Chapter Tides of Torment: Prologue

It had happened. Travion had finally agreed to marry. After centuries of avoiding a union, and several more propositions, he’d decided it was time to wed. Not because the kingdom expected it of him, or because he needed an heir—his nephew Kian had been named heir long ago. Rather, his attention had been snagged by a certain Ferox daughter.

Sereia.

Amusingly enough, he knew her from a failed offer to Ruan, his eldest nephew. And the female was so daring, she’d sneak into Travion’s courtyard to practice sword fighting. Never once approaching him. As if he didn’t know.

So, when Lady Ferox approached him with hope gleaming in her eyes, he accepted the arrangement. Which was why he was currently standing before a tall mirror with his valet fussing with his overcoat.

Evun whistled a bawdy tune, one about taking a willing gent into a dark alley to have his way with them. Pointed ears peeked through a mop of sandy brown curls, and his clever green eyes stood out against his dusky complexion.

“Your Grace, I daresay your betrothed won’t be able to contain herself,” Evun purred, lowering his thick lashes.

Travion narrowed his eyes. Somehow he doubted that, for he’d seen defiance spark in Sereia’s eyes when she didn’t know he was watching her. “Something tells she won’t be able to contain herself either.” He chuckled, but Evun didn’t seem to catch on to his meaning, which was just as well.

Travion glanced over at his reflection again. He wore a pair of black breeches and a linen long-sleeved shirt. Over it, a deep navy overcoat with silver embroidery hugged his lean frame, and around his shoulders hung a navy cape, clasped by a silver knot.

In his reflection, he saw flashes of Ludari—his father—staring back at him. The turned-up nose, auburn hair, and chiseled jaw. He inwardly flinched and cast his eyes away. His father still haunted his dreams, and his waking hours, with what he’d forced Travion to do in the Lucem palace dungeons. He could still hear Draven’s screams, as if they were occurring at that very moment.

No matter if he let his‌ hair grow down to his chin or cropped it closer to his head, he still resembled his father too much for his liking. Thankfully, a smattering of freckles gave him a playful appearance, especially when he smirked. A gift from his mother.

“If I may, Your Grace,” Evun interrupted his turbulent thoughts. “Perhaps let her see this evening. Put aside the crown for an evening and be yourself.”

Travion grimaced and shook his head.

A son of one of the originals, tormented by the past, who drank a little too much at times to escape the ghosts of his youth. “I don’t think that is in anyone’s best interest, Evun.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” He patted Travion’s shoulder. “Good luck this evening.” Evun tilted his head, smiling, before he left the room.

Midniva’s castle rested on a cliffside, overlooking the sea and the rest of the capital city—Caithaird. In the evenings, Travion enjoyed the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below and the crooning of seals as they settled on the beach.

Beneath the castle, a long, winding road wove along the coast. Regrettably, travel was rough after a rather icy winter. But there was no other way to travel to Ferox manor, and so Travion would have to endure, and possibly swear a blue streak or two.

“By the sea!” Travion growled as one bump sent him sliding off his seat and into Finn. His guard steadied him by the shoulders, arching a pale brow in question, but remained silent as Travion settled back onto the cushioned bench. If he was going to be tossed about so violently, he would have preferred it be in the middle of the ocean. But alas, his coachman didn’t give a damn.

Finn was an impressive fae who stood two heads higher than Travion. He made Travion appear short and deficient in muscle, and was just as lethal with a sword. Nearly two hundred years ago, Travion had witnessed Finn in one of the kingdom’s tournaments, and the young lord had won the entire event undefeated. It was that as well as his family’s good standing with Travion that had made him enlist Finn into the royal guard.

When push came to shove, he trusted Finn with his life.

As the carriage traveled farther into the city, the roar of the waves against the cliffside faded until there was nothing but salt in the air, mingling with fresh blooms. A far cry from the aroma of the changing tides.

Even in the carriage, Travion could see the orange-and-red-tinted sky. Soon, the crescent moon would replace its counterpart, shedding a soft glow on the middle realm.

Finally, they rolled up to an expansive marble manor with a quaint pond in the front yard. It reminded him more of the homes in Lucem than the houses of Midniva.

Other partygoers had exited their carriages and were entering the manor, eyeing the ensemble of guards outside. A safety precaution that was set in place by none other than Finn.

