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Seven steps and then the water was rushing up to meet them. Seven blinks of an eye and the black sky disappeared, giving way

to an even darker night. Seven deep breaths and then a baptism so frigid and abysmal that Clara was certain she would never

surface again.

Her body tensed, her eyes and mouth clamped shut, face instinctually turned into Maurits’s chest. His arms tightened around

her, and she waited for the water to steal her breath and claim her as its own.

But the breathlessness never came. Her lungs did not burn, and her mouth did not fill with water. At some point in their descent,

Maurits’s steady tread had transitioned to a fluid glide. Coldness still bit into her flesh, worming into her bones, but it

was different from the coldness above the surface. Cracking one eye open, she turned her face to see shafts of moonlight filtering

through dark water, gone as quickly as they appeared.

Maurits moved smoothly, though she could not tell how; he neither seemed to swim or expel any sort of effort, just flowed

as if part of the water. Despite the soundless calm, a prickly sense of unease ran through her. From beneath every rock, yellow

eyes glistened, watching her. Seaweed caught at her legs, twining up and around her until Maurits pulled her free.

They were spiraling upward now, and her stomach felt as if it would fly up her throat. With dizzying speed, they broke the surface, and Maurits gently pushed her up onto a hard ledge.

Falling upon the dripping stone, a gasping breath escaped her, her lungs struggling to fill themselves with air—real air.

No matter that it was putrid and damp, it was air, and she couldn’t draw it in fast enough.

“Easy,” Maurits murmured. “Not so fast, you’ll be sick.”

Glaring at him and his useless warning, she struggled to steady her breathing. Eventually her lungs caught up, and her pounding

heart was able to slow. Water dripped, echoing throughout the dark space. She hadn’t thought it possible to be colder, but

she was certain she would die from it now.

All the questions that had been building up inside of her like the need for air finally came spilling out. “Where are we?

How did we get here? Is it safe?”

Maurits was gathering arms full of wet seaweed, piling it at the far end of the small space. “We’re in a cave,” he said, pointing

out the obvious. Two generous ledges lined the walls, water filling the deep crevice which cleaved between them. It was probably

no bigger than the hall in Wierenslot, but the soaring ceiling made it feel impossibly large. Every movement she made sent

a despondent echo ringing through the space. “We’ll be safe here, for now.”

“And how long will that be, do you suppose?”

Maurits mumbled something as he continued arranging the seaweed on the ground.

With a sigh, Clara sat down and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging herself like a little girl.

All the times that she had eschewed the monotony of Wierenslot, and now she would have given anything to be back, lying on her bed with a warm fire and a full belly.

Pim would be at her side, his soft fur rising and falling in steady breaths as he watched her with his fathomless eyes, the sound of Helma knitting in the next chamber.

Clara’s stomach let out a painful grumble, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in, what, hours?

A day? Time had stopped at some point, as her body vaulted from one unimaginable scenario to the next.

She watched with detached interest as Maurits added armfuls of dried seaweed and piled them against the damp wall.

He must have felt her gaze on him. “It’s a bed,” he said, not quite meeting her eye.

“You’ll be more comfortable on it than on the cold rock. ”

She gave a jerky nod. She had only ever slept on feather beds, but she was so tired that she probably could have fallen asleep

on her feet.

The bed complete, Maurits stepped back in invitation, and she slowly unfolded herself and stood, her cold bones protesting.

He turned away while she settled herself down. The seaweed was surprisingly soft, and when he produced a thin blanket from

a ledge and laid it over her, she was almost comfortable. She did not think she would ever be warm again, though.

She didn’t ask where he would sleep, and she didn’t particularly care. Perhaps he would go back into the water. Or perhaps

he would leave her here, never to return. Though there had been something in that kiss—or whatever it was—that told her that

he had no intention of leaving her.

As if reading her thoughts, he cleared his throat. “I... I’ll be just on the other side, if you need anything.”

She had already lain down, her back to him. What could she possibly need that he would be able to do for her? Dry up the flood

and give her back her life? Return her to her husband and her family?

When she didn’t answer, he stood there for what felt like an eternity, seemingly weighing whether or not he should say something else.

He clearly had some sense of self-preservation, because he was smart enough not to say another word.

Then there was finally the sound of him moving to the other ledge and settling down.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to think of something—anything—other than the sound of water rising and bodies thumping against each other, until sleep eventually overtook her like a wave.

Despite what Maurits could tell were her best efforts, soon Clara’s breathing deepened and grew slow and even. With her safely

asleep, the knots in his shoulders gradually loosened, and he could begin to think of what should come next.

