Chapter 184: Episode 184: Massaging the King

For the first time since falling into the sea, Roxy felt like a person.

She hummed a little tune, something off-key and upbeat from her old life, as she moved around the cave.

The heavy, oppressive atmosphere of the Pearl Garden didn’t seem quite so crushing now that her skin wasn’t itching with dried salt and her hair wasn’t a matted bird’s nest.

She was glowing. Literally. Her skin was flushed and radiant, and the bioluminescent moss in the cave reflected off her clean, damp hair.

Caspian had no choice but to watch her with a very keen, almost obsessive gaze.

“You seem more bouncy now,” Caspian noted, watching her from the coral chair.

“It’s called happiness, Caspian,” Roxy chirped, doing a little spin on her heel. The tattered tunic she wore was still a rag, but she wore it like she didn’t give a damn. “Hygiene is next to godliness. I feel light. I feel fresh. I feel like I could conquer the world.”

Literally, I have almost conquered the world.

[Pride]

Oh shut up.

She tossed the last of the crab meat into the hot skillet.

The garlic butter foamed up, filling the cave with that rich, golden scent that seemed to act as a pacifier for the Trencher species.

Even the fish swam around, and Roxy, for the first time, thought of feeding them.

“Conquer the world later,” Caspian grumbled, eyeing the pan hungrily. “Feed the King now.”

Roxy laughed. They were always so edgy when it came to food. She plated the crab, pouring the extra garlic sauce over the white meat, and handed it to him.

“Eat up, Your Highness. But don’t drop any on the sand.”

Caspian took the plate, grumbling something, but he inhaled the food with his usual savage elegance.

Just as he was licking the last drop of butter from his thumb, the water wall rippled.

“I have returned!” a voice announced, the sound vibrating with smug self-satisfaction.

Nimue glided into the cave. She strutted in on her tail. Her hair, still sleek and glossy from Roxy’s treatment, was whipping around her like a shampoo commercial.

And she was dragging the chest she brought along, wrapped in layers of thick, waterproof shark-skin to keep the contents dry during the transport through the water wall.

Caspian stood up, his gills flaring. “Sister? What is this refuse you drag into my nest?”

“It is not refuse, brother,” Nimue scoffed, hauling the chest onto the sand with a heavy thud

. “I found it at the shore.”

Nimue saw the cross look on his face and immediately added, “There was a cave on the surface.”

She looked at Roxy and winked, a quick, sharp gesture that Caspian didn’t notice.

“Open it, Little Witch. I will give you that honor.”

Roxy’s heart hammered against her ribs. She rushed forward, falling to her knees beside the chest. Her hands shook as she undid the shark-skin wrappings. She unlatched the rusty iron lock.

She threw the lid back.

“Oh,” Roxy breathed.

It wasn’t just supplies. It was love, packed into a box.

The chest was overflowing.

There were bottles of essential oils, Rose, Lavender, Sandalwood, glinting like jewels, her most prized creations. There were combs. There were bags of spices (salt, pepper, sugar, cinnamon). There were mirrors. There were soft, plush towels.

And on top, folded neatly, were piles of silk dresses.

Deep crimson, royal purple, emerald green. Caspian and Nimue peered in, curiosity leaking off them.

“It’s like Christmas,” Roxy whispered, tears pricking her eyes. She reached out and touched the silk. It was dry. It was soft. It smelled of the Manor. the home she worked so hard to build.

“What is this?” Caspian demanded, picking up a bottle of Rose Oil. He sniffed it and recoiled, sneezing violently. “Ack! It smells of weird flowers! It stings the nose!”

“It smells like heaven, you uncultured sardine,” Nimue corrected, snatching a silver comb from the pile. “This is mine. And the green silk is mine.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I am your brother, Nimue,” Caspian growled in warning at her, while the latter just stuck her tongue out in defiance.

Roxy ignored them. Her hands were searching. She dug through the pile of robes, feeling for something specific.

Her fingers brushed against something hard hidden inside a roll of deep purple silk. She pulled the fabric out. A piece of parchment, sealed with wax, fell into her lap.

Roxy snatched it up. She turned away from Caspian, pretending to inspect the silk, shielding the letter with her body.

She broke the seal.

The handwriting was jagged, Zarek’s heavy hand mixed with Ren’s elegant script.

Roxy,

We received the message. The fish-woman was… tolerable. We did not eat her.

Syris has finished an invention, and we tried to get to you before but failed. But we are trying again, he calls it the ’Iron-Whale Mark II.’ He is reinforcing the resin with steel from the armory. We are coming. We will do everything to get you back.

Don’t worry, the one who did this to you is dead and long gone, so you don’t have to worry.

Do not let the fish sing to you. Plug your ears. Stay alive.

