts are exposed, draws a strand of hair across her lips, and bats her eyelashes. “Sir, I—I may be lost. Do you think you can help me?”
His lips part slightly—she hears the breath he lets out. His gaze sweeps lower before it comes to rest on her face again. “Mermaids are not allowed in these parts.”
She laughs at his unexpected response. Alas, the cataclysmic changes that destroyed the world that once was produced only a few individuals with Sea Sense and not a single siren. “I’m not a mermaid.”
