Tides of Torment (Immortal Realms Book 2)

Sereia wore her dark brown hair pulled back into a low, twisted bun at the back of her head. Large emeralds dangled from her earlobes, an age-of-maturity gift from her father that she’d hung on to. Tonight’s soiree was not a masquerade, but she had no desire to be recognized and so wore a black lace mask that covered the upper half of her face. From beneath it, her blue eyes popped.

It was very likely one or more of her sisters and their husbands would be present tonight. The four of them had all married members of the nobility, fae males her mother could be proud to call sons. A part of Sereia longed to mingle with her sisters. To remember fond memories of their youth and learn of their lives now. Were they happy? Were they angry with her? Did they miss her? But there were more pressing matters than building a bridge to her family.

As her carriage brought her through the large gates of the castle and into the first courtyard where the guards’ barracks were stationed, memories flooded her, so strong she had to open the window to let fresh air in.

In those first months of Travion courting her, she’d taken this path many times. But even before that, Sereia had been familiar with the inner walls of the castle, beyond the high stone walls that surrounded it.

She’d made friends with the soldiers inside. Dared them to test her sword-fighting skills, gained from lessons that had been hard earned and only found acceptable because she relented to taking every other feminine lesson her mother could foist upon her.

In this inner courtyard, she had been knocked to her bottom in the dirt and learned to get back up and keep on fighting.

From there, the stone street wound up the hill, past the stables and the castle gardens, until passing through the final gates that lead to a bridge and ended in the main courtyard before the large stone steps. The castle was many stories high, with proud dormer windows and a turret on either end.

It was old, but beautiful. A little wild in appearance from the salt breeze but dignified and sturdy. A lot like its king.

A footman helped Sereia down out of her carriage, one of her hands in his while the other clutched the silken skirts of her emerald dress. As she stepped down, the wind caught it, and one tanned leg was exposed nearly up to her hip from the high slit. The footman was polite enough to look away, but it only made Sereia smirk.

There was nothing subtle about her gown. Cinched tight around her waist, it had a full skirt that flowed down to the floor. Thin straps held it up over her shoulders, and the neckline plunged low. There were some aspects of Lucemite culture she could appreciate. Raw sexual decadence without the need to pretend one was a modest, innocent mouse. Not like the mortals of the middle realm who seemed to value virginity over their own pleasures.

Climbing the broad stone steps up to the solid wood doors, Sereia took quick note of those strolling around her, but focused on the strains of music coming from the direction of the ballroom. It had been a party similar to this one where she had first met Travion, King of Midniva. He had represented all the chains and restrictions her mother had wished to tie about her, the lifetime of rules and obligations that would have broken her. Until the fateful day of that damned proposal, Sereia had thought he recognized that.

Stepping into the ballroom, Sereia wove her way through the crowd of courtiers. Some noticed her, their eyes following the elegant trail of her gown, while others whispered about the black mask that hid her features. She didn’t care.

A sharp breath left her lips at the first sight of Travion, who was very much alive and healthy. Yon had managed to find out that much, and that he had been gravely injured during a surprise attack on the three realms. But no one had been sure of his current state. Had he bounced back quickly from the injury? Or was he ailing still?

From the ease with which he spun his partner around on the dance floor, Sereia could only assume he had overcome the attack. For the first time since that tavern in Bezopasnyy, Sereia felt herself relax.

He was alive and well. Perhaps she should take this happy glimpse as all she deserved and slip back out unseen. But there was a pang deep within her. A need to draw closer. To smell the scent of him, fresh breeze and spice. Her fingers twitched at her sides, the desire to press them to his solid chest and reassure herself that he was whole running through her. He was not meant to affect her so. In all the years that they had known each other, through all of their interactions, Travion had never given Sereia cause to believe that he cared about her as anything more than a companion at his side. Someone he desired and enjoyed, but not an equal. Not a soulmate.

He was alive. She had seen it for herself. Proven it with her very own eyes. And now she should leave. Turn and go before he had a chance to spot her in the crowd and know that she had come back.

But Travion was smiling down at the female in his arms with such happiness that any relief she had felt disappeared, and instead, an ugly monster brewed in her chest. The red-haired nymph smiled back up at him with a familiarity that bespoke intimacy.

Reaching out to grasp the sleeve of the man nearest her, Sereia looked up at him, blue eyes alight with fury. “Who is the harlot dancing with King Travion?”

The man looked startled at her words, and stepped back as if he were deeply affronted. “That, you disrespectful maiden, is Queen Eden. I would mind your tongue.” He wrenched his sleeve free.

Sereia’s mind reeled for the second time in as many weeks. Queen Eden.

“Me? That little wench should have minded herself.” She was saying words without really thinking them through, her eyes following Travion and the queen around the dance floor. Could he have truly settled down? “Impossible,” she spat out. “The brat looks barely out of her cradle. Damn her.”

The man turned away, muttering something she did not hear to the woman beside him, who then looked over to give Sereia a fierce look. Another couple who had overheard also shot her a series of glares, shaking their heads at her. But she paid none of them any heed as they moved away to other groups of people, spreading the atrocious words of the masked woman.