Travion leaned forward, his gaze shifting from the window to his guard. “Remind me why I thought this was a good idea?”

Finn snorted, then cleared his throat. “I don’t believe you ever thought it was a .” He shrugged, then ducked his head to peer out the window. “And in truth, if you wanted a way out, you could still escape.”

Travion narrowed his eyes. “And say what, that I was overcome by vapors?” He dragged a hand down his face, groaning. “No. I agreed to this.” He steeled himself, schooling his features into his typical small smirk and guarded eyes. “It’s time,” he grumbled before pushing open the door.

Guards bowed and inclined their heads as he passed but otherwise remained rigid and focused as Travion strolled by and into the manor. At once, he was met with the scent of sandalwood incense and the mouthwatering aroma of freshly cooked food.

As he strode forward, the guests scrambled to bow or curtsy, and even the herald had little time to announce his arrival. Travion had other matters to attend to this evening and couldn’t linger and chat.

A panicked Lady Ferox rushed forward, bobbing a curtsy. “Your Majesty! Thank you for agreeing to this. Come, come, let’s talk in private a little before the announcement.” Her ebony hair was pinned back, showcasing her sandalwood skin and green eyes.

From the corner of his eye, Travion saw someone approaching swiftly. He glanced in the male’s direction and realized it was Lord Ferox. Unlike his wife, his skin was pale and his eyes as dark as night. There was a certain ferocity in his gaze that reminded him of his betrothed.

“Shall we?” Travion motioned for them to lead the way.

The Feroxes cut through the throng of guests, passing the banquet table, which was laid out with a giant roasted goose, several other delectable goodies, and most notably, an oversized bowl of punch.

“Please bring some drinks to the sitting room,” Lady Ferox ordered a servant as she brushed by and entered the room. Sconces lit the dark blue room, lending it a cozy appearance.

At the threshold, Travion laid his hand against Finn’s chest. “Remain outside and see to it we aren’t disturbed. Unless someone is bringing drinks.”

“I might need one after tonight,” Finn murmured.

Travion tilted his head back to glare up at him. “Aren’t you opinionated this evening?” He pushed away and entered the room, but before he shut the door, the servant returned with a tray of silver goblets.

The female placed them on a table, then left, shutting the door and blocking out the slow whine of a violin.

Travion scooped a drink up, taking a generous sip of plum wine.

“I know we’ve discussed most of the matters, but is there anything you’d like to ask before the announcement?” Lord Ferox prompted.

There was one thing. All fae were born with an affinity, and it didn’t matter what their parents’ talents were, their abilities were unique to themselves. While knowing didn’t make or break this union, it would help him navigate the waters with her.

“What is Sereia’s affinity?” He ran his thumb along the engraved side of the goblet, watching them closely.

The Feroxes shared a look, then said in unison, “Water.”

“Her most impressive ability is breathing underwater,” Lady Ferox supplied. She pursed her lips and glanced down at the floor. “Your Majesty, may I just add . . . there is a slight chance that Sereia may push back on this agreement.”

From what he’d seen of Sereia, he was counting on it. But he was curious about the maiden, who’d bested many of his swordsmen and who would consider denying the king her hand.

“I won’t take a bride against her will, Lady Ferox. If she hasn’t warmed up to me in three months’ time, our agreement is void.” He took a generous sip from his goblet, arching a brow in hopes the lady didn’t argue with him.

She swallowed, nodding her head in understanding.

Lord Ferox, however, pressed on. “But surely—”

“But surely you aren’t implying I should take your daughter hostage?” His eyes narrowed, waiting for them to continue. To argue that he capture their daughter because the union would bring wealth to their family. Politically and financially.

Thankfully, for their sake, the argument never came.

Lady Ferox placed a hand on her chest. “Before you seek her out, there is something my daughters have prepared for you.”

“I look forward to it,” he murmured, bowing his head before he spun on his heel and left the room.

Finn glanced down at him, his eyes widening a fraction as if to say, “I’m not going to run,” he ground out, then strode down the dimly lit hall and into the open room, which was thoroughly alive with laughing guests.

Crystal lamps sparkled in the bright room, and the heady scent of alcohol swept around Travion, prompting him to drain his goblet. He eagerly made his way to the table, refilling his drink as the harps made a screeching noise.