– Z, K, T, S, R.

Roxy stared at the words.

She is fucking dead?!!

[The Kings of beasts had already signed their fate with yours, so there was no way they were going to fall for the Halo of the protagonist of the story, nor could she take your children.]

I would have loved to see how she died, or better yet, kill her myself.

[A Win is a Win.]

A laugh bubbled up in her throat, a sudden, sharp sound of pure mirth.

“The Iron-Whale,” she giggled, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Of course Syris built a submarine. Of course he did, he always had the look of a scientist even though he was a fucking snake with two large dicks.”

It was so absurd. A magical submarine made of wood and steel, piloted by five beast kings, is diving seven miles to rescue her. It was the most ridiculous, romantic, terrifying thing she had ever heard.

It made her feel assured and happy.

The fear that had been gnawing at her disappeared. She was looking forward to seeing them. She tucked the letter into her sash, right against her skin.

“Why do you laugh?” Caspian asked, looming over her shoulder. “Is the cloth amusing?”

Roxy jumped, turning around with a bright smile. She grabbed the purple silk robe, the one she had found the letter in, and stood up.

“I’m laughing because I’m happy, Caspian,” she said. “Look at this.”

She shook out the robe. It was magnificent. The silk rippled like liquid amethyst. She slipped it on over her tattered tunic, tying the sash at her waist.

The transformation was instant. The silk clung to her curves, the fabric shimmering with every movement. The color made her skin look porcelain-white, and her eyes pop.

His golden eyes widened. His pupils dilated until the gold was just a thin ring around black voids.

He made a low, rumbling sound in his chest.

“You shine,” Caspian murmured, taking a step closer. “Like a pearl wrapped in twilight.”

“It’s called fashion,” Nimue commented from the corner, where she was busy draping the green silk over her own scales. “You wouldn’t understand, brother. You wear nothing but a belt.”

Caspian ignored his sister. His predator gaze was locked on Roxy. The sight of her, clean, smelling of flowers, wrapped in soft, expensive fabric, triggered something primal in his brain.

“The nest is ready,” Caspian stated, his voice dropping an octave. “You are clean. You are adorned. The food is eaten.”

He reached out, his hand sliding down the silk of her arm.

“It is time to merge.”

Roxy froze. Oh shit.

He pulled her closer. His body was hard, cold, and powerful.

“No more running,” Caspian whispered, lowering his head toward her neck. “No more pots. No more cooking.”

Roxy’s mind raced. She couldn’t fight him physically. And the skillet was out of reach. She needed a distraction. A big one.

She remembered the bath. She remembered how he reacted when she washed his hair.

“Wait,” Roxy breathed, placing her hands on his bare chest.

Caspian paused, his lips inches from her throat. “Do not say wait. I dislike this word.”

“Not wait,” Roxy corrected, forcing her voice to be sultry. “Prepare.”

She reached back into the chest and grabbed a bottle of Sandalwood Oil.

“You said you liked how my hands felt on your back,” Roxy whispered, uncorking the bottle. The scent was woody, earthy, and warm, much less floral than the rose oil. “This… this is a Surface ritual. Before the merging.”

Caspian pulled back slightly, intrigued. “A ritual?”

“Yes,” Roxy lied, pouring a generous amount of warm oil into her palms. She rubbed them together. “We call it… The Massage. It prepares the muscles. Relieves stress.”

She reached up and placed her oiled hands on his shoulders.

“It feels… slippery,” he noted, his muscles twitching under her fingers.

“Relax,” Roxy commanded gently.

She dug her thumbs into the knot of muscle where his neck met his shoulder. Trenchers carried immense tension there, the constant bracing against the water pressure.

She pushed hard.

Caspian groaned. His knees actually buckled.

“Oh,” he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. “That… that is pain… but good pain.”

“That’s a knot,” Roxy murmured, working her thumbs in a circular motion. “You’re so tense, Caspian. A King carries the weight of the ocean, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Caspian agreed weakly, his head lolling forward. “It is… heavy.”

Roxy moved her hands down to his trapezius muscles, kneading the rock-hard flesh. The oil allowed her hands to glide over his scales without friction.

She felt him melting under her touch. The aggression drained out of him, replaced by a drug-like stupor of physical relief.

“This is… better than the scratching,” Caspian slurred, leaning his entire weight into her hands. “Keep… keep doing that.”

Roxy smirked behind his back. She had him.

Nowhere in hell am I sleeping with a fish.

I must have said it a thousand times, but I am definitely going to abide by it.

She dug her knuckles into a particularly tight spot near his spine.

“It’s for massaging you,” she whispered, leaning close to his ear, her voice sweet and dangerous. “How does it feel?”

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