Travion had married . . . After a century of insisting he could never be bothered to propose to another, he had found someone. Ensorcelled by an innocent looking creature with big green eyes and a sweet smile. Sereia could feel her jaw tightening as her teeth ground together.

As the dance came to an end, she watched Travion lift his queen’s hand and press a kiss to the back of it. They smiled at each other, and then he leaned in to say something to her, which both of them laughed over.

The nasty emotion churned in Sereia’s stomach, making her hands clench and her back straighten.

Travion walked the redhead over to the buffet station, where they parted ways. Rather than following him, Sereia pushed through the guests in the room, eyes never leaving the queen.

The queen looked startled when Sereia appeared suddenly at her side but quickly offered a small, uncertain smile as she took in her masked face.

Sereia curtsied before her, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from making a snide comment. “Good evening, Your Majesty. I hear that congratulations are in order on your nuptials. I have been out of the country and had not realized His Highness had wed.”

A brighter smile covered the younger female’s face, and Sereia wanted to snatch her happiness away. Travion deserved it, she realized that, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. And she didn’t. “Thank you, and you haven’t missed out on the news for long. It was only last month.”

“Oh,” Sereia breathed. “So recently? How ever did you manage to get such a set-in-his-ways bachelor to long for marriage?” Was it her sweetness that had won Travion over? That didn’t seem to suit him.

“To be frank, I’m not so certain myself.” The queen laughed, a happy, musical sound. “May I ask your name?”

Sereia held out her hand, about to introduce herself, when she heard the hushed voices sounding out around them. The courtier she had accosted earlier was standing nearby, whispering none too quietly as he watched them together.

Suddenly, a dark presence was upon them both, and a black sleeve slipped around Queen Eden’s thin waist, pulling her into a black-clad chest. Looking up, Sereia found the almost feral face of King Draven glaring down at her.

“Darling! I was just making the acquaintance of this—” Eden began, only to be cut off by the king’s soft, furious words.

“Did you or did you not refer to my wife as a harlot and childish brat?”

“What? Draven, no, she was . . .” Queen Eden looked between the two of them, confusion turning into a pained look as her eyes settled back on Sereia.

There were even more eyes upon them now, as King Draven’s fury radiated off him strong enough to be a physical presence in the room.

Sereia blinked and looked between the two of them. Draven’s words echoed in her mind. My wife. My wife. She laughed suddenly, her hand lifting to cover her lips as her mistake became all too apparent.

Draven’s face darkened more.

“I apologize. I do believe a grave misunderstanding has taken place,” Sereia stifled her laughter enough to say. A second bout of relief washed through her.

Travion had been dancing with his sister-in-law, not his wife.

“Would you care to explain exactly why such a misunderstanding happened in the first place?”

Sereia wasn’t certain exactly what words she could offer him but knew she had to say something before he exploded and the courtiers were awarded with the scene they were all hoping for. Reaching up, Sereia grasped the mask and pulled it off her face, letting Draven get a full view of her features.

He growled at the sight of her, and all she could do was flash him a broad, confident smile.

“Sereia?”

Her smile froze before disappearing. Slowly, she turned in the direction of the familiar voice already sending a flush of warmth through her body.

Travion stood there, stopped in his tracks and looking as if he had seen a ghost.

“Travion.” Seeing him from across the room had not prepared her to come face to face with him once again. Suddenly, she felt uncertain what to do with her hands. Their rendezvous had ceased being a public affair long ago, and while she did not care who saw her with him, as their opinions did not matter, meeting Travion for the first time in five years with King Draven glaring down at her added a whole new weight to the situation.

Travion’s throat worked as he swallowed roughly. “What are you doing here?” he asked, eyes meeting hers steadily. Travion wasn’t one to shy away, but there was some warmth missing.

She longed to move to him, check his body for injury, and truly prove to herself that he was in one piece, but the distance between them felt much broader than a few feet. Instead, she cocked a hip and rested a hand on it. “Is that any way to greet me?”

“I believe the only greeting he owes you is an escort out of the castle and into a departing carriage,” Draven stated coldly.

His words had Travion moving once again, and he stepped into their small cluster, offering his brother a perturbed look. One that was matched and surpassed by the one Queen Eden was offering him.

“Draven . . .” she scolded.

The king of the night realm did not appear to be repentant at all, and Sereia did not expect to see that emotion change. He had never taken that kindly to her or her intermittent presence in Travion’s life. Who knew what he’d thought as the time between her appearances grew even more distant.

“I would like to apologize for whatever gossip you may hear concerning me and yourself, my lady. I can admit wholeheartedly that I was mistaken.” Sereia bowed slightly to Eden, who still appeared perplexed by all of this but nodded.

“What . . . gossip?” Travion asked. “What did you do?” His blue eyes focused on Sereia, a slight frown marring his features, and she offered him a small shrug in return.

To discuss it would mean disclosing the why, and Sereia had no desire to let Travion know she had seen him with another woman she thought was his wife and had become incensed with jealousy. What right did she have to be jealous over a role she had turned down?

