Page 4 of The Hunted

Their father didn’t like that. Disobeying him—for anything—meant punishments sometimes worse than death. It was, after all, how he kept his people firmly in line.

Arelle looked to Coral who had grown quiet, staring down at her nails, which she picked nervously.

“The landwalkers—they believe we’re like this because we’re magical. They’re wrong. This has always been a curse,” Arelle said, knowing her sister would understand she meant their shifting forms. “We’re doomed to need the sea as desperately as we need the land to survive. And now that they’ve taken the safety of one from us, they’re determined to take the other, too.”

Because they were the hunted. Thought to be magical. Their blood, coveted. Arelle just thought they were doomed. Doomed to be the prey of those who walked on land.

Forever.

“Where is your mate?” Arelle asked Poe.

“Hunting. I want to give him a surprise when he gets back. His favorite fruit, I think. He’ll like that.”

Arelle’s brow lifted high. “Do you mean the fruit from—”

“The west side of Atlas, yes. The water orchard. It’s the only place it grows, now.”

“You can’t go there,” Coral whispered. “It’s forbidden.”

Poe rolled her eyes. “Everything is forbidden, but only if others know you did it.”

Arelle did smile at that. Poe wasn’t wrong.

“I’ll go with you to get the fruit,” she told her older sister. “Tomorrow, when the court is distracted with Father?”

“It’ll be the perfect time. The guards fall back with the others and tend to stay away. Easier to slip out, of course.”

“I want to go, too,” Coral spoke up.

She was back to that whine again.

The older sisters shared a look.

“She stays with you,” Poe warned. “She doesn’t understand anything. And I have other things to worry about than looking after her.”

“Hey!”

They ignored Coral.

“She stays with me,” Arelle agreed, and then she gave Coral another look. “That is, if she doesn’t decide to stay.”

What was the worst that could happen?

TWO

Eryx

IT WOULD BE a difficult season of storms. The extended, quarter-round window to the left of Eryx’s chair gave him an ample view of the darkening sky. Although, if he were being fair, the sun hadn’t peeked through the clouds that day at all, which meant the season had already begun to roll through.

Soon, he and the rest of the realm would find themselves shuttered away from the safety of the wind, torrential rains, and the rest of the dangers that came with this time of the year.

He didn’t look forward to that.

Never did, really.

A throat clearing drew Eryx’s attention back to the party, and his father sitting a few paces away in his gawdy throne. The monument of a chair dominated the room—the back sitting high at six feet tall, and wide enough that he’d not seen a man’s shoulders be able to fill the width. Not that he’d seen anyone but his father sit in that chair. Ornamental carvings curved the arms and legs, coils of gold spun around the edge of the throne as if it weren’t ostentatious enough.

In the morning light, with its placement in front of the windows, the chair glinted brightly in the room. The first thing one noticed when coming into the main room of any house his father used during his travels, since the throne came with the king.