by Plum Pascal
Whatever the case, I can’t keep my eyes off her for long. She’s just too damn beautiful, even wearing men’s clothing. Somehow, the crushed blue velvet frock coat (almost a mirror to her captain’s, though less worn) suits her better than the layered dresses my father no doubt offered. I can’t picture this woman in anything pink and frilly.
“Yes, our number is larger than I assumed, as well,” Lady Aurelian says. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the newcomers, my lord,” she continues, casting a bemused glance to Captain Hook and the two strangers. “We were attacked by a kraken on the way to your kingdom. We lost one of our crates in transit, but Hook was able to stall long enough to allow the crew and our delegation to escape. These two...”
She gestures at the pair near the Captain.
“Rescued him. I’m told they’re, ah...” She gropes for a word.
“Merfolk,” the exotic woman supplies as she looks at me straight on, with no worry for my reaction.
Her pronouncement succeeds in stilling all activity in the throne room. My father sits a little straighter on the throne, one hand balling into a fist on the armrest. He doesn’t appear happy.
“You brought merfolk into my city?” he asks, spearing the captain with his brazen expression.
“No one brought us,” the woman says tartly, meeting my father’s eyes with a look so impertinent, it would have gotten anyone else whipped. “We came of our own volition. If you do not wish to hear our proposal, we will return from whence we came and you may deal with the grotesquerie on your own when the defenses that hold them back inevitably crumble.”
“The what?” my father asks.
“The grotesquerie,” she repeats. “Beasts. Monsters of the deep.”
My father barks a bitter laugh, shaking his head. I can’t help but notice it’s grown whiter in the past few years. The burden of war isn’t one he should have to bear twice in just a little over a decade. And his health is failing. This is no time for him to be commanding an army. If he’ll lay down his pride and retire quietly to the coves, I can keep him safe and happy until he goes.
But my father is hardly the quiet and retiring type.
“Unless you’ve failed to notice, girl, your defenses have accomplished rather little. My fleet is still being destroyed and we can’t venture into deeper water. The shallows around Delorood are already depleted.”
“What you fail to realize, senex,” she replies hotly, “is that it could be so much worse for your vessels. The kraken that destroyed Hook’s Jolly Roger was an adolescent that escaped our dragnet. My forces have killed six this month alone. And that’s not taking into account the barreleye, monkfish, eels, and large shark species we’ve prevented from leaving the trenches. We have kept a great deal from your shores already, your highness.”
The venom in her tone, as well as her words, brings my father up short, and I examine her more critically with this new information. She’s unsteady on her feet because she’s not used to having them.
“Who are you?” My father finally asks, relaxing back into his chair.
“My name is Princess Arianwen.”
Arianwen? That’s... that’s incredible! If it’s true. I’ve only heard stories about the exiled princess and half-believed them to be a myth. Cast out by Triton for her defense of Delorood and the rest of the land-dwellers, she’d been missing for years. Some thought she was dead.
Clearly, such isn’t the case.
“Feck’s sake, Aria,” the captain mutters under his breath. In the silence of the hall, his words are still audible. “Ye didnae tell me ye were a bloody princess!”
She ignores him, stepping toward us instead, planting one booted foot onto the first stair leading up to the dais.
“Why should I believe you are who you say you are?” my father demands.
“If I were Triton’s pawn, do you truly think I’d have come to you for aid? I’d be leading an army against you.”
“You’ve brought a soldier,” he points out to the other man of her kind—the one who stands beside her and hasn’t left her side. The male stands up straighter and gives us all a flat, unfriendly stare. Arianwen rolls her eyes.
“You can hardly think of Bastion as a threat when you have dozens of guards with gutting weapons at the ready,” the princess responds.
I wince at the naked flippancy in her tone. The defiance is unexpected and, if I’m honest, very refreshing, but it won’t earn my father’s favor. It does convince me she’s royalty, though. No one, outside of a monarch, speaks to another noble with such disdain. She’s never been a serf or a beggar, if there’s even such a thing in Triton’s city.
