Page 4 of Making Out With Mermaids (Haven Ever After #6)

CHAPTER FOUR

AMATHEIA

I move the pencil in quick, short slashes over the page, adding shading to the outline of the gargoyle brothers sitting at the table next to mine. Shepherd is the more openly joyful of the two, always smiling and making jokes when he does security rounds through the lake.

Alo’s the more classically handsome, but he’s a quieter, more intense presence. Although, being recently mated seems to have softened the harsh edges of his gaze. Not to mention, having a six-year-old will keep one young. Or turn your hair gray. Or perhaps both.

Character sketches are a personal favorite of mine to draw. When I look back on them later, it almost feels like I’m drawing friends. The fact is, I know many of the Evertons, but I don’t know any of them well. Drawing them almost makes it seem like they’re my friends, if I had time for friendships outside of the lake.

When someone clears their throat next to me, it pulls me from my trance-like state. Glancing up, I’m surprised to see the handsome vampire from yesterday standing beside my table. Today, he wears emerald green slacks and a white collared shirt, open to his navel. Both sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing more tattoos. A half-dozen chunky necklaces, including a cross, drape over his chest. They pull my eye to stacked abdominal muscles and the faintest sprinkling of pale hair on his pecs.

Oh my gods, he’s too hot. Thalassa below, why don’t they make mermen like this? Or maybe it’s just that mermen are always so focused on showing off their strength or bragging about the size of their fins. It is so tiresome to me.

Forcing my gaze up, I smile. It’s the same smile I wear at home all the time. It’s a mask, my armor to protect me from the snidest of my uncle’s comments.

You’re just like your mother, head in the clouds.

Why must you look at me like that?

I can’t stand to look at you. Leave me.

If it wasn’t for you, they’d both still be here.

Why are you such a burden, Niece?

The vampire cocks his head to the side, examining my expression for a long moment that quickly turns awkward for me. And probably him too.

“Let me guess,” I blurt out, trying to brush away the weirdness. “You’ve come to try to walk me home again?”

He laughs, and like yesterday, the sound is sinful and rich. It’s the laugh of someone who does it easily and often, someone full of joy. Someone unlike me. Someone free . I don’t remember the last time I laughed for real, except with my cousin, Thatraeia. It’s been ages, though.

“Not quite, Amatheia. May I sit?”

Goddess, he remembered my name. And the way he says it…

Speechless, I ensure my mouth is closed as I jerk my head toward the singular seat across from mine. Instead of taking it, he grabs the back and swings it effortlessly to my side of the table. When he sinks down into it, our legs nearly tangle together. He’s close, so close I can smell him.

He’s wearing cologne, I’m sure of it, because nobody smells this good. It’s light, manly. Like if you took the forest and fresh soap and something burnt like one of the caramel candies from Miriam’s Sweets Shop up the street.

“I’ve been thinking,” he begins, leaning back in the chair as he crosses one leg over the other. “I’m working on a project, and I require the services of a painter. My friend Catherine tells me you did some work for her.”

Ah.

“That was a long time ago,” I confirm. “I don’t paint anymore.”

“And yet I’ve seen your work.” He flashes a broad, toothy smile at me. “You’re exactly what I need for this particular project. I’d like to discuss the specifics. Will you come to my home for dinner tomorrow to discuss it?”

Hope wells immediately inside me. Hope and the fervent desire to have enough money to escape the prison of the lake, even if just for short stints of time. But Caralorn keeps tight control over my meager dowry, and the only reason I even have money for coffee is because of my occasional shift at Sovereign Sip, the merkingdom’s singular bar.

Caralorn would hate this, if he found out, because he’d lose some of his control over me. But, if this is a paying gig, I can add it to the money Catherine paid me for those paintings, money I’ve kept secreted away. Perhaps I’ll be able to save up enough to move somewhere quiet. The key would be in doing that before Caralorn finds out what I’m trying to do.

I hate how a plan is already forming in my mind.

It’s also true that I haven’t painted in a while.

“Amatheia?” Betmal’s voice breaks through my train of thought. “Say yes.” He uncrosses his legs and leans forward, an elbow on each knee and his hands clasped. “Say you’ll come.”

“I’ll hear you out,” I say before I can stop myself. “I can’t promise I’ll agree, given my other…responsibilities to the king. But I’ll listen.”

“Excellent.” He grins at me like that cat who got the cream. It sends consternation running rampant through my guts as I think about how to keep Caralorn or my cousins from finding out about this. This is probably a really bad idea.

“I require discretion,” I say softly. “My coming on land isn’t favored by my family, not when they think it interferes with my duties. If I do this, can we keep it between us until I decide if I can help or not?”

“A secret tryst?” His smile grows wide, fangs poking out from his upper lip. “I love secrets. I’m fine with that”—he gives me a seductive look—“for now. And I can promise this will be far more fun than any princessly duties you may have.”

“That’s fine,” I say in a rush. “I might not even be able to help . But I’m willing to listen to what you need. Can I assume this is a paid gig?”

He inclines his head. “Naturally. Well paying. But we can discuss those details tomorrow over dinner. What do you like to eat?”

I shake my head. “There’s no need to feed me. I’ll eat before I come.”

