by Megan Derr
Lana giggled when he had gone and cast Seree a sly look that he did not like to see on her young face. He narrowed his eyes. "What?"
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, do not pretend not to have noticed."
"Noticed what? That you were moonsick over a silly boy?"
"No, urchin," she said, poking him. "The reason that he would never have loved me, even if I had really loved him."
Seree raised his brows. "Because he still needs a nurse to put him to bed?"
"Oh, for Deep's sake!" she said, throwing up her hands. "You're such a starfish! The reason he has no interest in sanding me—"
"Language!" Seree snapped.
She rolled her eyes and continued as though he had not spoken, "Is because he clearly is more interested in being sanded by someone like you."
"Language," Seree hissed again. "You're a princess of the Deep! Where in the ten seas did you learn such vulgar language? I will clam you myself if you do not stop this instant!"
"I learned it by listening to you and the other warriors when I used to sneak into the armory to watch you practice," Lana replied, smiling.
Seree pinched the bridge of his nose and prayed to the Savior for patience. "I'm not sure the Deep is better off having you back," he finally said and took her arm, all but dragging her out of the palace.
She twisted free once they were away from it and scowled at him before brushing out her skirts and setting a more sedate pace.
They made it back to the beach in less than half the time it had taken Seree to find the palace. Lana abruptly threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. "Thank you for saving me," she whispered, then drew back. "And Aimé. I don't know how you're going to overcome the curse, but I should have known you would find a way. Nobody knows magic better than you, Seree. I'll see you soon!" She kissed his cheek, then stripped of her clothes and waded out until the water was deep enough for her to dive.
Leaving Seree on the beach, feeling wretched and lost. His plan had been to trade places with his sister, send her home, and then slit the throat of the worthless prince.
Except the prince was not what he had expected, and his sister had just ruined everything. Why was she so good at that?
Heaving a long sigh, Seree trudged back up the beach and returned to the palace.
*~*~*
A week had passed. He had six days left of the three months stipulated by the curse and if he did not figure out a solution it would kill him. He could feel it in his blood, writhing, waiting. It should have been such a simple matter to get the prince alone somewhere, slit his throat with the black-bladed knife, and be free. He had killed numerous humans in the past, vile bastards who tricked or hunted merfolk, hurt them for reasons of greed.
And that, right there, was his problem. One week was a trivial amount of time, but it was enough to know Prince Aimé was as innocent as Lana. He might have been human, but he acted like no human Seree had ever met. He stirred the same protective instincts as Seree's impetuous sisters… and roused feelings never before woken by a human.
Seree heaved a sigh and braced his arms on the railing of his little balcony, looking out over the ocean. Moonlight glistened over dark, calm seas, and the salty air was at once both balm and tease. His body ached constantly from being forced into an unnatural state, and it had gotten worse the moment he'd taken over Lana's curse.
The curse craved the human—one way or another. Seree did not know what to do. He might not hate Aimé, but he was not in love, either. Had never been in love, even with another of his own kind. Love was for fools. Look at what happened to his sisters whenever they went in pursuit of it, and his father was on wife number three and child number fifteen.
Seree shuddered and tried to think about something else. Like how to get out of the mess he was in without dying or killing an innocent prince.
Movement caught the corner of his eye, and he watched as Aimé slipped from the palace and down to the private beach behind it. He sat in the sand with his legs bent, arms across his knees, just close enough to the water that the tide lapped at is feet.
Seree's skin prickled with awareness. It would be easy to slip down to the beach, lower the prince's guard, and bare his blood to the moon, give his life to the sea. It would take only moments, and Seree would be home before his sisters stirred from their slumber. Lana would never know.
His stomach churned at the thought, remembering a week of smiles and flushed cheeks, a young man who seemed so quiet, but was filled with life. A man who looked sad when he thought no one was watching and rarely slept at night. Seree had thrown away too many opportunities to kill him, and could not make himself take this one either.
