King of the Sea

by Elizabeth Frost

  Also, he wasn’t like most kings. He wanted his people to think of him like a friend. Or perhaps a family member. If they were finished talking to him, then they could turn away and give him the hint.

  He turned the drawing this way and that. It was a rather beautiful piece of work. Unfortunately, someone had ruined it. Who drew something like this and then smudged all the charcoal away?

  Brow furrowed, he started back down the beach. There was more trash to pick up. More things to find that were human everyday items but still fascinated him.

  Or perhaps more drawings.

  On his meanderings, he came across a turtle who had just finished laying her eggs. She was working on covering them now. Cuts sliced through her flippers and a cross-hatch pattern marred her once beautiful shell.

  Archer dropped to his knees beside her and helped shove the displaced sand over her babies. “Hello, mother.”

  She turned her head to look at him. So slowly, in fact, he wondered just how tired she was. Her response was the exhausted rasp of a creature who had been through much. “King of the Sea, it is an honor.”

  “The honor is mine. May I help you cover your children?”

  “They are an ungrateful bunch. Do what you can.” She wheezed out a lengthy breath, coughing into the sand.

  “The cuts on your arms and legs are fresh,” he observed. “What happened?”

  He’d seen the marks before. Turtles frequently found themselves wrapped in human plastic and nets. The effect was sad. Too many of them had been found floating, lifeless in the waters far away from their nesting sites.

  She snuffled, snot dripping from her nose. “A net. But a pretty girl helped me. A human who didn’t smell like a human. She dragged me out of the water and freed me from the net.”

  He followed the direction of the turtle’s nod and sure enough, there was a net tangled in the ocean froth. A net he might have cut with the knife in his belt.

  Another deep hum echoed through his chest. “Did she stare at you?”

  The turtle gave him an unimpressed look. “No more than you are, King.”

  Right. It was an odd question when the turtle hadn’t overheard his conversation with the seals. He cleared his throat. “Apologies. I spoke with the seals on the other side of the cliffs, and they said a girl liked to stare at them. She draws things.” He pulled the drawing out and showed the turtle.

  She moved her back legs in the sand, weak and tired. Though, she paused and surveyed the drawing. “It’s good.”

  “It is rather good, isn’t it?” He looked it over, once again curious about the girl who captured creatures on paper.

  Seals weren’t easy. They were grumpy and unfriendly, but there was a beauty to them so few people saw. The girl had captured their wild nature and untamable personalities even in a drawing as smudged as this.

  “Are you finished helping?” the turtle snarled. “I’m not done yet.”

  “Ah, you’re very right.” He put the drawing back in his mesh bag and set to work once more.

  Between the two of them, they covered the eggs for their incubation. What luck it was that he’d happened upon the turtle just when she needed him.

  Or, he supposed, that the girl had happened upon the turtle as well.

  Such thoughts troubled Archer. He didn’t like to think of humans in a good light. They were tolerable beings with very little benefits to being on this earth. That was what he’d always thought of humans, and how the rest of his court thought of them.

  Most humans didn’t believe in anything other than mermaids. The merfolk were fickle and rarely listened to him. But there were thousands of faeries who called the water their home.

  Humans just didn’t know it.

  Archer dusted sand off his fingertips and stood. “May I assist you back into the water, madame?”

  The turtle huffed out an unimpressed snort and started back toward the waves. “You may not. I might look old but I’m perfectly capable of getting myself to the water, King of the Seas.”

  “It was an honest attempt to help,” he replied with a grin.

  “And one I do not need. Off with you. Go back to whatever royal tomfoolery you were getting into.”

  Tomfoolery? That was a new one. Most of his court were very forward with him, but he’d never met one who would just outright insult him. Still. She was a new mother. Perhaps she was tired from all the work.

  Archer watched with an amused grin as the turtle pulled herself toward the waves. Soon, she’d disappear beneath the foam and only return to the beach long after her children were gone.

  “A girl,” he muttered. “A girl whom many in my court have seen. How strange.”

  The drawing felt as though it were burning a hole in his pocket. Who was this strange creature who had captivated more than a few of his subjects? He wanted to know. The question stuck in his throat, compelling him to find this human woman.

  Would he have to wait on the beach until tomorrow? Humans weren’t punctual. He could wait for weeks and she might not return. The seal hadn’t been very specific about when his pod came out of the ocean to bask.

  Archer wasn’t a very patient king. He wanted people to give him what he wanted, when he asked for it. Why did humans have to make him wait? It wasn’t fair.

  Pouting, he stared down at the sand only to realize there were a few footprints next to him. Faint, of course. The sand had nearly returned to the shape it desired most. Flat. But there were still a few marks on the ground where she had stepped.

  And it must have been her. Who else would have left such tiny footprints next to the turtle? No one else had been here.

  Carefully stepping around the nest he’d made with the mother, he followed the prints all the way to the edge of the cliff. Tucked beyond his gaze, a white staircase led up to a human home.

  Dirty footprints stained the white steps with dark smudges of sand.

