SERAPHINA’S POV
Nothing kills libido like seasickness.
I’d amassed more power in the months since I’d last visited Kieran’s island, and none of it, not one shred, meant anything to the churning, merciless tide beneath Ashar’s Pride.
I was humbled—thoroughly, wretchedly humbled—folded over a basin for most of the crossing while my stomach turned itself inside out and the horizon refused to hold still.
My only saving grace was my doting fiancé.
Although the misery of the yacht ride was the same as the last time I’d been on it, one thing had changed.
This time, I didn't have the urge to push Kieran's hands away when he pressed a cool cloth to the back of my neck, didn't grit my teeth when he murmured for the crew to bring more water, more crackers, more of the bitter chalky medicine that never quite worked fast enough.
This time I let myself be weak in front of him, let myself lean into the solid, steadying wall of his chest without the reflex to prove I didn't need it.