Stifling a sigh, he abandoned his balcony and made his way down to the beach. Though he made no sound in the soft, giving sand, Aimé half-turned and saw him, breaking into a smile. "Lord Seree."
"Highness," Seree murmured and joined him at the water's edge, standing so that the tide came up to his shins when it reached for the shore. "Can't sleep? You seem to struggle with that."
"I was never much for sleeping at night," Aimé said with a shrug. "I manage well enough."
Seree turned to face him, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a half-smile. "It sounds like you have a restless mind."
For a single moment Aimé looked as though he was going to cry—but then he regained control, schooled his features, and only gave a shaky laugh. "My grandmother used to say the same thing. She said I reminded her of her father, who could not sleep without his wife beside him."
"Yes, my father is much the same," Seree said. "Though he is on his third wife. My mother was his first, but she died of illness when I was very young. His second wife died three years ago, attacked by—" He bit off the words 'a shark' and corrected himself to, "while she was sailing."
Aimé looked at him in dismay. "I'm so sorry! That must have been terrible for you and Lana."
"Harder for Lana; I was too young to remember my mother's passing well." Seree sat down beside him in the sand and finally surrendered any thought of killing the prince—finally admitted he'd surrendered all such thoughts days ago. His opinion of humans was not high, but he was not as blind as some of his fellows in thinking all humans were the same.
He had six days to find another solution, and if he did not find it… well, he hoped someone worthy took up his knives and his duties. Seree looked out at the ocean and tried not to let the fear gnawing at him take control. He had faced death before and managed to live. He would not let his grandmother's stupid curse end him.
"I was sent here as punishment," Aimé said softly.
Seree turned, surprised by the words—and yet not. The remote location, the simplicity of the 'palace', the lack of an army of servants, the absence of friends and peers… It all added up to something, he had just never quite figured out what. Punishment seemed so obvious, suddenly, but it had never occurred to him someone so sweet would be in that much trouble. "Why?"
"I'm an embarrassment to my family," Aimé said, and though it was too dark to tell, Seree was absolutely certain those fine cheeks had flushed again. "My grandmother was… eccentric was the kindest word anyone ever used. She was an only child and very close to her mother, my great grandmother." He licked his lips, looked at Seree, and then looked away. "My grandmother was also very close to me. She would tell me stories all the time about her mother, about growing up here. This is her 'getaway palace' as she used to call it. Her stories were always about my great grandparents. Her favorite was about how they met here, how her mother washed up on shore after a shipwreck."
The words made the back of Seree's neck prickle. Aimé glanced briefly at him again, then looked away, and the growing sense of alarm increased. Before he could figure out what to say or do, Aimé continued, "She couldn't speak when they found her, my great grandmother. For two months she spoke without words, and my great grandfather fell in love with her. Then a witch appeared and tricked him away, and my great grandmother nearly died before he broke f
ree of the witch's spell."
"How did he break free of it?" Seree asked, though he already knew the answer.
"A great ship set sail, the couple to be wed at sea, and my great grandmother, in her despair, threw herself overboard. My great grandfather saw, realized she was going to drown, and that broke the hold the witch had on him. He saved my great grandmother, who regained her voice, but it was too late for her to keep her human shape. Because, you see, she was a mermaid and had fallen in love with a human, and a cruel spell was her only chance to win my great grandfather and stay as a human at his side."
Seree finished the tale. "She returned to her natural form until her father the king took pity and surrendered her forever to the land. Your great grandmother was Princess Beltana." He stared at Aimé and jolted at the expression on his face. "You know what I am. What Lana is—you've always known, haven't you?"
Aimé shrugged. "I wasn't certain with Lana. The shipwreck story was a bit odd, but the running away from home seemed honest. She seemed comfortable as a human. But you …" He reached out and traced the warrior marks carved into Seree's cheeks. "My grandmother told me many stories of the warrior mages of the Deep. The marks, the colored blades, the ferocity in their eyes."
