Of Poseidon 02: Of Triton

to make good on his craving. It’s all the invitation he needs.
    He captures her mouth with his. Life jackets, islands, and airports are forgotten. The only thing that exists is her lips on his, her body pressed into his. Suddenly the creaky office chair is transformed into their own little world.
    “Uh, I’m just going to get more wine,” Rachel says. He didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable enough to leave. Not good . The last thing we need is privacy and free rein to do as we please . He tries to end it, to pull away, but Emma won’t have it. And it’s difficult for him not to indulge her.
    Her kiss is hungry, as if long deprived. As if they didn’t already spend the morning doing just exactly this, making up for the lost time they were apart. Triton’s trident, I could do this all day. Then he catches himself. No, I couldn’t. Not without wanting more. Which is why we need to stop.
    Instead, he entwines his hands in her hair, and she teases his lips with her tongue, trying to get him to fully open his mouth to her. He gladly complies. Her fingers sneak their way under his shirt, up his stomach, sending a trail of fire to his chest.
    He is about to lose his shirt altogether. Until Antonis’s voice booms from the doorway. “Extract yourself from Prince Galen, Emma,” he says. “You two are not mated. This behavior is inappropriate for any Syrena, let alone a Royal.”
    Emma’s eyes go round as sand dollars. He can tell she’s not sure what to think about her grandfather telling her what to do. Or maybe she’s caught off guard that he called her a Royal. Either way, like most people, Emma decides to obey. Galen does, too. They stand up side by side, not daring to be close enough to touch. They behold King Antonis in a polka-dot bathrobe, and though he’s the one who looks silly, they are the ones who look shamed.
    Galen feels like a fingerling again. “I apologize, Highness,” he says. It seems like all he does lately is apologize to the Poseidon king. “It was my fault.”
    Antonis gives him a reproving look. “I like you, young prince. But you well know the law. Do not disappoint me, Galen. My granddaughter is deserving of a proper mating ceremony.”
    Galen can’t meet his eyes. He’s right. I shouldn’t be flirting with temptation like this. With the Archives on their way—or possibly here already—there is a distant but small chance that he and Emma can still live within the confines of the law. That they can still live as mates under the Syrena tradition. And he almost just blew it. What if it had gone too far? Then his mating with Emma would forever be blemished by breaking the law. “It won’t happen again, Highness.” Not until we’re mated, anyway .
    “Um. Did you just promise not to kiss me ever again?” Emma whispers.
    “Can we talk about this later? The Archives are obviously here, angelfish.”
    She’s on the verge of a fit, he can tell. “He’s just looking out for us,” Galen says quickly. “I agree, we need to respect the law—”
    At this her fit subsides as if it was never there. She smiles wide at him. He can’t decide if it’s genuine, or if it’s the kind of smile she gives him when he’ll pay for something later. “Okay, Galen.”
    “Galen, Emma,” Nalia calls from the dining room, saving him from making a fool of himself. “Everyone is here.”
    Emma gives him a look that clearly says “We’re so not done with this conversation.” Then she turns and walks away. Galen takes a second to regain a little bit of composure—which kissing Emma tends to steal from him. Then there’s the mortification of being interrupted by— Get it together, idiot.
    Galen uses the walk to the dining room to settle his nerves and stifle the anger building up inside him. The truth is, he doesn’t have much to say to the Archives. Not after what they allowed to take place in the Arena. Triton’s trident, they put the Royals on trial!
    But as much as Galen would love to throw that in their faces, he won’t. This is his one chance, however small it is, to turn things around for him and Emma. And he’s not about to toss that chance to sea with both hands.
    Rachel has pulled more chairs out to accommodate the gathering. The table they circle is shinier than Emma’s lip gloss. Unlike the human meetings Galen has attended with Rachel to sell his underwater finds, there is no paperwork on the table, no cups of coffee, no cell phones. Also unlike human meetings, most