Players beat against skin drums; fiddles whined along to the tempo as flutes tittered.

Travion strode to the edge of the dance floor, knowing that a dance had been prepared for him. Idly, he wondered if Sereia would be among them, or if she’d snuck out the back of the manor. The lights flickered as the Ferox daughters sprang through a darkened doorway, barefoot, with their hair tumbling down their backs. Three of the sisters Travion recognized at once: the same ones that had been thrust toward him several years ago. One he didn’t know, and one stood out above all of them.

Sereia.

Her skin was the softer hue of her mother’s sandalwood complexion, but her eyes were a stark blue, and they were currently cutting through the crowd to glare at him. Perhaps it should have insulted him, but Travion laughed.

The sisters spun, grasping one another by the arm, only to leap toward another sister. At once, they all rushed forward, pushing everyone in the crowd back except for Travion, and they formed a circle around him.

His eyes never left Sereia and, much to his delight, her gaze remained on him.

The dance ended as they tumbled to the floor, breathless, and then the sisters went their separate ways. Except for Sereia.

Finn leaned down and whispered, “The nobles are chattering about a betrothal. That didn’t take long.”

“It never does.” The only issue with everyone knowing was if this agreement didn’t work out, the Feroxes would have a great deal to overcome in the eyes of Midnivian society.

“By the sea,” Travion grumbled, shoving his half-empty goblet toward Finn. “Don’t lose this, I’m going to need it.” He crossed the room, and the guests parted for him. He felt rather than saw every eye on him because he was proving the rumors to be true.

The fiddlers started playing a slow song, and the couples started edging their way toward the middle of the room once again.

Travion sauntered up beside Sereia, taking in the gauzy powder-blue fabric that clung to her curvy figure like a second skin. She looked like a daughter of Lucem, not Midniva. He cocked his head as she looked up at him. “You’re a wonderful dancer.” She looked at him through thick, dark lashes, and his heart galloped. He’d been with plenty of beautiful males and females, but Sereia’s was the sort of beauty that could stop anyone in their tracks. There was also an undeniable intelligence swirling in her eyes that Travion wanted to tap into.

“Since we are to be married, will you give me the pleasure of a dance?” Travion didn’t reach for her hand, but he offered a challenging look, lifting his brows and grinning.

Every one of her muscles seemed as taut as a bowstring, like she was readying to dart out the nearest door or window. Not in fear but defiance. She clearly didn’t want to be here.

“If I must,” she said through clenched teeth.

Travion chuckled, but if he gave her a way out, perhaps she’d back away. “If you’re too tired . . .”

Her brow furrowed. “I can manage.”

“Good enough.” He offered his hand, and she took it. Travion led her to the middle of the room, and the couples who had stepped onto it quickly dashed to the side.

Sereia stared up at him, perhaps trying to read him, but she wouldn’t have an easy time of that because this was not the time to decipher him. Now was the time to dance.

He pulled her in closer, until her body brushed against his. Selfishly, he wished she were like her sisters, flinging herself at him, willing to do whatever he wished. Because he’d capture her full lips between his that very moment.

The pace of the current song was too slow, aimed at the couples already on the floor, but Travion wanted something that would push him and Sereia to their limits.

“We are not here to slowly turn about!” Travion raised his voice, cutting through the party. “Play something livelier!”

At once, a bow dragged across the strings in a low, teasing tone, then quickened until it became a heart-pounding tune.

Travion stepped closer to Sereia, grinning from ear to ear. “I truly hope you can keep up.”

Sereia’s eyes widened, then she scoffed. “We will see who can keep up with who.”

His arm slid around her waist, and he led her across the floor. It was no surprise when she initially fought against his lead, attempting to pull him in a different direction, but Travion remained steady in his stride.

Sereia’s expression shifted into a scowl. “You’re going to trip us.”

“Me?” Travion laughed but nearly regretted the loss of breath. “I don’t think it will be tripping us.” His heart beat as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings, but it thrilled him, perhaps all the more when Sereia rose to the challenge.

Halfway through the dance, the tension in Sereia’s face softened, but she still refused to end the dance. “You cannot hope to keep this pace,” she rushed out mid-breath.

