Page 33 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

That’s when I noticed it.

The attendant’s eyes sparkled as they lingered on Si—like he was a dish even better than the food. Anger and something weird and uncomfortable rose through my chest. A foreign emotion that I recognised immediately. Jealousy. I was jealous. Freaking perfect.

I resisted the urge to strangle myself to death.

I tried to ignore the heat building behind my ribs and focused instead on the approaching second attendant… with more food! My heart did a happy little wiggle. I demolished two Vegetarian moussakas with apple tzatziki, and a heavenly Paris-Brest—a choux pastry ring filled with luxurious hazelnut mousseline. That, along with two more glasses of champagne, left me full, fuzzy, and borderline euphoric.

I stretched like a well-fed cat, letting out a satisfied sigh.

Si dabbed his mouth with a napkin and looked at me, his eyes twinkling with barely contained amusement.

‘What?’ I raised my eyebrows.

‘You eat with the hunger of a famine-struck village.. and the volume to match,’ he said, his voice low and teasing.

I laughed. ‘And here I thought gods only dined on ambrosia and the occasional human heart?’

His laugh was smoky and delicious. ‘Don’t be absurd. Ambrosia pairs terribly with human hearts.’

Laughter burst out of me, sudden and loud. I laughed until my stomach hurt. A strange, long-forgotten lightness filled me—joy. Actual joy. Si watched me with a small smile playing on his lips, and something unreadable in his eyes.

Once the dishes were cleared and we were sipping coffee, a comfortable silence settled between us. That is, until he shattered it.

‘So,’ he began quietly. ‘Was everything you told me a lie?’ Si cocked his head, and my heart squeezed and dropped. His piercing eyes held my gaze, making me simultaneously feel both exposed and safe.

‘Not everything,’ I said softly. ‘Just the part about the abusive husband.’ I looked down at my cup. ‘The man I described… was my stepfather.’

‘Your stepfather?’ His voice was low, but his eyes—those fathomless blue-green depths—churned like a brewing squall. A tempest of doom. I recognised that look now. Anger—quiet and lethal.

‘Yes.’ I held his gaze. ‘Not sexual abuse… but physical. Psychological. He trained me to be the best assassin in the world… Like my mother was before me. He broke my bones, but never my spirit.’ I lifted my chin defiantly. A growl rumbled in his chest at my words—low, visceral… a sound that sent shivers skating across my skin.

So I told him everything.

About my mom—the amazing woman, who died way too young. About Drakos. About the move to England when I was fourteen, the fake school, the shady dealings, and finally, about Guinn.

‘We had a plan,’ I murmured, my voice catching. ‘When she turned sixteen, we were going to leave. Get new identities. Start over somewhere far away… where Drakos couldn’t touch us. I’ve saved enough over the years, but I guess it’s a moot point now.’

I felt his gaze on me—hot, unrelenting. It made me feel peeled open; too raw.

So I lowered my head and picked at the sleeve of my crop hoodie, trying to swallow the ball of emotion in my throat. I felt weak; vulnerable. It angered me to feel so hopeless.

But I hated even more that I needed him to understand.

‘The money,’ I added quietly. ‘It wasn’t just payment… it was meant for that plan. For our escape.’

His silence stretched—heavy, full of pressure, like the sea before a surge.

Then, in a voice low and even, he asked, ‘How much was my life worth?’

I forced myself to meet his eyes. ‘A million,’ I said, barely a whisper. ‘But Drakos probably got ten times that.’

His jaw flexed. The temperature around us seemed to shift. That deep, simmering anger rippled beneath the surface—the kind that could shatter walls if he let it.

But instead, he inhaled slowly and looked away.

‘You said you like animals,’ he murmured, his tone soft but searching. ‘And reading… that you teach self-defence…’

The question hung there—a lifeline thrown into the heavy silence. He was changing the subject, I realised, not because he didn’t care, but because he was fighting not to lose control.