Page 37 of Drown Me Gently (Flipped Fairytales)

Six Months Later

She was called Tritheya. With a mighty bow in the shape of the Queen, the ship was every bit as magnificent as her namesake.

Auren thought it appropriate that he pay this homage to the Queen, his mother.

For her gift of giving him a chance. A choice.

And Auren had made his choice, even if it meant never seeing his mother again.

Because Auren was, irrevocably, unapologetically.

.. human. He’d given all of himself to bring back the man he loved.

He poured all of his divinity into that whale bone to shape the sands.

Auren had cried then. They both had. At the relief, the terror, and the humbling truth of their situation.

Ulric harbored residual guilt regarding their permanent humanity.

Auren knew he did; he saw it in the stoop of his shoulders, or when Ulric caught Auren staring at the shore for too long.

But Auren would have made that choice a hundred times over. If it were a choice between the sea and Ulric, Auren would have stood by as the god of sun dried the sea into a desert. Because nothing called to him as strongly as the embrace of the Kraken.

“The waters look quiet, my Lord, it should be a good voyage.”

“It does,” Auren replied, hair tied back, vest strapped tight with a long, emerald jewel dangling from one ear. “Get your men ready, we set off at high tide.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the crewmaster who began barking orders at the men, as they pulled ropes, checked rigging, and fastened masts.

A hand slid to the small of Auren’s back, and he didn’t need to look to know who it was. It was in his smell—cold water and black oceans. It was in his silent footsteps and the teasing pressure of his fingertips.

“There is something rather attractive about the way you command the crew,” Ulric whispered, leaning in to kiss the shell of Auren’s ear.

“Would you like me to command you as well?” Auren teased, leaning back, resting his head into the familiar slope of Ulric’s shoulder.

“You already do, spriteling. Mind, body, and soul.” His hands crept to the front of Auren’s corset vest, teasing the hem, slipping a single finger beneath the tight cloth.

“Easy, Kraken. The crew might be tolerant, but I don’t think that extends to full-on exhibitionism.”

Ulric growled at the notion.

“I cannot wait to get you over that balcony again.”

Auren’s heart fluttered, heat pooling instantly below his navel.

Tickets had just gone on sale for the private theater’s exclusive “show of pleasures,” reserved for only the highest-ranking Nobles and Lords.

Auren couldn’t wait. Couldn’t wait to be thrown back into those silks, bent over the mahogany railing and…

“Easy there.”

Auren lurched forward. He hadn’t noticed he’d begun rubbing his ass against Ulric’s tenting front. He cleared his throat.

“Well, Captain, I say we shove off and get out to sea.”

“Of course, Captain,” Ulric said with a slight incline of his head and a glint in those abyssal eyes.

At sea, they were both captains. And on land, they were Lords.

Ulric’s vast stores of sunken treasure (far more than Auren had first imagined) had granted them entry into the higher echelon of human society.

As Ulric’s mate, that title was extended to him as well.

Of course, they presented themselves as “business partners” to most, and as “comrades” to those they knew more personally.

Humans had no concept of mates or the ties that bound one being to another.

But Auren didn’t mind dancing around the terminology.

That’s all they were at the end of the day.

Labels. Nothing that would affect the bond that tied Ulric to him on a cellular level.

But with the title of Lord came opportunities.

Auren trained under human scholars, absorbing all there was to know of the surface world, while simultaneously imparting his wisdom of the world below the waves.

They’d already filled over a dozen tomes.

Of course, Auren had to spin his stories carefully, claiming his knowledge came from voyages rather than his life under the sea.

There was so much to learn that sometimes Auren felt he might be choked by it.

But when the royal libraries echoed too loudly with the stomp of boots on marble or the dust of old books made him cough, Auren escaped to Tritheya.

Her magnificent helm felt like a second home, and though sometimes melancholic, Auren would never be able to eradicate the salt from his blood.

The sea was a part of him, however distant.

They departed from the harbor and onto the open, endless horizon.

Once they were well and out to sea, they were joined by Iska, chattering and bobbing in and out of the waves at the ship’s wake.

The men hollered, whooping as she jumped for show.

They saw her love for their Captains as a good omen and basically considered her a part of the crew.

Auren waited patiently, knowing he’d swim with her soon.

“Sky looks awfully clear,” Ulric said as Auren manned the helm, salt air blowing red strands into his eyes.

