Page 28 of Drown Me Gently (Flipped Fairytales)

Something was wrong with Ulric.

And whatever it was, it was creeping closer. The hesitation in the Kraken’s stride, the faint hitch in his movements. It was so subtle at first that Auren convinced himself he imagined it.

But now… now there was no denying it.

The tattoos along Ulric’s body were fading. Some had disappeared entirely, while others dimmed from inky black to a wispy gray. The thick glyphs over his chest, the ones Auren had traced with searching fingers, looked worn thin.

Auren tried to explain it away. It must be the toll of being away from the sea for too long.

Ulric’s magic was draining. His body straining to hold its shape above the waves.

But if that were the case, why wasn’t Auren feeling it?

If anything, he felt better than ever. Buzzing with energy.

Alive in ways he hadn’t known were possible.

And still, every time he tried to ask the Kraken, Ulric always found some new way to pull his attention elsewhere.

He led Auren to sprawling stables where horses in every imaginable color—coal black, pearl gray, flame red—snorted and stamped their hooves against the dust. To a sun-drenched garden market where sweetmeats, roasted nuts, and jewel-bright fruits perfumed the air.

To a dockside artisan’s square where glassblowers shaped molten fire into delicate baubles that caught the light and glittered like stars in the palm of Auren’s hand.

Beautiful distractions. But distractions all the same.

It gnawed at him. A knot of worry in the pit of his stomach.

That morning, it all came to a head.

Auren woke, groggy from the wine they’d indulged in the night before, but otherwise rested. The fire had long since died, leaving the room cool and blue in the pre-dawn light. Ulric lay beside him, warm and strong, his face turned toward the window, the light gilding the lines of his jaw.

Auren smiled to himself and slid his hand under the covers, running his fingers through the thick hair on Ulric’s chest.

“Can I interest you in a little breakfast, Kraken?” he teased, voice still rough with sleep, waiting for the gruff, amused remark that usually followed. Something about overeager spritelings or the scandal of being propositioned so early in the morning.

But none came.

Auren’s fingers hesitated. Truthfully, it had been several days since they’d indulged in each other’s bodies.

Ulric had been so insistent on showing him everything.

Every horse, every market, every garden, every sunset.

Dragging Auren from wonder to wonder until he collapsed into bed, too exhausted to do more than kiss Ulric goodnight. It was wonderful. It was perfect.

But it wasn’t enough.

Auren suspected Ulric was doing it on purpose. Holding himself back. Afraid of hurting him somehow.

Don’t hide from me. I want all of you, my monster of the deep.

Auren grinned against his chest, already plotting how he might rectify that. He tilted his head, bumping his elbow against Ulric’s shoulder.

“Did the wine carry you to such a deep sleep? Here I thought you could hold your drink better than I.”

Still nothing.

Ulric breathed, a faint rise and fall of his ribs. There was a steady throb of his pulse in the hollow of his throat. But he didn’t stir. Didn’t even twitch.

Auren’s own pulse picked up. “Ulric,” he said, sharper now. He shook him once, twice. “Ulric. Wake up.”

No response.

His blood coursed with ice. Auren scrambled on top of him, pressing his ear against Ulric’s chest, desperate to hear the familiar, steady beat. It was there, but so faint. So weak.

“Ulric—Ulric!” Auren was shouting now, shaking his shoulders. “What is going on? What’s happening?”

And right before his eyes, one of Ulric’s runes, a sailfish etched beneath his ear, the one Auren knew by taste, flickered… and vanished.

“Oh no,” Auren choked. “No, no, no—Don’t do this. Ulric, please!”

Another shake, this one harsh enough to send Ulric’s head lolling. And finally, Ulric groaned. His eyelids fluttered open, his mouth parting in a quick gasp. Auren let out a choked sound and collapsed against him, burying his face against Ulric’s neck.

“What the hell was that?” he breathed, shaken. “Don’t you ever do that again!”

Ulric stirred, sluggish. Sluggish like something that had remained still for too long. He managed to lift a hand, clumsily patting Auren’s back.

“I’m fine,” Ulric mumbled, voice slurred. “Just… too much wine.”

Auren pulled back, mouth set in a firm line. “No, you’re not fine,” he said fiercely. “You can’t keep brushing this off. You can’t keep lying to me. Something’s wrong.”