  Staring up the long stairwell, he rested his hand on the railing. A dark grin spread across his face. “Mystery artist, I must know who you are.”

  3

  “I really am sorry, sweetheart. I know you probably had dinner ready and everything. I’m the worst father out there.”

  River balanced the phone between her chin and ear. “No, no Dad. You know I don’t mind if you have to work late. It just means I don’t have to cook something fancy.”

  “Just because I’m not there doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat well.”

  She slammed the fridge door shut with her foot and used both hands to carry the old pot of soup toward the sink. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t eat well, Dad. I said I wouldn’t eat fancy. There’s a difference.”

  “You’re not just ordering sushi again, right?”

  She had her own credit card. Sure, her dad paid for it. But he’d have forgotten this conversation by the time the bill came in. That’s how Dad was. He scolded when he wanted to, but he didn’t care what she did as long as she ate something.

  “Of course not,” River replied, setting the heavy pot on the white marble countertop. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  Her dad chuckled on the other end of the line. He always knew when she was lying, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. As much as she wanted to go off on her own, River enjoyed being around him.

  They were the best of friends. He needed someone consistent to balance his crazy. And River? She just needed someone who didn’t stare at her webbed fingers.

  River ducked her head and looked out the kitchen window. The sun was still on the horizon, so the pool water would still be warm enough for her to slip into. The sun heated it so wonderfully during the day and this time of night it was only just getting chilly.

  “Take your time, Dad. I’m going to go for a quick swim and then I’ll order out. Like I always do.”

  There was a long pause before her father tentatively asked, “In the pool?”

  She sighed. “Yes, in the pool, Dad. I’m not running off to the ocean yet.”

  “Good, I cou
ldn’t stand losing you and your mother the same way. Love you, Sweetpea.”

  “Love you too, Daddy.”

  She hung up the call and set her cellphone on the counter next to the pot of soup she needed to throw out. Slumping a bit, she squeezed her eyes shut against a sudden heartache.

  Her father always said mum left because the ocean stole her back. River didn’t know if that meant her mother drowned, or if she’d run off with a fisherman. There were a thousand different meanings to what her father had said. And he refused to clarify any of them.

  She’d even asked people who knew her when she was a baby. But none of them even remembered her mother. They claimed her father came here with a baby in his arms and a haunted expression on his face.

  That was it.

  The story all the people in town knew, or cared to tell her, was the same story her father told her. She had a mother. They didn’t know where she was. Only that the ocean had stolen her away.

  What was a daughter to do with that? She wanted to know where her mother was. She wanted... something.

  Something more than just wondering where she came from. Who she was. All the questions every person asked before they could feel like a real adult.

  Opening her eyes, she stared out the window at their pool inlaid within the white painted deck. At least if she had to live in a glorified prison, there were worse places to be.

  River kicked off her flip flops in the middle of the kitchen and headed out to the deck. The sun was low on the horizon, but she had maybe an hour and a half before it set. There were lights in the pool, too.

  Maybe this time she’d stay in the water until the lights came on. A night swim always calmed her mind down. And Dad wouldn’t be back until late tonight, he said. The maids wouldn’t be here until morning.

  She was alone.

  Oh, she loved being alone.

  Padding across the deck, she pulled her blue t-shirt over her head and shimmied out of her jean shorts. River left them in a pile on the deck until she was in nothing more than a matching set of white, dingy underwear.

  An old friend from high school, Lina, had come back from college and visited once. They’d swam in the pool like this, and River always remembered Lina’s lacy red bra and thong.

  “The boys love it when you wear something sexy,” Lina had said. She pet the lace that had left twin red marks on her shoulder and then touched the thong that squeezed her hips too tight. “They can’t get enough.”

  River had wanted to ask if it hurt wearing underwear like that. They didn’t look comfortable, that’s for sure. But maybe getting boys wasn’t about comfort. Maybe it was just about appealing to their base senses.

  Snorting, she dipped her toe into the pool. If attracting boys was about wearing underwear that dug into her skin, she’d be all right on her own.

  The temperature was perfect. So perfect, in fact, she didn’t have to wait. River took two steps back, raced forward, and dove underneath the water without even the barest hint of a splash.

  She swam to the deep end, fourteen feet and perfect for her to flip onto her back at the bottom.

  Staring up through the water was like looking at a different world. The sky moved in waves and the clouds looked like cotton candy. But it was so much farther away from her.

  She liked to sit at the bottom of the pool and think. Everything was so quiet down here. Sounds were muffled, though she could sometimes hear the seagulls screaming overhead.

  Sometimes, when she was really stressed, River pretended she was in a bubble. Like the kind the good fairy in the Wizard of Oz rode around in. A bubble where nothing could get to her because she was down here and they were up there.

  Her hair floated around her like seaweed, tangling around her arms and fingers. She closed her eyes, crossed her legs, and rested her webbed fingers on her thighs. It was perfect. A singular moment of silence where she could only hear her own thoughts and her heartbeat.