Seree pulled away, embarrassed and more affected by that light touch than he liked to admit. Ferocity of his eyes? What did that mean? Humans were so strange. "You're far more clever than I credited, Highness. I never once had an inkling you knew me true."
"I was banished here because I believe in stories of merfolk—stories of the Deep, my grandmother used to call them. She begged my parents to promise that when she died her ashes would be given to the sea. They buried her in the royal tomb, but I stole her favorite necklace and threw it in the sea here. I hope that was enough. Do you think… anyway, that is why they banished me. I believe the stories and tell them to everyone. I'm the laughing stock of the court, and some of the nobles went too far in their pranking, and I… reacted poorly. People were hurt. I was sent here until my parents could figure out what to do with me."
He looked up at Seree, the desperate, plaintive look on his face nearly painful to look upon. "I'm not crazy, right? You are of the Deep? They aren't just stories told to a gullible grandson?"
Seree traced the lines of Aimé's face, unable to resist, soothing him almost as he might sooth one of his sisters. "Yes, prince," he said softly. "I'm a warrior of the Deep, marked and granted magic and meant to protect and serve the ten seas."
"Let there be no blood in the water, lest it be rightfully spilled," Aimé breathed. "That's what grandmother used to say."
Hearing his warrior's vow spoken in Aimé's quiet voice was Seree's undoing. He cupped Aimé's face, tilted it up just so, and kissed him. His lips were the softest thing Seree had ever felt. He twisted his fingers into Aimé's hair, held him close, and deepened the kiss to explore the warm mouth beyond those addictive lips.
Aimé shifted slightly, upsetting their balance, and the kiss broke as Seree fell to the sand. Aimé stared down at him, wide-eyed, lips wet. He licked them, and Seree was not certain how he was supposed to resist that, so he didn't. Instead, he dragged Aimé down and succumbed once more to the warmth and eagerness of his kisses.
It was far too easy to drown himself in Aimé, smooth his hands over the warm, pliant body that draped over him, score the fine skin with his sharp teeth. He ignored the stern voices in his head in favor of listening to every sweet moan and gasp Aimé gave him. The silly thing never wore much in the way of clothes, but then again Seree had never understood why humans preferred to wear so many layers.
He got their breeches open with minimal difficultly and drew their cocks out, stroking them together, moaning himself when Aimé drew back enough to help, and it did not take long at all before they spilled, messy and wet, over their hands and on their clothes. It was the finest thing Seree had felt in longer than he cared to dwell upon. He lapped lazily at Aimé's lips, relishing the flavor and heat of him.
Too soon, the chill of the air and water, the rub of sand returned to his awareness. Seree stripped off his shirt to clear away the worst of the mess, then got them both to their feet. Aimé fit against him far too well, and Seree floundered, not certain what to do with him.
Aimé kissed him. "So what brings you to land? My grandmother said warriors seldom rise to the surface, and then only to save their own or kill…" He drifted off and looked up at Seree—then stiffened at whatever he saw in Seree's face. "You came to kill me? I assumed you just came to fetch your sister; I could not puzzle out why you would linger so long when she was gone."
He drew back, jerking his arm away when Seree reached for him—but he didn't run, as Seree expected, just looked at him as though Seree had betrayed him.
Seree supposed that, in some way, he had. "My sister fancied herself in love with you and made a bargain with the sea witch to turn human when my father told her he would permit no such thing until she acted like an adult. But the sea witch being who she is… my sister had three months to make you love her or she would die. Her only other option was to kill you. Obviously, it was not a choice she could make. So I came here and took the curse in her place."
"So you freed her, then you were going to kill me to save yourself," Aimé said, and it was the calmness in his voice, the way he appreciated the logic, that cut Seree the deepest. "Are you going to kill me now?"
