Page 14 of Drown Me Gently (Flipped Fairytales)

“There, that should keep you happy for a while,” Ulric murmured as he scattered strips of eel meat and halibut into the water. Iska trilled happily, her sleek body twisting with delight, none the wiser that right about now her companion would be calling for her.

“You’re a good beast,” he said, patting her side. His gaze lingered for a moment, admiring the craftsmanship along her body—proof of Auren’s work, and the second chance at life he’d given her.

He left her to her spoils and ducked into the palace. He swam down the familiar corridors, moving like a shadow through the current, until he reached his quarters.

Ulric floated perfectly still in the center of his apothecary, arms folded behind his back, jaw tight.

The room was quiet, anticipatory. As though the stone walls were also holding their breath. Waiting.

Hollowed into the seafloor and lit with suspended orbs of bioluminescence, the room shimmered with an eerie, otherworldly glow.

Melted sand mirrors lined the far wall, crafted from lightning-struck beaches and volcanic glass.

Each shelf was carved directly into the stone and cradled dozens of potions and tinctures.

Delicate vials held fluids that shimmered in unnatural colors, swirling with enchantments that could calm fever, cure blindness, mend broken fins, or banish grief.

They were sealed with stoppers Ulric designed himself, infused with a binding spell to prevent seawater from tainting the contents.

Even the deepest trenches couldn’t ruin their effects.

Every inch of this place was an example of study and precision. Of the honor he carried as a magic wielder. The pride he took in his craft.

And tonight, he would break it.

A commotion outside jarred his thoughts. A chorus of shouting. A struggle. Then the guards burst into the cave, dragging someone between them.

Auren.

Ulric’s heart clenched.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Auren cried out in a panic. He thrashed in their grip, red hair wild, face flushed, muscles straining beneath shimmering green scales. To the prince’s credit, two guards were having trouble subduing him, with a third trailing behind just in case.

Ulric wanted to tear the guards off him. To pull the prince close, whisper apologies, touch his face, and swear he didn’t mean for this to happen—but he couldn’t. He had no choice.

“By order of the Queen,” Ulric said, voice like ice, “you are to receive the potion that will restrict your depth. You are not to breach the surface again.”

The words echoed like a death sentence.

Auren froze in the guards’ grip. His eyes snapped to Ulric, wide with disbelief, his face draining of color.

“You told my mother?” His voice cracked, high and furious.

Ulric didn’t answer immediately, already mourning for the flame he was about to snuff out.

Auren was always beautiful, but tonight, somehow, he was even more radiant.

His long red hair was woven into intricate, ceremonial knots, adorned with tiny shells and smoothed black pearls.

His scales shimmered with fresh polish, catching the light like jewels.

But what stopped Ulric’s heart was what adorned his braid.

Both tokens from the human were woven together—a braided cord of silver and gold.

Ulric’s gut twisted.

He’s done all this to look nice for the human. He intends to meet him. Tonight.

Ulric wanted to ask if the human had dared to touch Auren. If those greedy hands had traced the ridges of his spine. If his lips had tasted the slope of Auren’s throat. The thought made his magic stir, and a foul taste coated Ulric’s tongue.

But of course, he didn’t ask. Not in front of the guards. Not with his pride clinging to him like armor.

“I let it go on,” Ulric said stiffly, “hoping you’d stop on your own. But it became clear you wouldn’t.”

His mind supplied him with the words he could never say.

I was terrified for the night you wouldn’t return.

Terrified that those humans would see you and choose not to give you back.

Back to me.

Auren’s eyes burned with betrayal. “You had no right.”

“I had duty.”

“Don’t lie. You did it because you can’t stand to see someone else choose me.”

“You’re reckless,” Ulric said, voice detached. “You’ve put the city at risk. I’ve told you time and time again what the surface world does to creatures it finds beautiful. They don’t love. They claim and cage.”

“Like you,” Auren spat.

“Call me whatever you want,” Ulric said, “but I am only your jailor because of your own actions.”