But unlike the men, Ulric sounded disappointed by the prospect of clear weather.

“You sure about this? I don’t know how much longer I can wait to get you beneath me.

” Ulric said, once again, standing far closer than “co-captains” might.

“Do I hear doubt in your voice?” Auren said in mock offense.

“Not doubt. Only paper-thin patience about to break and drag you to the captain’s quarters, storm be damned.” Ulric leaned close, his voice rumbling like thunder.

Auren leaned his back into the Kraken, sucking in his warmth before stomping on his boot and shoving him away with a hip.

“You’re going to have to restrain yourself.”

Ulric pinched his ass before whispering, “You’ll pay for that, spriteling.”

Auren was counting on it.

And Auren’s instincts, as ever, were right.

The storm broke fast across the clear sky, thunder cracking like a war drum as gray clouds boiled above. The men groaned, tossing hats to the deck, curses flying as the ship began to pitch and roll. Wind shrieked through the rigging like a banshee.

But Auren—Auren could hardly hide the grin twisting his mouth. He’d steered them straight into the heart of it.

“Get below! Captain’s orders!” he bellowed, crimson hair whipping around his face.

“But sir, the masts—we need more men to manage?—!”

“I said that’s an order! Trust in your captain!”

With a roguish grin and a playful threat of the plank, he waved the men below deck, shouting exaggerated curses at any sailor brave enough to hesitate. They obeyed, as they always did. Because this was tradition now.

The storm was for the captains.

Only the captains.

As the last hatch slammed shut, Auren turned to find Ulric already watching him—his grin as wild as the waves churning below.

“Now,” Auren said, voice crackling like the wind between them, “it’s our turn.”

Ulric grabbed him without a word, hands fisting into Auren’s damp shirt, dragging him in until their mouths collided with a fury that rivaled the sky. Rain lashed against their skin, but neither pulled away. The storm roared around them, but they only kissed harder.

This—this—was when they came alive. When the sky bled into the sea, the horizon disappeared. When memory blurred, and for a breathless instant, they weren’t men at all, but gods—Kraken and Prince—echoes of myth.

Ulric’s fingers worked quickly, tugging Auren’s vest open, slipping beneath the fabric to feel hot skin against chilled rain. Auren’s hands tangled in Ulric’s hair, nails biting his scalp, their bodies pressed so tight together it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

“Clothes off,” Ulric growled against his mouth. “Now.”

“Demanding,” Auren panted, but he obeyed, yanking the drenched cloth over his head and off his legs, just as Ulric’s teeth grazed his collarbone.

They were frenzied, half-mad as rain pelted their skin, heightening the sensation. They were clawing for each other beneath a wrathful sky when a sharp, indignant whistle cut through the chaos.

They both froze, blinking like boys caught sneaking kisses behind a chapel.

A second whistle, more insistent, echoed across the waves, followed by a trilling, unmistakable squeak.

Iska.

She surfaced beside the ship, bobbing with clear disapproval, spitting bursts of water onto the deck like a sulking child.

“She’s rather impatient,” Auren sighed, dragging rain-slicked fingers through his hair and trying not to laugh.

Ulric, of course, did laugh—low and rumbling, the sound of a storm easing its grip. “She always was the jealous type.”

He leaned in one more time, licking into Auren’s mouth like a promise, the taste of rain and lust thick on their tongues. “Go to her,” he whispered. “I’ll manage up here. But have no doubt, my prince—I will have you when you return.”

Auren stepped back, lips swollen, skin flushed with the heat only Ulric could summon.

“Well,” he said, sass curling around every word, “with how desperate you look, I should keep you waiting more often.”

Ulric narrowed his eyes. “Desperate?”

“Mhm,” Auren teased, backing toward the railing. “You’re one thunderclap away from dragging me below deck by the hair.”

Ulric lunged, grabbing him by the waist.

“Ulric—don’t you da?—!”

And without ceremony, Ulric hurled his naked body overboard.

Auren’s shriek split the wind as he flailed dramatically into the waves, vanishing beneath the surface with a splash. Moments later, he burst up laughing, wiping water from his eyes.

“You ass! I was going to jump anyway!”

Ulric leaned casually over the railing, arms crossed. “Then I saved you the effort, spriteling.”

Auren flipped him off, still grinning, as the ocean shifted beneath him.