She squirmed under his gaze. “If you didn’t like my answer, maybe you should have asked a better question. And I don’t see why you care. It’s of no consequence to you.”
Destonne’s chest inflated with air before he turned toward her. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” he said on a long sigh.
As his eyes roamed over her face, Emmery’s breath caught in her throat. It was as if the King had the ability to lure secrets from her, unpeel and unravel her, until she was naked and vulnerable. Bared for him to scrutinize. But she wouldn’t let him. “I never said I wanted your help.”
With the silly piece of metal fisted in her hand, Emmery thrust it toward him. He caught her wrist. Their eyes locked and her heart tripped, tumbled, and the world quieted as she waited to see exactly what he would do. How he would direct this game between them. And if she hadn’t been paying attention, she might have missed the smallest hitch in his breath, too.
With both hands he cradled her fist like some rare jewel, and his thumb gently pried back her fingers, one by one, taking his time, tracing them from knuckle to tip, and with each graze, the knot in her chest loosened. Her hand became a clam yawning open so he could claim the priceless pearl inside.
The King had nice hands, she’d noticed as much—elegant yet worn, gentle yet insistent, strong yet delicate. A contradiction in every way. And she hated it.
Emmery’s stomach warmed, that heat spread up her chest and neck to her cheeks and he seemed to see the effect it had on her. For someone to touch her. It sucked the willpower from her body and her wine drunk haze dizzied her head, muddling her thoughts.
After he plucked the coin from her grip, he didn’t release her. “Please,” he said, his voice low, a little rough. “I’m asking nicely.”
Unwillingly, Emmery turned to clay in his palms—his to form, mould, and manipulate.
“You’ll laugh.” The words came out more breathless than she wanted to acknowledge
“I won’t. You have my word.” His thumb traced their pactum scar and she shivered, then squeezed her eyes closed. “Like it or not, we’re in this together. We’re stuck with each other until we see this through.”
Her traitorous heart pounded, her head along with it. Every moment he held her, the strength fled her body, and she wilted like some over-watered flower. Emmery snatched her hand away and cleared her throat. “We have to access the cave by water.”
“So?”
“It would require swimming.”
Destonne ushered her on. “And?”
“And I—” She swallowed though the words stuck in her dry mouth. “Well, I … can’t swim.”
A beat passed. Then another.
The King merely nodded. Emmery stared at him. Waited for something,anything, but he gave her nothing. She didn’t understand that smart expression on his face, that superiority.
Her brows drew together as the moment trickled in, bit by bit.
No. He was playing with her.
The realization struck her like a whip and lashed any remaining self-respect clean off the bone. “You knew,” she breathed, the accusation filled with fire. “You fucking knew. You colossalasshole.” And he made her admit it aloud, tear that fear free, and offer it on a silver platter.
“But don’t you feel better now? Admitting it aloud is the first step. Congratulations.”
No, she wanted to claw his eyes out of his ridiculous pretty face. Emmery opened her mouth to reply, to rip him apart or—
“Wait. How did you know I couldn’t swim?”
“I have my sources.” The corner of his mouth curled up into a crooked smirk and it was the closest thing to a smile she’d ever seen grace his face. “It’s really not a problem. I could always compel you into the water.”
Emmery’s jaw clenched and she stared daggers at Destonne, debating whether it would be worth bursting through these restraints to set his stupid hair on fire. “You wouldn’tdare.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “You intimidate me more than I care to admit. Not sure I want to test your boundaries, though it’s far too fun seeing that fire in your eyes. Like toying with a lit match over a vat of oil.”
Destonne waited for a reaction, but her thoughts had taken her far away. After everything with Maela, water had been her greatest weakness, and it was like the gods were punishing her by placing such a cruel obstacle between her and her memories. Between her and the prophecy. Between her and Shade.
“I don’t know what to do.” The admission weighed her down, and she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. It provided no relief.
“I’ll have someone teach you to swim. Maybe Vera. Oh, or Cyrilla, though she may just toss you in the water and call it a day.” He pondered this. “Perhaps not Brennen. He would only be able to teach you the doggy paddle. Not ideal.”