Penthos: The Guardian Sea

Chapter Sixteen: Ice is Just as Nice

“Ow!” screamed a familiar voice. He realized his error, removing the tip of his blade from her neck and standing, pulling her to her feet and apologizing a thousand times.

     He noticed first that she was naked. He noticed next that her hair was damp and smelled of minerals and bats and cave rock. He stopped midsentence and cocked an eyebrow, breaking the no-emotion rule of the Guard. “Princess, where have you been off to?” he asked, a suspicious tone in his voice.

     Arielle bent down to resume her task of picking up her dress and buttoning her body back into it. “What’s it to you, fresh meat?”

     “What did you just call me?”

     “You heard me.”

     Jarissein growled. Serapheme had told her that Arielle would behave this way toward him, as a figure of authority. She was on the verge of being irritating. “I,” he said slowly, trying to regain his slipping composure, “am your personal Guard. You will tell me where you’ve been or I will report this to your mother, the queen!”

     “Do it,” she said in a bored voice, shrugging as she ran fingers through her long hair.

     He growled again, sheathing his sword with unnecessary force. “I asked where you’ve been, dammit!”

     She shrugged, smoothing down her skirt. “Swimming,” she said simply. “Is that against the rules now too? Sorry, I guess I didn’t get the memo.” She took on a tone similar to Germaine’s as she spoke.

     Jarissein grabbed her by the arm and pulled her after him a step. Then he saw the black and purple clothes at her feet. His heart sank in his chest harder and faster than a diving hawk, his gut churning as he put two and two together.

She couldn’t have, not with him. She’s too perfect. She’s a princess. She . . . and him?! He could barely begin to understand what she saw in him, that sadistic bastard.

     He closed his eyes, trying to keep back the tears that threatened to burn through his eyelids and pour down his cheeks. He recited the Oath in his mind, swearing to never feel anything for the princess again. Then, he held on to her arm with a ferocity that had never ripped itself from him before now, dragging her back to the palace.

“ARIELLE PENTHOSEREN, YOU ARE TO NEVER LEAVE YOUR ROOM AGAIN!” Serapheme threw her hands into the air dramatically, her face turning red and a vein in her neck pulsing with anger. She growled and paced back and forth. Jhordyn glanced back at the Guard. Even without looking it, Jhordyn could tell he was proud of what he’d done to get Arielle in trouble.

     Jhordyn pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Staying silent seemed the best option to him at the moment. Once Fi-fi was in a rage, she wouldn’t come out of it until she’d said what she wanted to say. If he tried to calm her, she would only become angrier. Unfortunately, his accused daughter had developed the same fiery temper.

     “I have done NOTHING wrong! You prove it! I dare you!” Arielle stood with her hands clenched in fists, her face as red as her mother’s, her elongated canines pressing into her pale pink lips, drawing a little blood. Her demon teeth had a habit of doing that when she was angry, he noticed. Jhordyn sighed. She was as much a mutt—what demons often called each other for their mixed heritage—as he was. Serapheme was of a pureblooded dragon line, the only one of them left in the Realm that wasn’t part of the Narientel family. It was times like these when he questioned if his mixed bloodline was worthy of governing the vast ocean Realm.

     Jhordyn waved a hand at his wife, signaling his exit. He left them to their argument, entering the corridor. Jarissein followed. “So,” the king began, “you really think my little girl would succumb to the Narientel’s persuasive manner?”