Page 82 of The Kraken Bride

“Bronwyn.”

“I need actual help.”

Her expression changed. Only slightly. Adelaide could go from smart-mouthed spying menace to deadly serious with less warning than anyone I knew. “I know.” She gave me a huge hug. “That’s why I’m here. Tell me everything,” she invited as we got settled in the car.

The coins in my pocket rattled and spilled onto the seat.

Her eyebrows rose, and she plucked a coin from the leather. “Did you rob a bank?”

I snatched it from her. Mine. “Sebastian apologized. And there’s more where those came from. Chests full.”

“Well, the man gives good apology. Does he have something to apologize for?” she asked, gathering another coin.

“Nein, but he’s wallowing in guilt.” Where to start? From the beginning, I guess. “He brought me here so I would give his heart away, then he morphed into an emotionless stone and basically cut me out of his life, one decision at a time. My passage back home was arranged. My future was decided without my input.”

“And he refuses to admit the error in his ways? Ditch him.”

“Nein. The problem is, I don’t want him feeling guilty. I understand why he did what he did, and I’ve forgiven him. How do I make him understand that?”

“I’m supposed to know? I’ve never forgiven anyone for anything.” My sister tapped her chin. “If ever I fall in love—and I will never fall in love–I’m going for a human. Immortals are ridiculously complicated.”

Despite myself, I chuckled. Adelaide would eat a human alive. “You might not know about relationships and forgiveness, but you know people. How they think. Why they do what they do. So tell me how I can fix this for him? The guilt is eating him alive.”

“You don’t,” she said simply.

I blinked at her. “Come again?”

“You can’t fix this for him because you can’t. Only he can fix it.”

Ugh. “You are so annoying when you’re right.”

“I know.” She fluffed her hair, and I realized I’d gotten the gesture from her. “You can’t take away his guilt, but you can make sure he knows how you see him.” She tossed me a coin I hadn’t known she’d pocketed. “He loves you. Remind him of that.”

A little flutter started beneath my ribs, an idea forming. Maybe I was trying too hard to find the right words now. The Tideweave, the wrist-clasp, the first dance we shared together, and yes, even battle. Every piece of us had movement attached to it.

I didn’t need to say anything to remind him. I only needed to dance.

We reached the palace. “I have to go. I need music. And the garden. No, my room. The studio he built for me.” I grabbed my sister by the shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You’re brilliant,” I said, springing from the vehicle.

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

When he calls you “mine,” believe him.

–An Incomplete Guide to Kraken Survival

Isent a message to my husband and waited in the studio. Mirrored walls. A barre of pale driftwood, worn satin-soft. A sprung floor laid with slate-gray marley that gave under my feet. Tall windows veiled in sheer white, letting in ribbons of muted dome-light. The air smelled of salt, resin and clean wood.

He had built this studio because he’d wanted me to have it, no matter the duration of my stay. And maybe he’d also hoped for a private show. Now, we would both enjoy the fruits of his labor.

I stood in the center and pulled the pins from my hair and laced my shoes. He entered seconds later, as if he’d followed directly on my heels. He didn’t speak, but he smoldered plenty.

“Sit,” I said, fighting a smile.

On the little bench against the wall, this enormous king, in his black leathers, sat with his hands loose between his knees.

“I have told the stories of many queens and kings. Swan Lake. The Firebird. The Sleeping Beauty.” I raised my chin. “But this is the story of us.”