Siren Slave by Aurora Styles

“Please don’t tell Pompey. I don’t want him to know. I really need my cover, so I can investigate pirates.”
    “I don’t think Pompey noticed a thing,” Hedwig said. How had she heard? “Seriously, he was hard when he grabbed you in the market. Didn’t you notice the huge bulge in the front of that skirt-thing Romans wear? He probably enjoys that kind of thing. Taking control and all.”
    “At the time, Hedwig was on her way to become my maid,” Freya said quickly.
    “Or perhaps Pompey didn’t notice because he thought you were a whore and his hand was on your breast,” Etainen said. His hand closed over her forearm, firm and strong.
    Berengar, Faramund, and Hartwin were the first to lead the men in rising and drawing their swords. At least Bertha had gone. She probably had figured the damage was already done and didn’t want to watch what she would consider a catastrophe.
    “What is this about Pompey touching you?” Berengar demanded.
    “Nothing,” Freya said quickly. She remembered Ulf until a sharper flash of pain streaked through her temples, and her distress disappeared. “Please. It’s nothing. Pompey just wanted to keep us safe from pirates.” The words were difficult to force.
    “Wait. I heard of the whore Etainen rescued,” Faramund said. “Oh, Freya, please don’t tell me—”
    “I was doing no more than I always do, and all of you know what I always do. Only I had not expected my normal actions to rouse suspicion. If you all go charging to Pompey’s chamber, he’ll know it was me as the whore. Then Mother and Father will know. And I have no idea how to explain any of that to them.”
    “Pray tell, Freya. What is it you always do?” Etainen’s hand slid to her wrist, tightening. It was doubtful he’d release her without an answer. “I suspect you told Pompey some of the truth. What’s the rest? Are you whoring yourself for information? You told Pompey you had been in the wood, swiving whoever would pay. Do they only pay with gold, or do they pay you with information about Rome’s traitors?”
    Gods. How was she supposed to explain any of this? “I…I…”
    She took a long swallow of blueberry ale, hoping it would numb the pain that started whenever her thoughts drifted toward the unpleasant. “As I said, I was doing what I always do. I didn’t tell Pompey all of it, of course. Pompey wondered how I got the coin to buy myself the box from Ulf. He was close enough to hear, and… Well, it didn’t help that I pushed some cutpurse away from him right after. He was going to lop off her arm.”
    How do I make it sound like I’m an idiot? An idiot who loves Rome.
    “I really, really hate the sight of blood. I didn’t want to get sick. That would draw too much attention. Vomiting would also be really debilitating, so I thought it safer to help the cutpurse. Of course, Pompey questioned me as I was on my way back to the palace, and I had to say something. Considering whatI’d bought from Ulf, I was sure I could corroborate—argh, alliteration—verify the lie—oxymoron—and be on my way. So, it’s my fault Pompey thought I was some whore who might be interested in him.”
    She stuck out her tongue and uttered the dumbest thing she could think of, just in case. “I’m really glad that Pompey wanted to search me. He’s doing such a great job. It’s an honor and privilege to have strange Romans hands on my body. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about. Next time, I’ll just carry the purchase in the open and won’t even bother with the box. I’ve been thinking that maybe it’d be safer if we all just went around naked. Cold, but effective. I mean, Woden prances about naked, problem free.”
    Hedwig cackled. “You should tell him he prances.” That line earned a raised brow and a quick head shake from Freya.
    “Freya, you didn’t have to go through the trouble of picking up that package for me from Ulf,” Hartwin said. “Though I daresay