Travion wasn’t hers.

“The two of you clearly have some catching up to do. Draven and I will leave you to it. It was lovely meeting you, Sereia.”

Draven snorted at Eden’s words but allowed himself to be drawn away, though not before pinning Sereia with one final glare of death.

“What did you do?” Travion repeated, stepping closer to her, his hands coming out to grasp her upper arms. He held her firmly, as if she were likely to flee at any second.

His nearness made her breath catch. The terror that had filled her for the two-week mad dash from Bezopasnyy had not been relinquished, even by Yon’s assurance that he was okay. It hadn’t mattered that it wasn’t Draven who had attacked him, just some noblewoman. It hadn’t even mattered that he was alive. Because she had learned he’d been tragically injured. That he had almost died, and that fact alone was enough to send her spinning into thoughts she didn’t want to dissect.

“I may have confused the new queen’s role in your life and spoken a few unchoice things.”

Travion sighed roughly. “Why am I not surprised?” Glancing around, it was obvious he’d become aware of the stares leveled on them, his courtiers no longer attempting subtlety. He dropped his hand to her wrist, and with a quick motion, pulled her out of the room, into an alcove that ran along it, taking them well out of the way of curious eyes.

The need to prove fully to herself that he was okay became too fierce to ignore, and Sereia could no longer hold herself back. She caught Travion by surprise, pushing him up against the nearest wall and capturing his lips in a firm, demanding kiss. She felt the hesitation in him, as if he weren’t certain if he should return the kiss, and then his lips became more pliant, responding to her onslaught. Her hands clutched onto the silver embroidered lapels of his navy velvet jacket, and Travion’s hands captured her cheeks, holding her lips well and truly against his own.

Her body flared with a fiery hunger, all of her pent-up emotion from the past few weeks rearing its ugly head, and suddenly, she needed him more than she needed her next breath. Her lips parted, and she met his tongue, the taste of him both familiar and exhilarating. But also different.

It was still Travion, someone she had kissed more times than she could count, but kissing him felt almost like kissing someone new. Like the closeness that had been there in whatever form they’d had it was missing. Had she been gone too long? Had Travion known she wasn’t intending to come back?

Was this thing between them wearing itself out?

Needing more contact, desperate to find that connection again, to experience a Travion who was full of life and strength, she slid her hands beneath the lapels of his jacket and up to his shoulders, pushing it down over them. Travion assisted by dropping his hands from her cheeks and shrugging the garment the rest of the way off. As Sereia focused on the buttons of his vest, he moved to her waist and, with a soft grunt, picked her up to rest on his hips. The high slit in her gown allowed the skirt to part, and her legs wrapped around him easily.

Travion spun and pressed her against the wall behind them. Her heated flesh, bared by the open back of the gown, hit cold stone. It was a sensation that made her purr, and she captured his lips again as she discarded his vest.

Their hungry lips parted as she moved to the top of his shirt, and Travion began kissing down the expanse of her throat. Sereia tipped her head back against the stone, moaning happily at the shivers of pleasure that coursed through her body. He still knew her body. The places that made her quiver and sigh.

“I miss your beard,” she rasped suddenly. Last time she had been here, he had not been clean shaven. It was a minor change, but only added to everything else that had taken place while she was gone.

“There was a run-in with a chimera, and then I had an incident with a manticore,” he murmured, nipping along her collarbone. “Seemed a proper time to shave it off.”

His words were a douse of cold water to her passion-clouded mind, and she stiffened. “So the rumors were true.”

Travion lifted his head, a questioning light in his eyes as he looked into hers. “The rumors?”

“That you were attacked and severely injured.” Her fingers played with the buttons at the top of his shirt, her thumb brushing over one small pearl piece.

“Is that why you’ve returned?” Travion asked, his gaze searching hers.

“How bad was it, Trav?” she whispered, a stern look in her eyes. He had better not lie to her. They were . . . friends . . . after all, and she needed to know the truth if she was ever going to rest easy again.

“Draven had to hold my innards in while Eden put me back together.” His response came softly but honestly.

Sereia shut her eyes for a moment, fighting the scream of fury that wanted to burst out of her. Who had dared to hurt him? Who had dared try to take him out of this world? The thought of him gone from it made her want to burn everything down around them. It was a response that shook her, made it impossible for her to deny emotions she tried her best to keep buried deep within.

“They’re mostly back where they belong,” he stated in a jesting tone, trying to lighten the mood.

Sereia opened her eyes so that she could shoot him a cold glare. Without saying anything else, her fingers began working at his shirt once more, until she was able to spread it wide over his chest.

Her breath caught at the sight of the angry red scar that traveled from his shoulder to his hip.

“By the sea . . . Travion.” Sereia was at a loss for words, fingers lightly brushing along the angry flesh.

Travion’s eyes shut at her touch. “A beauty, isn’t she?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help.”

“I’m glad you weren’t.”

Their eyes met in the silence that fell between them, and without needing to say anything else, the distance between them was gone. Their lips met with a new fervor, one that spoke of near death and deep relief. Amplified by the length of time since they had last been together like this.