Page 19 of Drown Me Gently (Flipped Fairytales)

The moment his legs hit the shore, Ulric exhaled a heavy breath. It burned in his lungs. The air up here was always too dry.

He moved quickly. The sand stuck to his bare skin, clinging in wet streaks as he walked through the grass-tangled path.

His cabin was remote and practical. Nothing fancy and far enough from the city to give him privacy, but close enough to conduct business.

He often required extended time on land to harvest rare herbs and minerals.

Drinking the transformation potion too frequently took a toll, even on his body.

It was a temporary location. Now, it felt like the last place he might ever see.

He pushed the thought aside. If it meant Auren was safe, it was a grave he’d gladly lie in.

Ulric changed, his robes hanging where he’d left them.

He dressed in layers of navy and onyx black.

The fabrics clung to his frame like night poured over bone.

The outer robe was long, split at the sides for movement, embroidered with thin lines of dark silver thread that caught the light only when it wanted to.

High collar. Folded cuffs. A wide leather belt that secured a swath of knives.

Not royalty or nobility. But no one would mistake him for a common peddler either. His presence carried enough weight to avoid questions—and that was all he needed. Just enough presence to deter predators. Just enough anonymity to move like a ghost.

The city was already buzzing when he entered. Carts creaked. Vendors barked. Smoke rose in spirals from meat fires, casting a haze through the narrow alleys. Ulric started there. The salt-crusted docks. The roadside stalls that stank of brine and blood. He offered coin with every question.

“Do you know a human biologist called Elias?”

He got nothing but blank stares and shrugged shoulders.

“Bi-what?” one grizzled man barked. “Speak proper. Don’t bring that rubbish in here.”

Another scoffed and waved him off. “Try the royal quarter if you’re lookin’ for bookworms. This ain’t the place.”

Ulric moved on. His frustration simmered hotter by the minute. He entered higher establishments. Places where the tile gleamed, and the smoke smelled of rare herbs instead of ash. Where the coin mattered more than the man.

Finally, a breakthrough. A brothel—one of the more extravagant ones.

The sign outside read “The Garden of Wonders”, and from the inside, it was clear why.

The women lounged on embroidered cushions, bare-chested and painted in rosy swirls.

The men wore perfume and kohl and little else.

And the madam—no, the Duchess , as she called herself—lounged like a cat draped in silks.

“Elias?” she asked, eyes sparkling. “Oh yes. One of my most loyal customers.” Her painted mouth curled. “Always asks for the prettiest young men.”

Ulric’s jaw ticked, and his spine straightened.

“And I suppose you know where I might find him?” he asked, calm as a sheathed blade.

The Duchess tilted her head, appraising him now with a different kind of curiosity. Her eyes dragged down the length of him, taking in the long lines of his frame, the ink curling just beneath his collar.

“Mm. You’re quite the specimen yourself,” she murmured. “It’s a shame you’ve come here hunting. You ought to be hunted, darling.”

Ulric said nothing.

She leaned forward, voice syrupy. “Why not take a break from your chase? Spend the night with one of my wonders. A man like you shouldn’t have to walk away alone.”

He offered the smallest of smiles. “Tempting,” he said, “but I don’t pay for distractions. Not tonight.”

Her laugh was light and knowing. “Pity. But you’ll find that information is like fine silk. Rare and expensive.”

Ulric didn’t blink. He slid a pouch of coin across the table. It clinked with a weight that made her eyes gleam. She tapped it once, then leaned in.

“He has a private study. Sponsored by the crown, no less. A few streets up from the palace wall, tucked behind the archives. Has his own key. Keeps to himself.” Her voice dropped, and the atmosphere shifted.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” she purred.

“He doesn’t like being interrupted. His smile is sweet, but there’s a wicked streak under that charm.

One of my boys once brought him a rare bird, still alive.

A gift for his patronage. He laughed and snapped its neck as if it were a flower stem.

Said he needed the bones for dissection. ”

Ulric’s stomach twisted. His fists clenched at his side, and it was all he could do to keep from reaching for the knives.

“He’s cold,” she went on. “Doesn’t see people. Only specimens. Doesn’t care what he hurts, so long as he can cut it open and study what’s inside.” Her smile returned. “I thought you might like to know the sort of man you’re chasing.”

He stood, thanked her, and exited her Garden of Wonders.

The moment he stepped outside, the city was muffled.

Dim, compared to the roaring in his ears.

His robes swept over the cobblestones in a whisper of the violence to come.

Every step tightened the coil inside him—wound by fear, by love, and by the weight of his broken vow.

The magic hadn’t tried to stop him again. He was unhindered. Allowed to fulfill every selfish desire of his heart.

His prayer was heard.

And now?—

Now, he would find Auren.

Whatever consequences came after, he would face them gladly.

Ulric pressed a hand to the inked runes on his forearm. Still warm, still alive, but flickering at the edges, like a flame nearing its final breath.

Let me be too late, he thought, and I’ll emerge as the creature the gods sealed in the pits of the earth. A nightmare even Olympus dare not name.

Because if Elias touched even a hair on Auren’s head?—

The gods would weep at the monster Ulric would become.