Page 4 of Drown Me Gently (Flipped Fairytales)

If Ulric had known Queen Tritheya’s final son would become the most infuriating creature in all the sea, he might have stayed in the depths.

He’d served at the queen’s side for a century.

Attended every one of her dozen births and watched each of her children grow into scholars, warriors, or courtiers.

Each had come into their magic and upheld their duties with grace.

He’d seen tantrums, tears, triumphs—and he’d guided them all with patience befitting his post. When the magic inked into his skin warned that this pregnancy would be the last heir of Poseidon’s bloodline, Ulric assumed the worst was behind him.

So he left, confident that Atlantis could stand on its own for a few seasons while he was away. The magic in his skin was calling him home.

To the black depths.

To the trench.

To be with his kind.

The Kraken. Chosen wielders of Poseidon’s magic—keepers of balance, judges of divine will. They served the old ways. The deep ways. The silence and pressure of the ocean’s floor.

Ulric only intended to be away for a few seasons. He didn’t notice the years slip away. Time didn’t feel the same when it couldn’t touch you. But without him knowing, he’d lost decades. And when the magic called him to the surface once more, Atlantis had changed.

And the final heir of Poseidon’s bloodline not only had been born, but had grown into a Mer of twenty.

Auren had grown into something wild and ungovernable—crimson fire and storm-blue eyes, with hair that refused to be tamed and a temper hot enough to melt ore.

He slipped past guards, crossed forbidden borders, and vanished for hours—only to return with an eye-roll and some smug explanation about how he “had it under control.”

Ulric blamed himself, at least in part. Auren was the only one of Poseidon’s heirs he hadn’t mentored from birth—and of course, it was this final child who grew into something feral. Reckless. A creature raised in the palace but born of the storm.

He drove Ulric mad.

And that was exactly the problem.

Because Ulric couldn’t stop noticing how that rebellion had shaped him. How his years in the sparring rings had honed his body into a formidable shape—wide-set shoulders, defined arms, a tail rippling with muscle. He didn’t carry himself like a court-bred prince. He moved like a warrior.

And gods help him, Ulric noticed.

“If only he kept his gaze in the water, where it belongs,” Ulric murmured bitterly.

After discovering Auren’s secret cave, Ulirc knew it wouldn’t be long before the prince tried for another escape. And sure enough, the moment the palace grew busy and the guards were occupied, the prince slipped away. Again.

Though Ulric had to admit, however begrudgingly, that Auren was good at it. If not for Ulric already predicting the prince’s escape, he wouldn’t have noticed the Mer disappear in the span of a blink.

But as it was, Ulric was watching. And with a groan, he excused himself and followed.

He exited the city, making his way to the now-familiar entrance carved into the stone.

Auren was gone—likely off acquiring more human artifacts— but Ulric knew he’d come back.

One didn’t abandon a hoard this meticulously kept for long.

That, perhaps, was the greatest surprise.

Ulric would never have guessed Auren capable of such fastidiousness. The cave wasn’t just filled with trinkets—it was organized. Every object was carefully placed, labeled, and studied. Not a haphazard pile, but a curated collection.

While he waited, he took it all in—a veritable shrine to human detritus. The walls glimmered in the dark, filled with buckles, bridles, twisted scraps of metal and leather. And in the center, a delicate sculpture pieced together from scraps of wire and tanned hide—a horse.

Ulric had seen them many times during his trips to the surface, and he recognized the grace in their form. Auren shaped it well. Unconsciously, Ulric reached up, stroking the ear made from what looked like the tip of a human woman’s shoe.

“Never would have pegged him as an artist,” Ulric said to himself. “And a good one.”

The sound of a swishing orca’s tail announced Auren’s arrival, and Ulric quickly retreated from the sculpture, taking up a stern position at the front of the cave.

Ulric blended so well with the dark stone that the prince flinched in surprise when the shadows of his cave moved. He swung his tail in alarm. “What’re you?—!”

“Five minutes,” Ulric articulated dangerously. “I turned my back for five minutes, and you were already gone.”

Auren’s jaw set, and his tail twitched with irritation. “I wasn’t out long.”

“If you keep going to the surface, it’s only a matter of time before you’re spotted.”

“It’s nighttime. I was careful.”

Ulric barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Stay calm. I’m the mentor. I can’t be the one to lose my head.

But damn it all, this sea-sprite was testing him.