“Perhaps you should say what you’ve come to say, princess Arianwen,” I interject, risking my father’s ire. But the round of jabs and accusations benefits no one.
Arianwen turns her head a fraction to look at me, and that lovely face softens somewhat. She examines me, taking my measure. It makes me sit up a little straighter. I know I’m fit and attractive. But I’m not built along the lines of Kassidy’s men. I’m not even built like Hook, who looks like life beat him with a flail, shoved him into the sun to bake, and brought him back as tough as boot-leather. With the black goatee and equally dark, flyaway hair, he’s got a roguish look to him. But he’s all man and I can understand why women are drawn to him, as it’s always been rumored they are. I’m definitely not beautiful, the way Bastion, the princess’ guard, is. But she doesn’t seem... displeased by the sight of me.
“I am here to negotiate a cessation of hostilities, on behalf of my Aunt Cassiopeia,” she continues. “We propose a coup to depose Triton and put my aunt on the throne. She is in line with your cause. We also wish to see Morningstar stopped. For so long as the war wages, we can guarantee safe tides in our waters.”
My father sucks in a breath between his teeth and considers her with less hostility than before. I can’t contain my mounting enthusiasm, and can see a cautious echo of the same on his face. If the princess’ offer is genuine, it will change everything. Life in Delorood and all the cities therein can resume as it once did. More than that, we can begin to recruit and render aid to the other principalities of Fantasia, as we’ve been promising. I know at least some of the nobles in the north are sympathetic with our cause, even if Ascor and others have thrown in with Morningstar’s emerging forces.
“And what do you want in return?” I ask, because my father seems reluctant to address the defiant siren.
Her shoulders straighten still further, pushing her impressive chest forward. As her coat shifts, I note, with some embarrassment, that the shirt is thin and the hard outline of one peaked nipple is showing through the fabric. It’s damn distracting. And dangerous.
Don’t fuck or fuck with sirens. It’s one of the first rules young sailors are taught. Being drowned is a merciful death. More often than not, vengeful sirens will use their bird form to shred any sailor unfortunate enough to fall under their thrall.
I have to imagine this one is the same—if driven and angry enough.
“We require several of your soldiers in their aquatic gear to stage the coup,” she continues. “The last tangle with the grotesquerie left our forces depleted. We can’t hope to hold them back again. After Aunt Opeia’s spells fail, the monsters of the deep will begin to rise. We want to stop that from happening. If Opeia can gain possession of the trident and assume the throne, she can banish the grotesquerie to the deeps for good. We are willing to offer much to secure these troops. Along with the promise of safe tides, there is also an offer of...” Her eyes drift from my father to me, giving me that speculative look once more. “Marriage. To you or your son. A pact, to show our loyalty to your cause.”
While I am quite shocked by her offer, my shock doesn’t compare to the captain’s. He inhales so deeply, the sound echoes through the room. Outrage spasms across his face for an instant before he can hide it. He stares at her with a look of naked betrayal, and I have to wonder just how close the two have grown in the
short time since his rescue? If Lady Aurelian is to be believed, and there’s no reason she shouldn’t be, they’ve only been on land for a few days, at the most.
Has the captain fucked her? I don’t like the thought. Which is absurd, since she’s not mine. Furthermore, even if I were to accept her offer of marriage, I hardly think she would remain monogamous. She’d need a consort, at the very least, so she could produce heirs to her own throne. And as regards my throne… Fuck if I know if it’s even possible for her to bear my children… human children.
As I study the captain and then the princess’ guard, Bastion, I note he too seems quite indignant over this whole subject of betrothal. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw is tight. His hand have turned to fists at his side.
Hmm… this princess certainly has harpooned the hearts of both men. I can only wonder how… is she fucking both of them?