Travion was used to exerting himself beyond limits. In training, swimming, or fighting. How was dancing any different? “I can and I will.”

Sereia narrowed her eyes, but she kept up the punishing pace with him until the very end, until they were both rendered breathless, speechless even. It was there, at that moment, Travion saw a familiar glint in her eye, one that he knew well from years as Midniva’s sovereign: a silent truce.

A month after the fete, Sereia still hadn’t eased into the idea of their union. Travion had gifted her jewels, sent for the finest dresses, but nothing seemed to gain him any favor. But on a particularly hot summer day, he called for her to join him at the castle.

When she arrived, he was in the courtyard waiting for her. He had foregone an overcoat and brushed off Evun’s hands as he attempted to groom him. Travion knew he looked ruffled, with his windblown hair, rolled-up sleeves, and dust-covered trousers.

The carriage door swung open, and out stepped Sereia. Her hair was swept back into a braid, circling her head like a crown. The dress she wore was a sea foam green, with silver embroidery along the bodice. A slit ran up the length of her thigh, showing off her toned leg.

“Your Grace,” she murmured as he strode forward, and even allowed him to help her down.

“Lady Sereia. It’s particularly hot out today. What do you say we go for a swim?” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, testing to see how much she would offer him. Travion hated having to push, but Sereia never let him know what she was willing to give him.

“In this gown?” Sereia motioned to it.

“If you’d like to keep it on, by all means. But clothing will only weigh us down.” He chuckled and led them off the courtyard and down a beaten path.

“No clothing . . .” Sereia peered up at him, then down toward the beach and the small trail that was framed by overgrown white wild roses. The smell permeated the air, sweet and heady, reminding him of his younger years in Lucem.

At the end of the path, packed-down dirt turned into sand. Beach grasses spread off to the side, and in them, little brown and white sandpipers zigzagged through the tall blades.

Before them, waves splashed against the wet shoreline. The tide was low, bringing in screaming gulls and sending crabs scattering for cover.

Travion released his hold on Sereia and unbuttoned his shirt. When he glanced over at her, uncertainty flickered in her eyes, but he walked to the shoreline and discarded his top. “Would you like to race?”

“To where?”

“The red buoy.” He paused for a moment. “I can help you with your dress . . .”

Sereia’s cheeks reddened, but she nodded. “If I plan on winning, I’ll need to be rid of it.” She kicked off her slippers and turned her back to him.

Travion undid the clasps, careful not to let his fingers skim along the silken skin presented to him. He wanted to—by the sea, did he want to! But Sereia could scarcely stand to be in his company as far as he could tell.

He pulled away and finished undressing, leaving his clothes in a heap. It was difficult to not stare as she let the gown slide down her figure and pool around her feet. Even harder to convince his body not to find her deliciously attractive.

By the sea. How was he supposed to ignore the swell of her breasts and the curve of her bottom? This hadn’t been his reasoning for the swim, but rather allowing her a moment to be carefree and surrounded by the freedom of Sereia didn’t let him think on it long. She ran for the water and dove beneath the waves, disappearing.

He ran after her, splashing into the water like a bumbling fool, then dove into the depths, propelling himself through the water. It was too murky to see much, but with the sun shining above, he could make out a distant shadow.

She didn’t surface, not even once.

Travion popped up, sucking in air, and he glimpsed Sereia hanging onto the buoy with a grin. Amusement flickered to life, but rather than swim to meet her, he ducked under the water and swam for shore.

He surfaced as he entered the shallows, but just as his foot went to plant itself, something—or rather, —seized his ankle and pulled him back under, then relinquished him.

Travion shot out of the water, chuckling as he wiped the moisture from his face. “I’d forgotten that bit about you,” he said as Sereia stood in the shallows. Her hair had come undone and now covered her breasts.

Sereia laughed, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I suspect my parents told you . . .” She canted her head and chewed her bottom lip. “You’re different from what I expected.”

Hope blazed within. This was the first time she’d genuinely seemed to enjoy his company, and he didn’t want to muddle it. “Different how?”

“You’re not . . . stuffy, for one. And for two, you broke a rule.” She took a step closer and poked a finger into his chest.

