Sweat still clung to my skin from the sparring match against Evander that I slaughtered him in. I wasn’t supposed to be down here—my mother would call it unbecoming of an heir to sneak around the underbelly of our own palace like a thief—but I’d overheard something that didn’t sit right. Exotic dealers. A shipment. My uncle.

The halls of the lower levels smelled of damp stone and incense, laced with something faintly metallic. “This one cost a fortune,” one of the men was saying. “The lord should be pleased.”

“Pleased?” The other snorted. “He’ll lose his godsdamned mind.” A pause, then a muttered, “Bastard doesn’t deserve her.”

Neither do you, scum.

The door they disappeared behind was heavy iron, left slightly ajar. I slipped inside, the dim lantern light illuminating the cavernous space. And in the center of it all, a massive water tank, dark glass catching the glow of the torches.

I stepped closer.

And saw her.

She wasn’t floating—she was resting, curled at the bottom of the tank like a thing from a dream. Beautiful locks swayed with the water’s slow churn, strands catching the low light, weaving ribbons of silver and pearl. A chain coiled around her ankle, its links heavy enough to make my stomach twist.

A siren. A beautiful siren.

Then, as if sensing me, she lifted her head. Eyes like drowned flowers, deep and endless, locked onto mine.

I forgot how to breathe.

A warning flared in my mind—sirens are made to lure, to destroy, to devour. But there was no deceit in that stare. Only exhaustion. Only sorrow.

I knew what happened to my uncle’s sirens. They never lasted long. Some took their own lives. Others… never got the chance.

I moved closer, placing a hand against the glass. Her gaze flicked to it, then back to my face. And then, slowly, her fingers—delicate, hesitant—rose from the depths and mirrored mine.

Heat curled low in my stomach.

Instead, I whispered, “Who did this to you?”

The water rippled as she opened her mouth.

Speak. Sing. Anything. Just communicate with me, baby.