My father turns in his seat to regard me, finally. There’s really only one choice if we accept her offer. The healer says my father’s heart is weak. He’s had to radically alter his diet already, and he’s been advised to avoid all physical exercise, other than taking simple walks about the kingdom. As it is, he can barely walk the halls for long stretches. He’s not up to the marital duties of a young woman.
“Andric?” He makes my name a question, and I know what he’s asking.
I try to consider her offer logically. Try to ignore the promise of sensuality that fairly leaks from her. It’s difficult. She’s possibly the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, strange hair and markings notwithstanding. And if I marry her, she’s tied to our kingdom, sworn to our cause... Truly, we can’t afford not to have the tides. Without them, no supply line can be established and we’ll quickly starve to death. We may as well run the white flag of surrender if that happens.
So, it doesn’t really matter what she or I want, in the end. If a loveless, non-monogamous and possibly sexless marriage is what I have to enter into in order to save my people, I will.
I nod. “If the princess is willing, so am I.”
Arianwen’s expression flickers, and she begins staring at me again as though no one has ever offered her a choice.
With a pang, I realize such is likely the case—exiled at a tender age, sheltered in the deeps where combat wasn’t optional, then sent to me to propose a marriage she doesn’t want—she’s had to carry out the will of others all her life.
I have the urge to step off the dais and cross over to her, cradle her fine-boned face in my hands and brush kisses across those cheeks. Murmur reassurances that I’m not cruel and that she will have agency where I’m concerned. If she wants nothing to do with me after the marriage, so be it. But she will always have a choice.
Slowly, she inclines her head. “Yes. I am willing.”
My father claps his hands, a smile finally curling the weathered edges of his mouth. I can’t help but notice how deep the creases in his face are becoming, like a crumpled piece of parchment.
“Excellent! We’ll retire and then reunite for supper, yes? This seems like an occasion to celebrate!”
But Princess Arianwen doesn’t look like she wants to celebrate. She’s pensive and seems a little worried. She keeps shooting glances at Captain Hook, who stands as rigid and still as a statue. He refuses to meet her eyes. She does nod her head respectfully toward my father after a moment.
“That’s agreeable.”
Murmurs finally break out in our wake when our group makes its egress. I offer Arianwen a hand after I descend the dais, and she slides her own hand into it cautiously. I marvel at the texture of her skin. As smooth as silk. There’s a light silver sheen to it, when candlelight hits it just right.
“I’m Andric,” I tell her, offering a smile and hoping for one in return. It doesn’t work. If anything, she looks more anxious. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess Arianwen.”
“Aria,” she says quietly. “I prefer people call me Aria.”
“Aria,” I amend, smoothing a thumb over her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
That’s apparently all the captain can tolerate, because he turns on one heel and stalks away. Aria slides her hand from mine and starts after him without returning the sentiment.
Hook is a lucky bastard. If he can’t understand or forgive her, he’s a fool.
But, Aria doesn’t seem the sort to suffer a fool. Thus, again, I find myself quite intrigued by the nature of the relationship between the two of them—the legendary Captain Hook, known for his independence, who now acts the part of the spurned lover? And a princess who is no stranger to war, brought low by her lover’s jealousy?
Curious, yes, and hopefully remedied when the captain takes his leave of her.
TEN
Aria
I lose track of Hook.
Surer on his feet, he manages to dodge me effectively and disappears into the castle’s interior before I can catch up to him. I’m irritated at my infernal human body for betraying me, and I now find myself tucked into an alcove, salty moisture rolling down my cheeks yet again. I’ve been sitting here a while—until the heaving of my chest starts to slow and the piteous noises coming from my mouth eventually cease.
And then I turn and start for the castle, all the while experiencing a sinking feeling in the depths of my stomach.
***
My face still feels hot, though I’ve tried washing it a few times. Prince Andric is waiting for me just outside my room, and when I walk out the door, he smiles and extends his arm so I can place my hand on his forearm. Hook was the first to show me that position, and it makes my chest ache to think of him.
