Page 69 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

He leaned closer, his breath brushing my cheek, the scent of salt and storm clinging to him like a second skin. ‘I’m not here to give you space, Little Red. I’m here to close the distance.’

I swirled the whisky in my glass as I forced my voice steady. ‘You don’t get to waltz in here and pretend everything’s fine, Si. Not after what you did.’

His brows knit. ‘What I did?’

I shoved my glass onto the bar, the slam making a few heads turn. ‘The mark.’ My voice came as a low, furious whisper. ‘You branded me without my consent.’

For the first time, the sea god’s mask cracked. His storm-bright eyes widened, surprise flashing there, before something more fragile, something perilously close to hurt, slipped through. ‘Cordelia…’ His voice rumbled like distant thunder. ‘It wasn’t meant to be⁠—'

‘It doesn’t matter what it was meant to be,’ I snapped, shoving back against the bar so I could look him dead in the eye. ‘You didn’t ask me. You took. As if I was already yours to claim.’

His jaw locked, a tension rippling through him—a wave barely restrained.

‘I was protecting you. That mark⁠—'

‘Bullshit. That mark is ownership.’ The words cut sharper than I intended, but I didn’t stop. ‘And I don’t belong to anyone. Not you. Not anyone. So if you want to prove you respect me at all, you’ll remove it.’

He stared at me as though I’d just gutted him. The flicker of surprise gave way to something deeper—a raw, bruising hurt that darkened the fury in his eyes. For a heartbeat, the entire room seemed to tighten with his rage; the air turned damp and electric, pressure building until it felt as if the sea itself held its breath. Then the mask of the arrogant sea king snapped back into place.

Softer than I expected, his voice cut through: ‘You’d ask me to tear away the only thing keeping others from touching you?’ His throat worked as he swallowed hard, but his gaze never left mine. ‘You think I meant to trap you?’ His voice was low, rough, the rumble of waves before they break against the cliffs. He leaned closer, and the world shrank until it was just him and me and the heavy beat of my heart. ‘Little Red… I marked you because every instinct in me screamed to protect you. Not to chain you.’

I clenched my jaw, fury and something far more dangerous twisting inside me. ‘It feels like chains,’ I whispered. ‘And I don’t want chains.’

My heart thudded painfully, but I didn’t look away. ‘I’d rather have a choice.’

The sea raged in his gaze, but beneath the fury I saw the wound I’d cut into him; then he exhaled, slow and deliberate, and some of the tension bled from his shoulders. ‘Then I’ll learn,’ he murmured. His eyes locked on mine, deadly serious. ‘I can’t undo what’s done, but if choice is what you want… I’ll fight every instinct I have to give it to you.’

The words hit harder than any declaration of love could have. My throat worked, but nothing came out.

I wanted to hate him.

But I knew I wanted him.

And I didn’t know which was worse.

Before either of us could say more, Martha appeared at my side, sliding a glass of wine in front of me with the kind of protective scowl that made me love her even more. ‘You alright, Treacle?’ she asked, flicking Poseidon a look like she wasn’t sure whether to crack him in the face with her handbag or spit in his whisky.

‘I’m fine, Martha.’ My voice was steadier than I felt. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. ‘I need to chat with her.’

To his credit, he leaned back, giving me space, no argument. Just a subtle dip of his chin, as if he was proving his words weren’t empty.

I spent a few quiet minutes with Martha, chatting about nothing and everything, grounding myself in her warmth and normalcy. But I could feel him next to me—his presence a heavy gravity tugging at me, impossible to ignore.

When I finally turned back, he was already offering me his hand. For once, there was no arrogance in it. Just silent insistence… and patience.

I hesitated only a moment before sliding my fingers into his. His grip was warm, steady, unyielding.

I pulled my hand back before he could whisk me away. ‘Not the Underworld. Not yet. Take me home first,’ I whispered for his ears only.

His brows snapped together, a storm brewing in those impossible eyes.

‘My house,’ I said firmly. ‘Take me home. I need… I need to breathe there. On my own ground… just for a while longer.’

For a moment, he looked like I’d asked him to stab himself in the eye—horror etched across his features, sharp and unguarded. ‘That little shoebox you call a house?’ His voice was incredulous, bordering on disgust.

Anger pricked hot under my skin. ‘It’s mine. It’s not a palace, nor a gilded cage. It’s mine… and right now, that’s what I need.’

He dragged a hand through his silver-blond hair, muttering a curse that sounded older than time. For a heartbeat, I thought he’d refuse—but then, with visible effort, he straightened, reining himself in.