These Gilded Seas

Chapter Twenty-Three: Dreams and Panic Attacks

After tucking the paper back into my bag and hiding that away under my covers, I change out of my soaked uniform and crawl into bed. Sleep is easy to find among the peaceful snoring of the other ladies. But even there, the prince finds me.

In my dream, I'm standing ankle-deep in water on some beach outside Lykke, overlooking the ocean. White foam laps at my legs as the sand sucks me down. The heavy salt hanging in the air smells like home and clogs my senses. Seagulls chitter around me.

On the horizon, there's a single black ship, its Anjordian flag billowing in the wind. Several dark figures stand out against the blue background as they work aboard. Their voices are caught in the waves between us and lost forever.

Slowly, the ship starts to turn towards the shoreline. It's then that I recognize the largest of the silhouettes, the one standing on the bow like a figurehead. His hands are perched on his hips as he balances one leg on the railing. With his hair tied back in a tiny bun, Prince Eero stares across the ocean, looking at me with a burning intensity. His blue eyes devour every inch of distance between us like it doesn't even exist.

My magic flares to life, warming up jellyfish in my stomach. I let its golden fingertips pull at the water and draw Eero's ship closer. A smile breaks across the prince's face as he waves at me.

I've never seen him smile like that—at least, not at me—and it makes my stomach do an uncomfortable flip. Why? What is this fluttering emotion?

I swallow back a touch of nausea as the ship docks. Now's not the time to be weak. I have a job to do, and I can't second-guess myself again.

While Eero strides off the ship, I reach down and pull my dagger out of its makeshift holster.

He walks down the dock.

Through the merchant stalls.

Across the sand.

Straight towards me.

This is my chance.

I tighten my grip on the blade and hold my breath. I have to do this. The magic in me swells, crescendoing to a pinnacle, but I bite it down. She won't stop me this time; I need to get it over with.

Then Eero stops in front of me. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, and they glitter where they run down the bridge of his nose. For a moment, his skin and white shirt are covered in the sparkling diamonds. I hesitate, shocked by the breathtaking sight of him.

I open my mouth—to say what, I don't know—but Eero reaches down and runs a hand along my face, so I slowly let it close again. His touch is feather-light, as if he's afraid I might break if he presses too hard. Like I'm sea glass. I freeze and focus on the way his hand feels—calloused along his fingers but soft in the palm.

In one massive step, Eero crosses the distance between us, and his hand drops onto my shoulder. He holds me in place, gazing down at me with his trademark infuriating smirk.

"I missed you, rød fisk," he whispers, and before I can even think to argue, his lips crash into mine.

My first instinct is to push away. Something isn't right. This can't happen. I have a dagger hidden behind my back, ready to kill this man.

But he tastes like the ocean. Like salt and sweat and sun and home. He's so gentle and soft and warm.

How can this be wrong?

I lean into his chest, into letting him hold me, into all the jellyfish tingles that his hands evoke.

But then the warmth starts to dissipate. The magic in my stomach retreats at the Divine burrows deeper into safety. Without her warmth, I can feel the biting cold of dark and evil magic.