He captured her wrist, letting his fingers lightly massage over her pulse. “Ah, but I never indicated there were any rules.” Travion leaned in, and she didn’t pull away.

he thought.

Sereia moved close enough to him so that he felt the warmth of her body, but their skin didn’t touch. He watched her, nearly holding his breath, wholly captivated by her. Then, she did something he didn’t expect.

She leaned in and pressed her lips against his, tasting of honey and salty air.

And in that moment, he knew he was in trouble, or at the very least his heart was.

By the end of month two, there was nothing chaste about their interactions. Sereia was quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and longed to defy her parents in every way imaginable. And he was all too willing to help her do just that.

Travion let her set the pace every time, but just like their first dance with one another, she moved quickly, and every time, it left him breathless.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and before long, Travion woke up with Sereia weighing on his heart as much as she did his mind. It was a foreign, terrifying feeling that blossomed inside of his chest, but all he knew was that he didn’t want to lose it. For it was a beacon of light on his darkest, stormiest days.

Summer had wound down, and the first red leaves wavered in the autumn breeze.

Sereia stood by the cliffside, peering down at the crashing waves. The wind whipped her hair across his face, but Travion moved in front of her and brushed it out of the way as he lay a trail of heated kisses down her cheek, neck, and the top of her breasts.

She pulled him closer, and Travion had to reel himself in, remember why he’d asked her to meet him here.

“Sereia, I’ve quite enjoyed our time together.”

She gazed up at him, searching his eyes. “You know I’ve enjoyed our time too.”

A sudden burst of nerves erupted in him. “A betrothal by agreement is one thing, but I truly wish for you to become my queen . . .”

Sereia inhaled sharply and took a step back. A look of hurt passed in her eyes, one that would haunt him for years to come. “Travion . . .” She recoiled as if he’d slapped her.

What had he said? It was no secret they were to be married, and as he recounted their recent courtship, he thought she’d come to enjoy his company. “Please, let me finish.” Travion rushed his words as he stepped forward.

Sereia stepped around him and glanced over her shoulder. A tangle of hair covered most of her face, but her eyes met his one last time before she made a mad dash toward the cliffside and leaped over the edge.

“No!” he bellowed and rushed forward, nearly losing his footing at the edge. “Sereia!” He saw the moment her body plunged into the depths of the turbulent sea.

With his emotions rising, black clouds filled the sky and blotted out the sun.

Anger filled him, as did hurt. A simple would have sufficed. But she had leaped as if he was some sort of monster, bent on imprisoning her.

The guards standing by darted toward the edge and gaped down at the waves.

“Get my ship ready at once!”

“But sire, surely she’s . . .”

Travion snarled. “Are you daft? She can breathe underwater.”

For days the navy searched for her to no avail. Sereia didn’t want to be found. Her parents were dismayed to begin with, but when none could find their daughter, the Feroxes shot him accusatory glances, as if he had pushed her into the sea himself.

It wasn’t until several weeks after, when Travion enlisted the aid of his hippocampus, Velox, that he found her aboard another ship.

“Sereia! Come back to Midniva!” he bellowed into the wind, sea spray coating his face. Travion was met not with words but with a shift of the waves. His ship tilted, and he grabbed ahold of the railing, but a massive wave rose before them. With a quick glance in Sereia’s direction, he let her see the hurt, anger, and betrayal he felt within.

Then, in a thunderous crash, the ship capsized, pulling his crew and Travion beneath the tumultuous heaves of the water.

It was disorienting, no matter how many times he had been in the rough sea. It tossed him, pulled him under, and tossed him again. He flailed, trying to right himself in the darkness, but where was up? The cold water numbed him, dulling his ability to think.

A shrill filled his immediate space, then the familiar slick texture of his hippocampus’s hide before his fingers grasped onto a frilled mane. In a quick movement, the sea creature pulled Travion above the water. He sucked in a greedy breath and fell forward against his hippocampus’ neck. High-pitched clicking noises filled the air, and several of the sea beasts surfaced with the rest of his crew.

His ship, on the other hand, wasn’t as fortunate.

Travion shifted his weight backward. “You could have said no!” He coughed up some of the water he had swallowed and glared at her through his red bangs.

Sereia didn’t say a word. She only turned her back to him and motioned for the ship to sail away. And with it, she took his heart.