Surrender to the Sea (Lords of the Abyss Book 4) by Michelle M. Pillow

her victory morning. She didn’t want to meet a new male Draig, and certainly not the heir prince. The prince was not married and had already told Rolant he wanted to meet her.
    “Hand me a drink,” Llyr said. “Whose victory are we celebrating?”
    Like grasses being blown aside by a stout wind, the men parted to let Llyr see her. She stiffened and automatically lifted her jaw. “Mine.”
    “You?” Llyr repeated in disbelief. He looked at Rolant for confirmation. “And she passed?”
    “And we saw her fly,” Saben inserted.
    “That was you who flew,” Arthur said.
    “Oh, right.” Saben nodded. He lifted his cup and announced. “And I flew!”
    “How is Owain?” Llyr asked.
    “In need of a bath,” Mede said.
    “She brought back blond fur,” Rolant stated.
    “Blond…?” Llyr handed the bottle he held to his brother and stepped forward to look at her.
    Mede was glad she smelled like a liquor still and sweat. And she probably looked like a wild beast after her run. She forced herself not to look at his chest to see his crystal. Looking at his face was worse.
    In many ways he reminded her of Rolant, only his eyes were a brighter green—so bright they penetrated her, taking her in as if he could see all her secrets. Mede didn’t like to feel exposed. His light brown hair hung to his chin whereas Rolant’s was much longer. She thought of the kiss the Var had stolen from her. She had not been expecting it and really had felt nothing but surprise when it happened, but the memory caused her eyes to dart down to Llyr’s mouth.
    “Finally we meet, Lady Medellyn,” he said.
    Mede forced her eyes away from his firm lips. She swallowed nervously. “I am called Mede. And I am not a lady. Today I am a Dead Dragon.”
    At the words the inebriated men cheered. “Dead Dragons!”
    Llyr chuckled. More to himself than to her, he said, “I can see the liquor has not gone to waste here.”
    “If you’ll excuse me, prince, I want my scar.” She made a move to leave his presence, still refusing to look down. The idea that a prince would be her mate terrified her. She’d never wanted this meeting.
    “Wait,” Llyr said, being so bold as to grab her arm. “I should like to congratulate you on a good run.”
    Mede arched a brow. The more she found herself mesmerized by his eyes, the more stubborn her demeanor became. When he didn’t speak, she said, “Well?”
    “Congratulations on a good run,” he answered softly.
    “Thank you, prince,” she answered dutifully before moving to skirt past him. The men had started to sing a bawdy song as they linked arms and began a noisy, drunken chain through the campsite. The prancing took them away from where she stood. She wished they’d circle back.
    Llyr grabbed her arm again. “Did you really take the fur from a member of the royal court?”
    At the time she hadn’t been nervous, but now, the way both Llyr and Rolant mentioned the fur color, made her suddenly a little sick to her stomach. Nerves bunched in her chest and she nodded once. “I suppose I did though at the time I didn’t ask for his name.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “A cat,” she answered, being difficult on purpose. His fingers lingered on her arm, the touch somehow intimate. Finally she got the nerve to look down. At first, she thought she might have seen a soft glow in the stone. Only on the festival night would it light to full power. She stiffened, until she realized that it must have been firelight reflection. He was not her mate. A sigh of relief whispered past her lips…followed by a sense of disappointment. The disappointment confused her and made her want to run away like a coward.
    “Have you mated?” Llyr asked, eyeing her neck.
    Always to that.
    She lowered her eyes over her lashes. “I have no interest in marriage. I would like my scar though.” She tried to pull her arm.
    He tightened his grip. “So it is true. You broke your own crystal. Why?”
    Mede grimaced, remembering