“Humans can stay awake in the night, too, Auren. Surely you aren’t that foolish.”

“I’m never on deck long, can only hold my breath a couple of minutes.”

“You leave the water—!?” Ulric closed his eyes and forced himself to take a steadying breath. “Please tell me you don’t literally climb aboard human ships. All it would take is a single human with functioning eyes.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Auren said, but he wouldn’t look at Ulric as he said it. “Like I’d be so careless.”

The Kraken narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then his gaze locked on a silver fabric woven in Auren’s hair. He scented it immediately. Human silk. Not fabric made by Merkind. The scent of the oily land creatures still lingered in its threads.

Ulric let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’ve already been seen,” he said, rubbing his temple.

That earned him a glare.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ulric leaned forward, his dark tentacles unfurling in warning. “Do not lie to me, spriteling. I can scent human all over that,” he said, jabbing towards the scarf.

Auren clutched at his braid, as if the Kraken might try to yank the silk free.

Ulric threw his hands in exasperation. “And yet you cling to that like it’s some lover’s token.” He’d meant it as a joke. But the defiant flush to Auren’s cheeks made something volatile coil in Ulric’s belly. He froze in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

Auren bristled. “So what if I am?”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

“Oh, please, Ulric. Don’t start the lecture. I’m not in the mood for politics?—”

“This isn’t politics.” Ulric snapped, tentacles flaring in a rage, spreading around him and eating up any remaining space in the cave. “This is survival. Yours.”

Auren moved to push past him, but Ulric’s tentacles surged forward, catching him mid-stroke.

“Let me go,” Auren hissed, thrashing in his grip.

“I’ll drag you back if I have to,” Ulric said, even as his heart beat erratically. Even as his hands trembled with the effort not to touch more than was allowed.

The struggle was brief.

Ulric overpowered him with ease. But the closeness… damn it all, Ulric was losing the fight with himself by the second. Auren’s body was trapped in his, muscles coiled tight, breath catching. His tail thrashed in anger, hands trying to pry the limbs wrapped around his middle.

This is allowed. I’m taking him back to Atlantis. It’s my duty. Nothing more.

Ulric didn’t know who he was trying to convince. The magic in his skin, or himself.

I am fulfilling an order. Nothing more.

But even as he continued to deny it, Ulric knew his touch lingered too long, holding the prince long after he’d stilled and admitted defeat.

One tentacle remained wrapped beneath Auren’s ribs, feeling every breath, every flex of frustration.

The imprint of his shape etched itself into Ulric’s memory like coral scarring stone.

A single tendril ran down the length of his abdomen, feeling the muscles bunched there.

He’s not soft. He’s hard and heavy and…

Searing pain flashed in Ulric’s skin, the tattoos burning him like a brand.

The Kraken released him with a sharp breath, turning away before Auren could see the heat in his eyes.

“The Queen wants an audience,” he said stiffly, trying to shake off the pain.

Auren didn’t answer right away. When Ulric turned to him, his stomach dropped. Auren wouldn’t meet his eyes—his arms wrapped around himself, as if trying to scrub away Ulric’s touch.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Auren snapped. “Why is she bothering to talk to me now?”

Ulric gestured broadly to the cave. “This would be my guess.”

Auren’s eyes swept across the hoarded treasures. “She doesn’t know.”

“She might suspect,” Ulric said. “The Queen is as old as I am. You will not fool her easily.”

“I’m not going,” Auren said.

“Yes,” Ulric said with a growl, “you are.”

Another tense silence. Auren pressed his lips thin in defiance. “You always do this.”

“What? Protect you?”

“No. Drag me back. Assume I don’t know what I’m doing. That I can’t make my own choices.”

“It’s because you never listen. If you’d stop acting like a child?—”

“—then stop treating me like one.”

Ulric’s voice dropped low. “I’m sworn to protect Poseidon’s bloodline. That includes you.”

Auren moved closer. “Then protect me from the court. From the lies. From the ones who don’t actually care about Atlantis, only their own positions of power.”

Ulric flinched, and Auren pushed closer. So close that Ulric felt the wall press against his back as somehow, the prince herded him into a corner. He was close enough that Ulric could see the deep rise and fall of his chest. Feel the tickle of red hair against his skin.

“But you won’t, will you?” Auren whispered. “You’ll just keep locking me in there with those sharks.”

“You’re a prince of Atlantis, it is your duty to?—”