  Then even her thoughts drifted away. Leaving her with nothing more than complete and utter peace.

  Something splashed into the pool at the other end. She dimly registered the sound, but it took a moment for her to open her eyes. No one was here. No one was even supposed to visit, so what in the world was the sound?

  River opened her eyes only to see a man shooting toward her through the water. He sliced through the pool like a torpedo.

  Was she hallucinating?

  The gate to her home was locked. She’d locked it herself just before coming in, as she always did. And it was a little too high for someone to climb. It made little sense why a stranger was swimming toward her with an enraged expression on his face.

  She flailed, trying to untangle her legs so she could dart toward the surface. What was he doing? Why was he swimming toward her?

  River wasn’t quick enough. He reached her long before she freed her limbs. He slid his hands underneath her thighs, crossed legged or not, and shoved her toward the surface. That was where she wanted to go, but what the hell?

  She crested the surface, spluttering and blinking chlorine out of her eyes.

  His head appeared right beside her. His ascent was far more graceful. Pearls of water stuck to his eyelashes and flattened his hair back against his head, slick and thick and altogether too handsome for his own good.

  He reached for her again, his hands sliding along her bare ribs and tugging her close to him.

  “Uh, no,” she muttered. River kicked her legs to get further away from him, but struggling against his grip was like fighting a riptide. “Let go of me.”

  “What were you doing?” he asked. His voice was warm and calm, like the stillest of seas and a haunting tune drifting atop the quiet waves. “Drowning is a horrible way to die.”

  She stopped fighting him. Placing her hands on his bare shoulders, she pushed him back. “Drowning? I wasn’t trying to drown myself.”

  “That’s what it looked like. You were under the water too long.”

  He’d thought he was saving her? Well, that was... nice. She supposed. If someone was planning to rob her, at least they could have some kind of conscience.

  Blinking at him, she cleared her throat. “I wasn’t trying to drown myself.”

  “Then why weren’t you coming up for air?”

  “I can hold my breath for a very long time,” she replied, her words slow and shocked.

  She’d never try to kill herself. She liked her life, even though sometimes she felt a bit trapped. But killing herself? No one would ever believe she even tried. River had a great love for life.

  He wouldn’t know. This man was a stranger to her in more ways than one.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “I don’t recognize you from town.”

  And River thought she knew everyone. She’d lived in this quaint coastal village her entire life. If she didn’t know the adults, then she definitely knew their children.

  He wasn’t like the villagers, that was for sure. Russet hair brushed his shoulders. The harsh angles of his face made him look almost severe, but his vivid blue eyes were far too kind. Laugh lines were already wrinkling the corners of his eyes, not from age, but just from laughing so much. Tattoos covered both his arms in tribal looking sleeves, like waves dancing over his body.

  She would have remembered someone like this in town. He was so handsome, almost otherworldly in his good looks. The entire town would have eaten him up and talked about wherever he came from for hours.

  She let out a soft sound and tried hard to not focus on her hands touching his shoulders. The muscles bunched underneath her fingers. Not the body of a boy, but a man. A real life, hot, overwhelmingly beautiful man who made her stomach clench and her palms sweat.

  Good lord.

  Was this what Lina had meant when she said she liked boys? River hadn’t ever been interested in.... well. Anyone. She’d kissed a boy behind the bleachers once because people dared her to, and she hated every bit of the experience. He’d tasted like popcorn and stale sweat. She’
d kissed no one else since.

  But this man? This man had captured her attention far more than anyone else. She wanted to touch him. To stoke the warm muscles under her fingers and do whatever it was humans did.

  Humans?

  Her thoughts were getting a little too fanciful for her own liking. River shook her head and pushed against his shoulder again. “Well, I’m not trying to kill myself, but thank you for your concern. Could you let me go now?”

  He grinned at her, and his teeth were blinding white. “Why are you in such a rush to get away from me?”

  “Because you’re a strange man breaking and entering, then jumping into my pool?”

  He shrugged. “Semantics.”

  River felt her eyes pop open wide in shock. “Semantics? No. That’s called breaking the law.”

  He shrugged again, the movement far more infuriating than it should have been. Did he think it wasn’t a big deal if he broke into someone’s home? That was crazy.

  She shouldn’t be talking with a criminal, anyway. She should call the cops and tell them some strange man had broken into her house and now wouldn’t let go of her. Officer Jim would be over in a heartbeat with his hand on his taser ready to go.

  But she didn’t want this guy to leave. Not yet, at least. Not when he was warm and real and for some reason thought it was his job to save her from drowning.

  Kicking her feet in the water, River shoved away from him. She swam to the edge of the pool and pulled herself out of the water. Sitting on the chilly ceramic tile, she stared at the strange man still floating in the water.

  He made no move to get out.

  Leaning back on her hands, she swirled her feet in the pool water. “What’s your name?”

  “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  She bit her lip. Something inside her screamed to keep her name safe. To hold it close to her chest and only give it away to someone deserving of it.

  Which was insane. It was her name. What else would he call her?