Page 17 of Drown Me Gently (Flipped Fairytales)

The court proceedings dragged on long into the night. Nobles and emissaries hovered like swarms of brightly colored reef fish, spinning eloquent nonsense between sips of fermented kelp wine and bites of moon-snail canapés.

Ulric played his part. He smiled and wove a tapestry of flattering sentences and meaningless pleasantries.

All the things a Court Sorcerer was supposed to say.

The Queen’s children swam through the festivities like constellations brought to life.

They shimmered in bralettes of pearls, their throats adorned with carved shell jewelry.

They were radiant. Regal. And yet— One spark was missing.

Ulric hadn’t seen a flash of red hair all night.

Where is he?

The thought gnawed at the back of his mind.

Did he retire early?

Auren should have been here. He was usually hovering around the ballroom’s perimeter, talking to the guards, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

Rude, yes. With a clear disregard for his position as a prince? Absolutely.

But present.

His absence sent eels slithering down Ulric’s spine as he pressed his lips into a thin line. After bidding Queen Tritheya goodnight, he excused himself and swam with urgency. Auren wasn’t in his chambers. Ulric checked the coral gardens next. Then the terrace overlooking the city.

Nothing.

Ulric tried to reason with himself. The potion should have kept Auren tethered to the depths. There was no way he could reach the surface. But the worry sank into his gut like a stone. By the time he reached the apothecary, it was nearly dawn.

“Hey, boys,” he murmured, greeting the two eelhounds lounging by the entrance.

They chirred in response, their long, sinuous bodies quivering at his presence. He tossed them a slab of fresh mahi. They shredded it to ribbons in seconds.

The apothecary remained unchanged. Quiet and dimly lit. But the unease inside him only grew. Ulric swam deeper, through the rows of glowing tinctures and dried herbs, past his personal wards, and into his study.

Nothing was out of place. He almost turned to leave. But then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed something wrong. The mirror. The one with seabirds etched in a delicate circle as though frozen mid-flight. It was ajar.

Ulric surged forward, panic cascading into him with violent force. He reached behind the mirror, heart already thundering. The alcove was empty. The potion was gone.

“Damn it!” he snarled, tearing through the room, checking and rechecking. But there was no denying it. The potion that allowed him to walk the surface world was missing.

Which meant?—

“Stupid, stupid prince!” Ulric roared, throwing a fist against the marble wall and shaking the palace.

He didn’t know how the sinking magic would react when combined with the potion. That tonic was designed specifically for him—for a Kraken. A creature with entirely different biology. Would it tear Auren apart? Would it kill him? The thought turned his stomach inside out.

Ulric scrambled to assemble a parcel of vials and salves.

He packed anything and everything he thought might fix this.

Might give Auren a fighting chance. His hands shook as he rushed, grabbing vials at random, praying to the gods that one of them would be enough.

That one of them would save Auren’s life.

Fear clawed up his throat like a second heartbeat.

He burst from the palace in a surge of magic, tearing through the open sea toward the human coast.

By the time he arrived at the shore, the sun was already high in the sky, spilling waves of heat across the surface. He identified Auren’s favorite ship, the Windless , rocking at anchor near the port. He’d start there.

Ulric reached for the second vial of the violet potion—a backup. His fingers brushed the glass and?—

Fire exploded through his wrist.

“Gahh!” he shouted, wrenching his hand back.

The runes inked into his skin seared with white-hot agony. The mark of Poseidon flared across his arm like lightning come alive. Ulric clenched his jaw, tried again. More pain. Blinding, ricocheting all the way up his shoulder.

“I am the Court Sorcerer!” He roared into the ocean. “He is a Prince of Atlantis, son of Queen Tritheya!”

The sea didn’t answer. But the pain spoke volumes. Each time he reached for the potion, the magic burned him. It was not his duty. It was not his role. No one had ordered him to save Auren.

And yet he couldn’t stop.

His chest heaved as he sank to the seafloor, shaking.

“I know why,” he whispered, eyes closed.

“I love him.”

He laughed. Hysterical and broken.

“I love him!” he shouted with morbid defiance.

The ink along his ribs buzzed violently, searing his skin in a warning.

He looked at the marks. At the vows carved into his flesh like chains.

If he listened—if he obeyed—he would never see those deep blue eyes again.

Never touch that impossible red hair. Never know what it felt like to kiss him. To choose him.

Ulric clenched his fists and lifted his face to the sky.

“Let me save him!” he shouted into the sea. “Grant me this one wish! Let me save him, and I’ll pay the price. Take my magic. Take everything. Take my life if you must. But let me save him.”

His voice echoed through the water, vibrating with timeless fury.

This was who Ulric had become— and he was ready to let it all go.

Silence followed.

Ulric reached for the potion one more time. He braced, waiting for the punishment. But it never came.

No pain.

His hand closed around the vial like an answered prayer. He raised it to his lips.

The ocean trembled, as though the very water knew what was about to happen, and already mourned the loss.

“I accept the price,” he whispered.

And drank.