With a heavy sigh, he sat on the hard rock, dipping his feet into the warm pool of water and relishing the feel of it between

his toes. He should have been a dog still, and while Maurits thanked his lucky stars that his mother had seen fit to lift

the spell, he couldn’t begin to fathom her reasons for doing so. And there was nothing that made him more nervous than when

his mother was being unaccountably charitable.

He cast a look at Clara in the makeshift bed. Waves above, what was he going to do with her? He’d been able to spare her from

the flood, but what now? Hide in his grotto until his mother forgot about her?

“I thought I might find you here.”

The low voice echoed through the cave, and then a moment later, Thade was pulling himself up onto the rock ledge.

Even if Maurits had wanted to, there was no time to hide Clara. The best way to deal with Thade was to be honest with him;

his brother seemed to possess an uncanny ability to nose out secrets and truths that Maurits would rather remain hidden. Just

like this grotto, which had been Maurits’s secret childhood refuge.

Thade shook out the water from his hair. “Quiet,” Maurits hissed, nodding toward the huddled form on the bed of seaweed.

Thade followed his gaze, stiffening. “So it’s true.”

There was a tender tug in Maurits’s chest as Clara shifted slightly in her sleep, her tangled hair and what was left of her bridal clothes glowing in the darkness. “What does Mother say?” he asked softly.

Thade tore his gaze from Clara. “She’s furious, of course.”

The games Queen Maren played, the lessons she meted out when she was in her usual mood were bad enough, but a furious Queen

Maren was exponentially more dangerous. Maurits drew his hand over his face. “And what of the people of Franeker?”

Thade gave him a pitying look. “All dead, by my count.”

Cursing under his breath, Maurits shot a glance at the gentle rise and fall of Clara’s sleeping form. “Even her husband?”

He had to ask, though he knew the answer.

“I suppose you are glad of it?”

“Of course I am not.” Yet Maurits couldn’t bring himself to be sorry either, not when there was one less obstacle standing

between him and Clara.

“So, this is her. The human girl that made the crown prince of the Water Kingdom wish to renounce his crown.” Thade had moved

from the ledge and was peering at Clara through the darkness.

Maurits’s jaw went tight and his body tensed as his brother inspected her. “What do you want?” he forced himself to ask. He

could see Thade’s mind working, trying to play the situation to his advantage somehow.

But Thade only drew back with a shrug. “I have no plans to tell Mother where you are.” At Maurits’s suspicious glare, he cracked

a rare smile. “You know as well as I that you can’t hide from our good queen. She’ll find you, and your pet. Will I delight

in watching you brought down when our mother finally punishes you? Perhaps. I am curious what your plan is, though. You, who need water, and she, whose death is all but written in the waves.”

Maurits had assured Clara that he could keep her safe, and in the water no less, but the reality was that he could guarantee

her no such safety. “You are the last person who I would tell of my plans.”

“Mm.” Thade gave him an infuriatingly bland smile. “I am certain of that. I am also fairly certain you don’t have a plan.”

“Then you have nothing to tell Mother,” Maurits said with an easiness that he did not feel.

Thade had taken a seat, shifting back into his water form and stretching his long tail out in front of him, arms crossed over

his chest. He certainly did not seem to be in any hurry to leave. “Why are you so afraid of her?” he presently asked.

“I am not afraid of our mother,” Maurits snapped.

“Aren’t you? You go about your life skulking on land, avoiding her at all costs.”

“It isn’t fear that keeps me at a distance. My interests just happen to lie elsewhere.” He pointedly fixed his gaze away from

Clara. “What I don’t understand is why Mother ended my punishment as a dog and granted me my shifting form back.” He looked

longingly down at his legs that were even now beginning to grow scales. Without his mother’s leave, he could not keep himself

in this form for long. Some water folk could come and go as they pleased, though he knew of none that preferred the land such

as he did.

“Don’t you?”

“Mother does not go back on her agreements, especially when they are of a punitive nature.” Maurits paused as he watched Thade

finally prop himself up from the wall.

Thade slipped back into the water. “It wasn’t Mother who lifted the curse,” he said, briefly surfacing. “It was me.”

Maurits stared at his brother. Whatever game this was, he wanted no part of it. “But why would—”

With a splash, Thade disappeared into the water, leaving Maurits to his anxieties.

Leaning back against the cold rock, Maurits closed his eyes and listened to the gentle drip of the water.

He had been more useful to Clara as a dog.

Chucking a rock into the black pool, he watched the ripples spread until it was completely still again.

There was little he knew with certainty, but he knew this much: his brother was not to be trusted, not any more than the mother who had made tormenting him her life’s purpose.