Page 23 of The Hunted

Those were questions Eryx didn’t have the answers to, and they were ones he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, honestly. Not that it mattered because he had more important things on his mind at the moment, and other issues he had to handle.

The approaching footsteps outside the bedchambers had him quickly wrapping the scarf back around his throat. All his life, he’d been taught to hide what would remind the people that he came from a woman caught within the sea, and he wasn’t quite ready to drop the pretense yet.

Especially not with that woman gone.

Eryx turned sharply in just enough time to see his father step inside the room with Mattue close behind his heels. In the hallway, a guard stayed near the entry but didn’t attempt to enter when Misael nodded for his brother to close the door.

“What were you thinking?” Misael demanded.

Eryx swallowed the pain that accompanied his next words. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Being at the orchard. The storms have come. You’re not that foolish, Eryx, you know better. What on this earth possessed you to take a horse down there?”

Ah.

So the stable boys either hadn’t heard him when he spoken about his mother after falling from the horse, or they simply hadn’t understood what he’d been talking about.

Perfect.

“Anthia.”

That was all he said.

Not my mother.

Or even your favored one, Father.

No, just her name.

Because even that hurt.

Misael tipped his chin up. “What about the slave?”

Gods.

“She’s my mother.” He flinched, correcting himself out of spite of his heart because he wanted to say it right; to make this clear so he didn’t have to ever say it again. “Was. She was my mother—we were walking along the orchard, and one of the mermaids dropped from the trees.”

Red hair.

Violet eyes.

Hissing.

Fingernails slicing his skin.

But the red and the purple … the face now seared into his memory bobbing along the dangerous waves … well, he wasn’t about to forget that, either. He couldn’t.

Behind the king, Mattue cleared his throat but otherwise, stayed quiet. Misael, however, didn’t look away from his son. “We’ve discussed this. You know your place. And your favor toward that slave has never been acceptable.”

“She was my mother.”

“A vessel that brought you to me. It is me who made you a prince. It was her who doomed your legacy to a constant question by the people. They will forever wonder about who you are, Eryx. And never forget it.”

Right.

Because what was he, his father liked to ask, a human like them, or someone of the sea?

He had to wonder if his father had ever questioned his brothers, born the same way he had been, although, by different slaves, the way Misael second-guessed him.