“Would you like to be a princess, Little Rika? I think that would suit you. I think that would suit you very well.”

“Artur, do you have to take any medications if you’re out of the water for a while?” She racked her brain, trying to figure out the poor guy’s damage. “Do you need to lie down, maybe? Do you feel dehydrated? Do you have a headache? I don’t think you’re getting enough air. Or probably too much air. Yeah, that’s it!” In her excitement, she reached out and grabbed his arm. He felt just right; not feverish, like Jonas felt on the few occasions she’d touched him. “Do you feel light-headed? Dizzy?”

Somehow, he had edged closer without her noticing. Now he was very close. Almost kissing close. “Yes,” he murmured.

“You do? You feel dizzy?”

“Yes.”

“When your king father sent you, he didn’t warn you? That you might not be able to take it?”

“As a matter of fact, he did not.”

“Well,” she fretted, “you’d better lie down.”

“Yes indeed.” His hand was on the back of her neck. He probably didn’t want to fall down. Which was too bad, because if he went, they both would. She doubted she could keep him from—

His lips covered hers and pressed, hard. No tentative brushing of lips for this guy. No, his mouth was all over hers, almost hard enough to bruise, and his fingers were like iron on her neck, it was overwhelming, it was the hardest, most possessive kiss of her life and she brought her hands up in outraged surprise, tried to shove him away except, weirdly, she wasn’t shoving him. She was touching, feeling… stroking?

Was she getting too little air?

She managed to tear free and leaned on Pearson’s desk, gasping. “That’s—don’t do that.”

“Oh, I think I will, Little Rika. It was far better than I imagined, and I have a large… imagination.”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open, and her brain once again erroneously reported that the planet’s spin had sped up. It was all—it was just too much.

It was too much, really! For anyone to deal with. Her mom on all fours. Her dad not being her dad.

Her dad being dead. Pearson showing up. This one showing up. Somebody poisoning the harbor. This one sticking around. Pearson waving at her—following her all the way down the tank to wave at her. This one all grabby. Pearson all chatty about her hair. This one—

“Are you well, Little Rika?”

“No.”

“I did not think so. You look odd.”

“I have to go to work,” she said, feeling stupid. That wasn’t what she had meant to say. At all. Why couldn’t she think of what she meant?

He shrugged, turned his back, dismissed her, started heading down the stairs. “Then work. I will view the displays, like a good biped termist.”

“Tourist.”

“That, yes.”

“Don’t eat any of the exhibits,” she couldn’t help adding, then fled.