Ulric’s eyelids fell closed for a long moment, as if the very weight of them was too much.

When he opened them again, he managed a faint smile. “You’re worrying too much, spriteling.”

“I’m not,” Auren insisted, heart pounding painfully in his chest. “Your tattoos are disappearing. You’re getting weaker. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Ulric didn’t answer. Didn’t deny it. Just reached up and brushed the back of his knuckles along Auren’s cheek, a gesture so tender it sent fear racing down his spine.

Why does his every move feel like a goodbye?

Auren blinked back tears and whispered, “Ulric… if we must return to Atlantis, we can. Who says we can’t come back here, once you’re strong again? Being away from the sea is taking a toll on you. Please don’t do this for me.”

Ulric averted his eyes, hand dropping to the blankets, jaw chewing on words unspoken. Auren’s heart twisted painfully because he knew what that silence meant.

It meant the moment they returned to the sea, everything would change, or rather, would go back to what it used to be. Ulric would become the Court Sorcerer again. Bound by duty. Bound by oaths. Bound by everything that had kept them apart for so long.

And Auren would lose him.

He would swim the same corridors, but Auren would not be allowed to touch him. Not as he had here. Auren would carry the memory of Ulric’s kiss, the feel of his arms, the taste of his breath—but he would carry it in silence.

He would know the secret weight of Ulric’s love while the rest of the world only saw the cold, dutiful sorcerer. He would know the warmth of him, the wonder of him, the softness he showed no one else?—

And yet be unable to touch.

Unable to call Ulric his anywhere but in the secret places of his heart.

Ulric must have seen the fear in his eyes because he pulled Auren close again, pressing a lingering kiss to his brow.

“Let’s not dwell on what comes after,” Ulric said quietly. His arms wrapped around Auren, so similar to the weight of his tentacles below the waves. “I’m here. We still have time.”

Auren squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to believe it.

“Okay,” he whispered, even though it hurt. Even though it tasted like lying to himself.

Ulric kissed him again, slower this time. Full of sorrow and heat and a kind of love that burned even as it bloomed.

Auren kissed him back, clinging to him like he could keep him from slipping away.

For now, it was enough.

But somewhere deep inside, a clock started ticking.

And Auren didn’t know how much time they had left.

The day passed in a strange sort of haze.

Auren tried to push the morning’s fear aside, tried to pretend it hadn’t happened, but the image of Ulric lying so still haunted him.

He should have pressed. Should have demanded answers.

But one look at Ulric’s weary smile, one lingering kiss pressed to his hairline, and all Auren could do was cling to the precious present they still had.

So he followed Ulric out into the world again, their footsteps winding through the now-familiar town.

Ulric’s coin flowed as freely as ever, the merchants calling greetings, pressing treats and trinkets into Auren’s hands.

They walked, talked, and still Auren watched.

Watched the way Ulric’s steps faltered every so often.

The way his smile dimmed when he thought Auren wasn’t looking.

The way there was no color in his cheeks.

Something was wrong.

And it was getting worse.

He opened his mouth once, twice, to say something. To demand Ulric tell him ?—

But each time, Ulric would catch his hand, spin him into a new adventure.

“This way,” he’d say. “You’ll love this.”

And damn it, Auren did .

The day passed in a haze of simple pleasures, until Ulric pulled Auren aside just as they were leaving the market.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the surprise you’re owed,” he said with a smirk.

Before Auren could ask, Ulric led him deeper into the town, toward luxurious streets closer to the city’s heart. The storefronts became grander here, lined in carved wood and polished brass, colorful awnings stretching overhead like banners.

They stopped before an extravagant shop of silks and linens, and Auren’s mouth fell open. Mannequins dressed in shimmering suits and gowns stood proudly in the windows. Embroidery glinted in the afternoon sun.

“Come,” Ulric said, taking Auren’s hand warmly. “It’s time you were dressed properly.”

Inside, tailors swarmed the moment they entered.

Auren barely had time to stammer a protest before he was swept into a whirlwind of measuring tapes and bolts of fabric.

He was dressed first in a shirt of impossibly fine linen—cool cream, tailored to perfection, clinging like poured water.

But it was the piece that followed that stole Auren’s breath.

The corset.