Gods, that was delicious. The sheets clung cool to my skin, silk and sea-salt, humming with leftover magic. The room still pulsed with the rhythm of the tide, low and steady, like applause. I stretched, slow and feline, letting the lantern-light ripple across my bare shoulders. Malvor He was glowing, smug, convinced he'd orchestrated brilliance, me, the girl, him, tangled like siren-song. He thought himself clever. He wasn't. He never had been. All chaos, all craving, all desperate to be adored. His feathers, his costumes, his dazzling tricks. He thought they were camouflage. Really, they were flares. Beacons. Telling us all exactly what mattered to him. I purred, brushing my lips lazily over his ribs. "Mmm. The chaos twins did not disappoint."
He chuckled into the pillows, smug as ever. "God of Mischief and threesomes. Put that on my temple wall."
I laughed, loud and careless, throwing my head back like he'd just given me something worth laughing at. He thought I was drunk on him. That was the trick. They always did.
The girl was quiet. Too quiet. She slipped back into the bed without a ripple, without a word, like mist through the tide. Mal's arm snapped around her instantly, reflex, not choice, dragging her against his chest with that boyish little hum he didn't know I heard. She settled. Smiled. Perfect. Flawless. He believed it. I didn't. Her hand was cold. Malvor didn't notice. He never noticed when he was busy painting himself the hero of the scene. But I did. I always notice. That's the part they never knew. I let them think I'm the ditz, the wave that never remembers where it's been. But I count every ripple. I lounged back, stretching, sheet half-draped around me like a queen pretending to be a courtesan.
That was why I'd done this. Not for him. For her. I wanted to see if she'd break. Because storms don't lie. They strip you down to whatever's real. If the girl was going to matter, and oh, she would, then I needed to see if she was driftwood or stone. "You know," I said, stretching like the sea itself, "mortals don't usually last this long. She's not mortal, though, is she?"
Malvor smirked, stroking her hair like she was glass. "She's mine."
Oh, darling. He didn't even hear himself. Mine. He never used that word. Not really. He thought he didn't care enough. Thought he didn't attach. But I'd always seen it, the way his chaos frayed at the edges when someone looked at him too long. The way he laughed too loud when he needed to be believed. He cared. He cared more than any of us. He just thought hiding it was power. Malvor has never hidden a thing in his life. Not from me. Not from any of us. Luxor, Tairochi, Ahyona, we all knew. His chaos wasn't disguise. It was confession.
I let my eyes linger on the girl. Annie. Still. Breathing like she was pretending. That was interesting. Very interesting. "She's stronger than she looks," I said, lazy, almost dismissive. "But not as strong as she thinks she is."
Malvor rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "You sound jealous."
I laughed. Gods, I laughed. High and delighted, leaning over to kiss his jaw like it was a joke. "Jealous? Please. I invented her type."
Perfect. A spark of doubt in his eyes before he buried it. He never noticed how transparent he was. None of them did. They still thought I was just the flirt, the tide, the giggle in the storm. Not the undertow.
The girl slipped away a few minutes later, murmuring something soft about air. Mal didn't even look up, too drunk on glow, on me, on the fantasy he thought he'd written. I watched her go. Not judgmental. Not invested. Just curious. Because she was cracking. I'd seen it. That stillness, that too-perfect smile. I'd watched a hundred priestesses break like that. She'd shatter eventually. And when she did? It wouldn't be me she drowned. I sipped the silence like wine, tracing lazy circles on Malvor's chest with my nails. "Careful, darling," I whispered. "You play with storms long enough, you start thinking they like you."
He grinned, eyes closed, not hearing me. Not really. I just smiled. Sweet. Carefree. Empty. Because whether she broke or he burned, It would be beautiful to watch. He murmured her name in his sleep. Annie.
The word slipped out like worship. Soft. Unthinking. The kind of truth you can't hide when dreams steal your mask. I didn't answer. Of course I didn't. I just turned my eyes. Brief. Enough to see.
She was still. Too still. The kind of still that isn't rest—it's armor. Not the wild storm she could be, not the little smile she'd worn for him all night, but the brittle kind of quiet you learn when silence is survival. Numbness pretending to be peace. I knew that look. I'd seen it a thousand times in temple girls and sea wives who thought the ocean had chosen them. I looked back at the ceiling. Not my shipwreck.
The dawn spilled in slow and golden, bleeding across tangled limbs and half-finished glasses. The tide outside sang its endless lullaby. I let it wash over me, lazy and self-satisfied, as if the night had been nothing but indulgence. Malvor woke last, stretching like a spoiled prince between two offerings. His arm was still slung around Annie, possessive in ways he'd never admit when awake, the other dropped over my stomach as though the world was his to sprawl on. His smile bloomed before his eyes even opened. "Gods, that was… amazing." He breathed it like prayer. Like proof.
Annie didn't speak. I rolled onto my back and made a noise low in my throat, half-grumble, half-purr. Meaningless. He took it for agreement. Of course he did. His fingers found her hip, tracing lazy circles along the rune that still shimmered faint beneath her skin. "Still glowing?" he teased. "You were unstoppable last night."
No answer. No protest either. So he kept smiling. Kept pretending silence meant yes. That was always his flaw. He loved the story so much, he never noticed when it wasn't true. I slipped from the sheets eventually, stretching long, arms overhead, hair a tangle down my back. Not for them. For me. I knew what it looked like. The goddess unconcerned, glowing with the sea's affection. That was the game. The role I wore like silk. Bare feet on coral, I padded to the balcony. The breeze kissed my skin, salted and sweet. The ocean below rumbled its welcome. I didn't dive. Not yet.
Behind me, I heard the shift of blankets. The hitch of a breath. Her breath. A release she hadn't meant to give away. Malvor didn't notice. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, still smiling, still convinced he had conquered. Still certain he was the one holding her together. He didn't see her cracking. But I did.
When they left, hand in hand, the portal spilling dawnlight into the chamber, I stayed where I was, leaning against the railing, hair whipping wild in the wind. Not my shipwreck, I reminded myself. But I watched them go anyway. Because storms interest me. And that girl? She was all tide.