Auren’s tail lashed, restrained by the guards’ grip. “You think this is protection?”

Ulric’s jaw tightened. “You’ve forgotten what danger looks like.”

“I know exactly what danger looks like,” Auren hissed. “It looks like control disguised as care.”

Ulric leaned forward despite himself, and his tentacles flared. “It looks like a city that loses its prince because he mistook greed for desire.”

Auren’s eyes flashed. “No,” he snarled. “It looks like you. The one who left me drowning and pretended it was mercy.”

“I was protecting you,” Ulric growled.

“You don’t dictate who sees me!” Auren shouted, struggling harder now. “I’m not yours to protect!”

Ulric’s mouth opened, then closed. His fists clenched.

You are. You always have been.

But he couldn’t say it.

He couldn’t say anything except, “The Queen has made her decree.”

Auren shook his head, trembling. “You coward.”

“Auren—”

“You could’ve come to me,” Auren whispered, voice ragged. “You could’ve told me what you were feeling. What you were afraid of. But you ran. You always run.”

Ulric’s throat bobbed. “And you chase the first hand that reaches to soothe your blatant need to be wanted.”

That struck harder than he meant it to.

Auren recoiled like he’d been slapped.

“I hate you,” he said, his voice breaking on the last syllable. And it cracked something in Ulric’s bones. His insides roiled, begging him to undo this. To move forward. To say anything that could make it right. But the guards held Auren too tight, and pride held Ulric tighter still.

So he said nothing.

And watched as the prince was held down, and subdued to his cruelty.

“Hold him,” Ulric commanded.

Auren fought them. His tail whipped, crashing into shelves. Vials tumbled and shattered. The scent of crushed herbs and magic burst into the water like blood. Ancient ink hissed as instruments scattered across the floor.

“Enough!” Ulric roared.

The water shook. His tentacles shot out like whips, coiling around Auren’s arms and waist. With his other hand, Ulric reached for the decanter—the one filled with the iridescent blue potion that shimmered like regret.

He held it to Auren’s mouth. The prince’s jaw clamped shut, eyes blazing. Ulric lowered his voice, leaning in, speaking just above a whisper so the guards couldn’t hear.

“Please…” he begged. “Don’t make me force you to drink this.”

But Auren stared him down, unmoving.

And so Ulric did what he never wanted to do.

Touch those full lips with violence and cruelty, instead of lavishing them with tenderness.

He pried Auren’s mouth open and poured the liquid past clenched teeth, holding him until it was swallowed.

When it was over, Auren choked and sputtered. The guards released him.

Ulric stared straight ahead, heart so heavy it might sink him.

“It is done,” he said, though his voice barely carried. The silence afterward was jagged. Auren’s hands trembled at his sides. He looked at Ulric like he couldn’t recognize him. Like he’d become a monster.

When Ulric dismissed the guards, he expected Auren to leave. But he didn’t.

“So that’s it? You trap me in the depths. Keep me close—only where you can see me?”

Ulric didn’t answer.

“You won’t love me,” Auren continued, voice shaking. “But you won’t let me go either.”

He was right.

Ulric couldn’t speak. His throat had closed around the words he’d never be allowed to say.

I want you. Gods help me, I love you. But if I touch you, I’ll burn.

The magic will destroy me.

Already, the ink beneath his skin was thrumming. One of the runes on his wrist flashed dangerously, threatening a flare.

“Leave,” Ulric said, hoarse.

“I’ve been trying to,” Auren replied.

And then—he was gone.

The moment the water stilled, Ulric collapsed to the far end of the apothecary.

His tentacles curled in around him like armor.

He almost wished they would turn on him, wrap tight around his throat, and choke the grief out of him.

But the guilt was already doing that, granting him a long, slow death right through the heart.

He pressed his forehead to the stone wall, watching his shattered instruments drift through the water like a shipwreck.

The scent of magic and broken herbs filled the space. Bitter. Ashy. Wrong.

He curled tighter. Disgusted with what he’d done.

And unable to stop wanting the Mer he had shackled.