“I do want to know. But what if the answer isn’t good?” His face scrunches as if the words taste like lemon juice.

“You’ve got to be ready to deal with it, no matter what.”

Toraf nods, his jaw tight. The choices he has to consider will make this night long enough for him. I decide not to intrude on his time anymore. “I’m pretty tired, so I’m heading back. I’ll meet you at Galen’s in the morning. Maybe I can break thirty minutes tomorrow, huh?” I nudge his shoulder with my fist, but a weak smile is all I get in return.

I’m surprised when he grabs my hand and starts pulling me through the water. At least it’s better than dragging me by the ankle. I can’t help but think how Galen could have done the same thing. Why does he wrap his arms around me instead?

*   *   *

By Saturday night, I can stay under for thirty-five minutes. By Sunday afternoon, I’m up to forty-seven. There’s something to be said about practice—even if I’m not actually practicing anything. Just hanging out in the water, holding my breath, withering my skin to grandma-like wrinkles.

I pull off the flippers Toraf brought me and chuck them onto shore. I keep my back turned while he maneuvers his shorts into place. “Are you decent?” I call after a few seconds. No matter how many times I tell him I can’t see into the water yet, he insists I’m just trying to look at his “eel.” For crying out loud.

“Oh, I’m more than decent. I’m actually quite a catch.”

I couldn’t agree more. Toraf is good-looking, funny, and considerate—which makes me question Rayna’s attitude. I’m beginning to understand why Grom sealed her to him. Who could be better for her than Toraf ?

But mentioning that to Toraf would break our silent pact not to talk about Rayna or Galen. Since Friday night, we’ve talked about everything but them. About Grom and Nalia. About the peace treaty General Triton and General Poseidon made after the Great War. About how seafood tastes—well, we argued about that one.

But mostly we just practice, me holding my breath, Toraf timing me. He can’t explain any better than Galen how to change into a fish. He agrees it feels like an almost overwhelming need to stretch.

Toraf wades to where I stand in the tide. “I can’t believe it’s already sunset,” I tell him.

“I can. I’m starving.”

“I am, too.” Must be all the extra calories I’m burning in the water.

He shrugs. “All I know is—” His head jerks toward the water and back at me. He grabs my shoulders, pulls me close. And then he breaks our silent agreement. “Remember what you said about Rayna? About playing hard to get?” He darts a glance toward the open sea, whips his head back to me again. His eyebrows melt together as he scowls.

I nod, startled by his about-face.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. And I’m going to do it. But … but I need your help.”

“Of course I’ll help you. Whatever you need,” I say. But something feels off when he pulls me closer.

“Good,” he says, peeking again at the sunset. “Galen and Rayna are close.”

I gasp. “How do you know that? I can’t feel them.” My heart turns traitor, beating like I just ran five miles uphill. It has nothing to do with sensing and everything to do with the mention of Galen’s name.

“I’m a Tracker, Emma. I can sense them from almost across the world. Especially Rayna. And from the feel of things, Galen is flittering that cute little fin of his like crazy to get back to you. Rayna must be riding on his back.”

“You can tell what she’s doing?”

“I can tell how fast she’s moving. No one can swim as fast as Galen, Rayna included. He must be pretty impatient to see you.”

“Yeah. Impatient for me to change so he can have another royal subject to order around.”

Toraf’s laughter startles me, not because it’s loud, but because his mood seems to swing around on an axis. “Is that what you think?” he says.

Suddenly, Galen’s pulse hits my legs like a physical blow. Toraf drags me out of the water and hauls us toward the house. “He’s had plenty of chances to show me something different,” I say, my words bouncing with each hurried step chunking into the sand. Behind us, I hear Galen and Rayna laughing about something. The way they slosh makes me think they’re splashing each other.

Toraf stops us at the little picket fence, an apathetic boundary separating Galen’s beach sand from the county’s beach sand. “Well, I’m about to teach those spoiled Royals a lesson. Do you trust me, Emma?”

I nod, but something tells me I shouldn’t have. My instinct is confirmed when Toraf pulls me against his chest and lowers his mouth to mine. When I try to pull away, he grabs a handful of my hair and uses it to hold my face in place. The sudden silence behind us is louder than the laughter ever could have been.

I can tell Toraf is a good kisser. He moves his mouth just the right way, gentle and firm at the same time. And for all the seafood he eats, he doesn’t taste like it one bit.

But everything about this kiss is wrong, wrong, wrong. If I had a brother, this is what kissing him would feel like. And then I feel something else. Hair-raising prickles all over. Like I’m about to be struck by lightning.

Then Galen—not a lightning bolt—slams into Toraf, wrenching our lips apart. To his good credit, Toraf releases me immediately instead of taking me down with him. They crash into the sand, Galen launching punches like bullets from a machine gun. But I’m too stunned to move.