"No!" Seree burst out, furious. "I would not—I would not do what we just did if I planned on killing you! I'm a man of honor. I do not deny I have my flaws and have made my mistakes, but I always do my best to heed my vows and act with honor."
Aimé nodded. "So you… you don't want to kill me? Does that mean…"
"I am trying to think of another way," Seree said stiffly.
"Oh," Aimé said, and seemed to wither. He awkwardly adjusted his clothes and pushed his hair from his face, looking mussed, beautiful, and suddenly a hundred leagues away. "Um. I guess I should go to bed. Goodnight, Seree."
Seree opened his mouth, but then closed it again and watched Aimé walk away. Why did he feel as though he had proven himself a disappointment? He had nothing to prove to a human, no matter how unusually sweet or intriguing. What was he supposed to have said? Wasn't it good enough that he wasn't going to kill Aimé? What did Aimé expect, for Seree to love—
Oh, no. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Savior of the Deep spare him the flashflood emotions of young people. They had known each other a week; only a young fool would think that time enough to fall in love!
Heaving a sigh, cursing himself for succumbing to a temptation that had done nothing to help the matter—it was clear who the real fool was in the entire debacle—he trudged back to his room to try and get some sleep.
*~*~*
There were two days left, and Seree was ready just to drown himself and call it done. Worse, he was thinking of contacting his grandmother. Oh, the way she would laugh at him—and set him up to suffer a fate far worse than death. The revenge she had not been able to enact upon her traitorous daughter she would happily enact upon her despised grandson.
His father would kill him.
No matter how he looked at it, he was dead. Seree scrubbed at his face in frustration, then dropped his hands and went back to cleaning his knives. They didn't really need it, but the motions made him feel better, reminded him he was not normally so hopelessly incompetent.
He picked up a clean white cloth and gave the knives a last going-over before tucking each into its sheath: White for healing, violet for calling, blue for exchange, green for deception, yellow for protection, orange for binding, red for pain, black for sacrifice. Each knife took years to earn, longer to truly understand.
When they were clean, he replaced them on his back and shrugged into his jacket. Three days, and his options were nonexistent. All he really needed to decide was how he wanted to die: the sea, his own hand, a bargain with the witch, or let his father strangle him for acting no better than his sisters.
<
br /> He was going to murder Lana; it was all her fault. He hoped their father had locked her up and given the key to some dolphins. They lost everything, especially when told not.
Father…
There was an idea. Slightly better than the sea witch, anyway. Lectures and being laughed at hadn't killed him yet. At worst it would just make him wish he were dead and that could only help the situation.
By the Savior, he was never again saving his sisters from their own messes. The next time one of them blundered into trouble, she was on her own.
Well, there was nothing for it. He probably should have conceded defeat much sooner, but Savior did he hate looking like a fool in front of his father. Heaving a sigh, Seree left his room and walked slowly through the palace.
He walked slowly primarily because he kept peering into every open door he passed, hoping to see the prince who had studiously avoided him the past few days. Every time he had tried to inquire as to where to find him, he'd been informed that the prince was busy and would see him when he had time.
Seree was not certain what to think about that. He was going to die because he couldn't kill Aimé, and the bastard wouldn't even see him? Perhaps he was all too typically human, after all. But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. Under the circumstances, Seree really could not blame him. Only miss him.
Finally exiting the palace, Seree traveled around the city and then down to the miles upon miles of beach until he found the secluded nook where he had first come from the water. He removed his knives, then stripped out of everything save his breeches, and retained those on the unlikely chance someone came along. Modesty, he had found, was better to have when explaining one's stranger behavior to humans.
He pulled his sheath back into place, happier to have it against bare skin, the supple straps moving with him. Wading into the sea, he stopped when he was about hip deep. First, he drew his orange-bladed knife, pricked his thumb and let blood drip down to coat the blade. Then he drew it through the water, channeling his magic into a spell to calm the waters so all was still around him.
