Sea Witch. Сара Хеннинг

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СКАЧАТЬ I’m actually telling the truth. She doesn’t need to say what she’s thinking, and she won’t—not if she ever wants to dance with Nik again. So, when Nik completes his bow, she simply plasters on a trained smile and leaves him with the most perfect curtsy before running off in a rush of golden hair and intent.

      Now Nik bows deeply to me as if I’m his newest suitor, his mop of black hair briefly obscuring his coal-dark eyes. “May I have the remainder of this dance, my lady?”

      My lips curl into a smile as my legs automatically dip into a polite curtsy. My lady. Despite how good those words feel, they’re enough to earn me the ire of everyone on this boat. To them I am just the royal fisherman’s daughter abusing the prince’s kindness, using him for his station. They won’t believe we’re just friends, as we’ve always been, since we were in diapers. Before I knew what I was and he knew who he was meant to be.

      “But of course, Crown Prince Niklas,” I reply.

      He meets my eyes, and we both burst out laughing. Formality has never worn well between us—regardless of Nik’s training.

      We settle in and begin to waltz across the deck. He has a good foot on me, but he’s practiced at leaning in—whispers are often our most convenient language.

      “Took you long enough,” he says, twirling me through the last bars of the song.

      “I wanted to see how long you’d stay dry.”

      He gasps with false horror in my ear, a smile tingeing it. “You’d send your own best friend swimming with the mermaids on his birthday?”

      “I hear they’re beautiful—not a bad present for a teenage boy.”

      “They also prefer their presents not breathing.”

      My eyes shoot to his. I can feel the slightest tremble in my jaw. Today would’ve been our friend Anna’s birthday too. It still is, though she is no longer here to celebrate it. She was exactly a year younger than Nik. We’d each had our share of close calls in those days, the great and powerful goddess Urda seeming to want us all for herself. But we lost Anna. I glance down, feeling tears hot against my lash line, even after four years’ time. Nik sighs and tugs a curl off my face. He waits until I finally glance up. There’s a soft smile riding his lips, and I know he regrets pulling us from a place of joy to one so fraught. “Well, thank you for saving me, Evie. As always.”

      It’s as good a subject change as any, but it’s not enough—and we both know it. I take a deep breath and look over Nik’s shoulder, not trusting myself to say more. I swallow and try to concentrate on the party. Everything here has been borrowed for Nik’s celebration—the ship, the free-flowing hvidtøl, the band, two servants, and a coal man—and it’s beautiful. I focus on the miniature lanterns ringing the deck, the golden thread of my single fancy dress catching their glow.

      Suddenly, Malvina hoists herself onto the dessert table, still frantically trying to control the cake’s growing bulge. I expect Nik to laugh, or at least knock out a very royal snort, but instead he’s looking over my shoulder, portside, at the sea. I follow his eyes, and my heart sputters to a stop when I make out a swift schooner, the familiar line of a boy—a man—adjusting the sail.

      “Iker . . .” His name falls from my lips in a sigh before I can catch it. I meet Nik’s eyes, a blush crawling up my cheeks. “I didn’t know he was coming.”

      “Neither did I.” He shrugs and raises a brow. “But Iker’s not exactly one to confirm an invitation. Missed that day at prince school. The lecture about being on time, too.”

      “I believe it’s called ‘fashionably late,’” I say.

      “Yes, well, I suppose I wouldn’t know,” Nik says with a laugh.

      The little schooner closes in, and I see that it’s only Iker—he hasn’t brought a crew with him from Rigeby Bay, not that I’d expect him to. He’s a weather-worn fisherman trapped in a life designed for silk and caviar. He redirects the mainsail perfectly, his muscles tensing tightly as he aims straight for his cousin’s form.

      Nik leans to my ear. “There goes my dancing partner.”

      I punch him on the arm. “You don’t know that.”

      “True, but I do know how you’ve looked at him since my cake had about ten fewer candles on it.”

      I roll my eyes, but I can’t help a smile creeping up my lips. He’s somewhat right, though now isn’t the best time to argue that the way I looked at Iker changed from brotherly to something else entirely about four years ago, not ten.

      I clear my throat. “I’m sure Malvina won’t mind—she’s almost finished with your cake,” I say, nodding in the direction of the blue monstrosity but never taking my eyes off Iker as he readies to throw up a line to the steamer.

      Nik hugs me close and dips down to my ear. “You’re such a ravishingly loyal friend.”

      “Always have been. Always will be.”

      “’Tis true.” Nik grins before waving a long arm above his head. “Well, if it isn’t the crown prince of Rigeby Bay!”

      “And here I hoped to surprise you,” Iker says, laughing. “Can’t surprise a lighthouse of a man on his own boat, I suppose.”

      Nik laughs, standing even taller. “Not if I’m turned the right way.”

      Iker laughs even deeper. There is salt in his hair and few days’ worth of scruff lining his strong jawline, but he strides across his deck with the elegance of a prince. He glances up at me, his eyes briefly betraying a hint of doubt about the sturdiness of my frame, but tosses the line to me anyway. I catch it, securing it with a knot I learned from Father.

      Iker hauls himself up the rope and onto the ship. He manages to land on the small patch of deck just between Nik and myself. Behind us a crowd has gathered.

      “Happy birthday, Cousin.” Eyes laughing, Iker claps Nik on the back and brings him in for a hug, his toned arms fully encasing Nik’s spindly-yet-strong form.

      When they release, Iker’s eyes go right to me. They’re the clearest of blues—like ancient ice in the fjords of the north.

      “Evelyn,” he says, still retaining an air of formality from his upbringing, but he then shockingly pulls me into a hug.

      I freeze, eyes on Nik as he and everyone else on the ship stares. Iker doesn’t seem to notice or care and pulls me tighter, his arms wrapped around my waist. Warm from ship work, he smells of salt and limes. His shirt is freckled with water droplets, onyx on the starched gray fabric—the sea leaving her mark.

      When the moment is over and he lets me go, an arm lingers across my shoulders. I try to ignore the question nagging me, the one I’m sure everyone else is asking too. Why me? We’ve known each other since we were children, but he’s never shown me this kind of affection before. I’m not his type. I’m not anyone’s type. Yet Iker continues to act as if it’s all completely normal. He turns to Nik, to the crowd, and grins that perfect smile.

      “Good people of Havnestad,” he says, his voice commanding yet sincere. Then the grin grows wider. “Let’s give the prince a celebration so hearty, he’ll never forget it.”

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