Prince Andric is not unattractive, by any measure. And were I not so head over heels for Hook, I might be quite delighted by the prospect of making Andric my land husband. He’s different from Hook. Skin pale like sea foam, though his hair is just as dark as Hook’s. Andric’s eyes are an exquisite teal, as though one could glimpse the sea in his gaze. The color is quite intriguing. His body is not unpleasant, either—slimmer than Hook’s, though Andric’s quite a bit taller. No ticklish facial growth, just a shadow along his jaw where it ought to be.
I can definitely do worse for a husband. He’s not the one I want, but he’s attractive, I must admit. He seems kind, if not a little aloof. He doesn’t speak much and when he does, he’s somber. He weighs his words. It’s a good quality in a leader, even if he’s not a scintillating conversationalist.
I examine him critically, especially his trousers, where I can just make out the line of his cock against the fabric. It seems to be a good size. I will not mind having it inside me when the time comes. But, still, he’s not Hook. There’s no ache between my legs when I look at Prince Andric. Not yet, anyway.
Thoughts of Hook make me anxious. He’ll be at the dinner, I hope? Perhaps I can corner him and ask for forgiveness and explain why I made the decision I did—that there was no other option—that it was the will of my aunt. Regardless, I should have warned Hook. I should have told him what I intended to offer—my hand.
But the moment I step through the doors of the great hall, my vague, half-formed plans fly out of my head.
The stink hits me first. The thick, meaty smell hangs like a fug in the air, and I know I’ve smelled it before, in various forms. Beached whales. Sickly merfolk, in their final weeks before perishing. The corpses of kraken that are too large to force them back into the trenches in their limp state.
This room reeks of death. And a cursory examination shows why.
There are carcasses everywhere! The table is lined with them. Fish of every shape and color, laid out in fillets. Some of them whole, slathered in sauces or rubbed with spices. Clams, painfully pried open. Lobsters with their skin boiled red. And then there are beasts I can’t name, land dwellers, I assume, but those too are arrayed in positions I can only assume are unnatural. One appears to have a fruit tucked into its mouth.
Fresh water leaks from my eyes and I wrench my hand free of Andric’s grip. I’ve hea
rd tales of the appetites of humans. But I never expected this. They’re not just eating these poor, unfortunate creatures. They make art with the corpses!
It’s sick.
And I simply cannot and will not watch the humans carve these poor creatures up.
Behind me, Bastion makes a noise of outrage as he, too, witnesses the carnage.
I backpedal, putting as much space between myself and the reeking room as possible. My back hits a wall, head knocking painfully against stone. I get my feet beneath me, still my wobbling knees, and pelt back the way we came. I don’t know where the exit is, but I have to find it. I have to get out of this confining slab of carved stone and back to the ocean. I don’t belong here with these barbarians. We can find allies elsewhere, surely?
A voice calls after me, but it’s drowned by the pulse in my ears and the sounds of horror that escape me, no matter how desperately I try to hold them in.
I bump into walls several times, fall and scuff my hands and stain the knees of my trousers. I send a metal suit clattering to the ground with a noisy bang. I leap over it, roll, and keep going.
When I find the exit, I let out another soft cry—this time, in relief—and sprint through the open doors, past the guards. One tries to stop me. I release a warble of sound, a very weak echo of my siren’s song, but it’s still enough. It does something... odd, to humans. The guards go slack-jawed and stare at me in wonder. One extends his arms, like he wants to embrace me. They both drop their weapons.
I’ve never seen this sort of response, because I wasn’t old enough to visit the drowning coves before my banishment and too afraid to go after. But I have heard tales of my cousins sunning themselves on rocks, inviting sailors to come to them with their song. And when those sailors got close enough, the sirens would push them under the water and hold them until the thrashing stopped. I hear Orva possesses a necklace of human bones she can loop around her tail twice. Punishment for human cruelty on the ocean, for pouring their waste and their refuse into the sea. Punishment for all the sirens killed and mounted on masts.
