Of Poseidon

know, arrest her or something,” Toraf says, crossing his arms.
    Emma locks eyes with Galen, stealing his breath. “Yeah, Galen. Come arrest me if you’re feeling up to it. But I’m telling you right now, the second you lay a hand on me, I’m busting this glass over your head and using it to split your lip like Toraf’s.” She picks up her heavy drinking glass and splashes the last drops of orange juice onto the table.
    Everyone gasps except Galen—who laughs so hard he almost upturns his chair.
    Emma’s nostrils flare. “You don’t think I’ll do it? There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there, Highness?”
    The whole airy house echoes Galen’s deep-throated howls. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he elbows Toraf, who’s looking at him like he drank too much saltwater. “Do you know those foolish humans at her school voted her the sweetest out of all of them?”
    Toraf’s expression softens as he looks up at Emma, chuckling. Galen’s guffaws prove contagious—Toraf is soon pounding the table to catch his breath. Even Rachel snickers from behind her oven mitt.
    The bluster leaves Emma’s expression. Galen can tell she’s in danger of smiling. She places the glass on the table as if it’s still full and she doesn’t want to spill it. “Well, that was a couple of years ago.”
    This time Galen’s chair does turn back, and he sprawls onto the floor. When Rayna starts giggling, Emma gives in, too. “I guess … I guess I do have sort of a temper,” she says, smiling sheepishly.
    She walks around the table to stand over Galen. Peering down, she offers her hand. He grins up at her. “Show me your other hand.”
    She laughs and shows him it’s empty. “No weapons.”
    “Pretty resourceful,” he says, accepting her hand. “I’ll never look at a drinking glass the same way.” He does most of the work of pulling himself up but can’t resist the opportunity to touch her.
    She shrugs. “Survival instinct, maybe?”
    He nods. “Or you’re trying to cut my lips off so you won’t have to kiss me.” He’s pleased when she looks away, pink restaining her cheeks.
    “Rayna tries that all time,” Toraf chimes in. “Sometimes when her aim is good, it works, but most of the time kissing her is my reward for the pain.”
    “You’re trying to kiss Emma?” Rayna says, incredulous. “But you haven’t even sifted yet, Galen.”
    “Sifted?” Emma asks.
    Toraf laughs. “Princess, why don’t we go for a swim? You know that storm probably dredged up all sorts of things for your collection.” Galen nods a silent thank you to Toraf as he ushers his sister into the living room. For once, he’s thankful for Rayna’s hoard of human relics. He almost had to drag her to shore by her fin to get past all the old shipwrecks along this coast.
    “We’ll split up, cover more ground,” Rayna’s saying as they leave.
    Galen feels Emma looking at him, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. Instead, he watches the beach as Toraf and Rayna disappear in the waves, hand in hand. Galen shakes his head. No one should feel sorry for Toraf. He knows just exactly what he’s doing. Something Galen wishes he could say of himself.
    Emma puts a hand on his arm—she won’t be ignored. “What is that? Sifted? ”
    Finally he turns, meets her gaze. “It’s like dating to humans. Only, it goes a lot faster. And it has more of a purpose than humans sometimes do when they date.”
    “What purpose?”
    “Sifting is our way of choosing a life mate. When a male turns eighteen, he usually starts sifting to find himself a companion. For a female whose company he will enjoy and who will be suitable for producing offspring.”
    “Oh,” she says, thoughtful. “And … you haven’t sifted yet?”
    He shakes his head, painfully aware of her hand still on his arm. She must realize it at the same time, because she snatches it away. “Why not?” she says, clearing her throat. “Are you not old enough to sift?”
    “I’m old enough,” he says softly.
    “How old are you, exactly?”
    “Twenty.” He doesn’t mean to lean closer to her— or does he ?
    “Is that normal? That you haven’t sifted yet?”
    He shakes his head. “It’s pretty much standard for males to be mated by the time they turn nineteen. But my responsibilities as ambassador would take me away from my mate too much. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”
    “Oh, right. Keeping a watch on the humans,” she says quickly. “You’re right. That