Page 60 of The Hunted

Eryx watched the man go.

And willed his death the entire time.

• • •

“Ah, so you dared to come on another hunt, I see. Not even the threat of drowning scares you away, hmm? Perhaps royalty was the wrong path for you, Prince.”

Eryx offered Corval a smile as the deckhands who’d escorted him onto the ship—one of three this time around—separated to finish their tasks. What a shame it would be if a prince had to walk himself up to the ship alone.

“Seems so, Corval.”

The hunter smirked. “This will be the last run this year. The storms—”

“Quite aware.”

“You don’t seem concerned. We don’t even have a sacrifice for this hunt, Prince. The likelihood of us catching anything is slim to none at this point. We’re going in blind.”

“You’re going in with a plan, actually.”

“The bay was a good idea,” the man agreed, “but it means nothing if we can’t lure them in.”

Right.

Eryx was aware.

He nodded, and sidestepped Corval as he replied, “We’ll lure them—or just the one. Let the captain know I’ll remain at the bow for the hunt. I’ll be better served there.”

“For what?”

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?”

If Corval was bothered by Eryx’s cryptic conversation, the man didn’t say. Then again, he simply might be too polite to do so. Or the man just knew his place against the young prince.

At the front of the large ship, Eryx turned to watch as the sails on two masts were dropped. Soon, they’d be on the water. He’d be a damned liar if he said the idea of being out on the sea didn’t appeal to him.

He wasn’t afraid of the storms.

Something inside wanted the water. Needed it like the air he sucked into his lungs constantly.

For the moment, Eryx ignored it.

With the rest of the ship busy, and Corval attending to a twist in one of the nets with a handful of other men, Eryx turned back to stare out over the wharf. He took a moment—as brief as it was—to appreciate the sight of the sea that stretched on for as far as he could see.

A bright blue sky with the sun so high. Not a cloud in sight.

From beneath his cloak, Eryx pulled the small knife he liked to keep tucked away in a sheath at his waist. He’d had an idea since the last time he’d been in these waters. A memory that’d kept poking the back of his mind and wouldn’t let go.

Of their blood. And how it mixed.

As he healed, he still bled. Usually from his own stupidity of doing too much when he should rest, but that wasn’t the point.

It wasn’t how he bled, but rather that it was no longer a deep red. In water, he found his life source shimmered with a touch of purple. The same violet hue of hers.

Had that come from her?

The sea called to him. He called to her. Could she call back? Would she come if the call tasted of his blood?

Eryx planned on finding out. Dragging the tip of the knife over his palm, the blood bloomed across the surface. A little dribble at first that seeped into the lines of his hand and then dripped down the bow of the ship when he extended his arm over the railing.