Free The Kiss That Saved Me (The Tidal Kiss Trilogy Book 2) by Kristy Nicolle

the two silver thrones in the centre of the stage. The throne isn’t as comfortable as you’d expect, it’s hard and cold, requiring me to sit up at an acute angle, pushing my spine straight. Shaniqua comes forward with something ornate between her long elegant fingers. My tiara. It’s small and threaded with shells, diamonds, and pearls intricately. She bows slightly and nestles it between the curls that were so lovingly placed, diamonds clinging to them, into a braid which pulls them to the base of my neck where they fall down over my shoulders and back. Shaniqua rises and smiles at me, a knowing look of something sentimental flashing behind the limes of her irises. I smile back at her and look over to Orion. His eyes ground me, making me appreciate how far I’ve come. From just an American teen struggling to pass chemistry, I’m now being crowned Queen over an aquatic city of merfolk. Not bad for less than six months when you think about it. Orion is crowned, the platinum crown of faux seaweed metal curling through his tousles, interrupting their steady wildness. Shaniqua bows to us as Orion holds the orb and sceptre in both hands and sits, head back against the substantial height of his throne, legs crossed in cocky reserve. I slant my lips in disapproval but then look at him, really look at him, before realising he has relaxed. I relax slightly too as Shaniqua turns.
    “I present to you, blessed ones, his Highness, King Orion the Hunter, and his other half, Queen Callie, the vessel.” Shaniqua practically sings these words and we rise together to our titles, to our obligations. Orion still holding his symbols of power and me folding my hands daintily in my skirt. The room bows before us, a tidal wave of humble abandon. Holy crap. They’re bowing to me? I watch the man with silvery grey hair stumble as he moves to bow later than everyone else. Someone hadn’t taught him the protocol, clearly. He must have been sick the day they taught Coronation 101 at merfolk etiquette school. We stand, becoming what we supposedly are, becoming the rumours on the wind, becoming the myths of ancient times gone past. We watch, surveying the humbled crowd as a large crash breaks the eerie, respectful silence. A hundred well-groomed heads turn in alarm and I feel my heart quicken. Azure stands in the doorway, wrapped from head to toe in a black silken ball gown that is speckled with rubies the colour of blood. She is revealed, hair whipped back from her face in an elegant knot, eyes an old and familiar icy blue, with skin the colour of bone.
    “Sorry I’m late,” she breathes.

    AZURE

    Everyone is staring. I wish they’d stop. Or maybe I should make them stop. They’re standing looking at me like I’m the crypt keeper. I glide forward, transcending their disapproving and shocked stares. My black heels click against the floor in monochromatic rhythm, like a funeral march. I walk down the aisle, watching fear rise in each of the individuals that line it. They should be scared of me. I’m scared of me. I watch them shift their eyes tentatively as they rise from their humbled state on bended knee. Pathetic. I bow to nobody. I see Star in the crowd, dressed in blue. Well, at least it’s not pink, she’s worn the colour to death and it really doesn’t suit her. Now black, there’s a colour that never goes out of style. As I move I notice a pair of eyes on me, though I am not surprised, there are hundreds. However, these in particular I notice, because these eyes aren’t filled with fear. I turn suddenly and the line of people I am facing dimples, trying to move away from me. The unpredictable harbinger of darkness. God I hate them. They will never understand what I’ve been through, and the irony of the fact that I saved them all. I feel the darkness stir within my gut.  
    No, keep it cool, don’t play into their hands. Be strong. Focus now.  
    I mutter this internal mantra, trying not to allow the shadows to take me,