“Nonsense.” He waves away my comment. “It would be highly rude of me to invite you to my home and not offer sustenance. Do you have any specific likes or dislikes when it comes to dinner?”

I can’t think of any, not when his piercing eyes seem to drive shards of heat low into my belly. “I’m…I’ll eat whatever.”

“Ah, an adventurous female, then. Carte blanche, love that.” He winks, and the heat swirling in my stomach turns into a raging bonfire. He’s just being nice. I know that. Vampires are pure sex, or so I’ve heard other monsters say. He’s probably like this with everyone. I just have no experience with single vampire males. And he must be single. Right?

After grabbing my notebook, I shove it in my bag and stand, desperate to get away from his probing gaze and ridiculously attractive smile. When pain lances through my knee, I falter and grip the edge of the table.

Before I see him move, Betmal grabs me by the waist, holding me tightly to his body. Red eyes flash and narrow, his nostrils flaring as he grits a muscle in his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, pushing away from him as I struggle around shooting pains that zip up my thigh to clash around my hip bones.

“For what?” His voice is low, deadly, the tone of a predator.

“Falling on you,” I answer with a laugh.

“A beautiful woman falling into my arms hardly calls for an apology,” he says roughly, his hand moving higher up my waist. His fingers curl into my skin, and everywhere he touches sends waves of heat radiating through my core.

“Well then,” I offer with a smirk, “you’re welcome.”

His eyes crinkle in the corners as he stares at me in silence. It’s like he’s looking right through me, enjoying our little exchange. Nostrils flaring, he leans slightly forward.

Is he scenting me? Trying to decide how good my blood smells? Oh depths, I’ve got to get out of here.

I clear my throat. “Well, I’m headed home, but I’ll see you tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Tomorrow, Amatheia.” He smirks as he slips a hand into his pocket. “I’ll pick you up at the lake.”

I beg my leave and scuttle out of Higher Grounds as fast as my legs will take me. It was foolish to agree to meet him. I can’t possibly take this job and keep it hidden. Caralorn would stop me simply because he can.

But still, a tiny flare of hope burns bright inside me, and despite myself, I smile all the way back home.

* * *

B y the time I reach the lake, my hip throbs, and my head has begun to join it. My heartbeat pulses painfully in my ears as I stumble to the log that serves as lockers for the merfolk the rare times we come on land. Sitting on the large fallen log, I move a piece of bark to the side. A rectangular section flips open, revealing a tiny locker. Pulling my human clothes and prosthetic off, I dump them in the locker with a sigh.

What I’m doing tomorrow is foolish. So foolish. I’ve never been allowed to replace the prosthetic because Caralorn says I shouldn’t need it, that merfolk don’t belong on land anyhow. I know my parents never would have agreed with him, but they’re long gone. There’s nobody left to protect me, aside from the warden who’s very much not in my corner.

I always imagined there would come a day when I wouldn’t feel so guilty about the accident that robbed me of my leg and my parents’ of their lives. And on that Thalassa-blessed day, I’d miraculously have money, somehow get a new leg, and escape being under Caralorn’s thumb.

The plan that took root in my mind earlier expands by the minute as I consider how merfolk rarely come out of the lake. I can likely milk this project for a while before anyone notices I’m not around as much. Maybe I can even save up enough to grab my cousin Thatraeia and take her with me.

I hop to the edge of the water, praying to the goddess Thalassa for the chilly lake to ease the pain quickly. As I hobble into the water, I shift and fall forward into the clear blue depths. Every shift into my natural form is painful, but on the days my leg pain flares up, it’s nigh unbearable. I cry out as the shift overtakes me, gritting my teeth as my legs pin together and change into a long, scaled turquoise and rust-colored tail. Gills pop open beneath my ears, opening wide to pull oxygen from the water.

I shudder as the shift completes. Like always, I look down at the end of my tail where there should be two long fins to propel me through the water. Instead, there’s just the one. It’s long and beautiful and perfect, but it’s had to do all the work for twenty-two years now. Poor thing is tired.

A sigh leaves my lips as the familiar pain shoots through my remaining fin, traveling up the muscles of my tail to stab at my lower back. Gritting my teeth, I push through the hurt as I glide slowly through the water. It turns from turquoise to royal to navy blue the deeper I get, although it’s easy for me to see clearly. Heading to the northern side of the lake where there’s a series of caves, I look for an outcropping where Sea Julienne grows. It’s not natural to lake water, but we’re able to make it grow here by injecting salt into the weed’s roots every few months.

Technically there are many of us who have Sea Julienne duty, but I swear I’m the only one who ever actually does it.

It’s a pain reliever, so caring for the hearty seaweed is usually top of mind.

Finding the wavy seaweed, I grab a few leaves and yank them from the stalk, stuffing them in my mouth. I chew around the bitter taste, sighing as the pain in my back and fin swirl and eddy away. I cut a few extra leaves to bring back to the castle. I’m working a shift tonight at the bar, and I’ll need it.

Glancing at my comm watch, I realize it’s actually later in the afternoon than I thought. I head past the Sea Julienne field and make my way through the other gardens outside our city.

I glide around a rock just in time to see a large figure hunched on top of an outcropping, his long green tail curled over the edge, fins twirling the sand into tiny tornadoes along the lake floor. He turns and looks up as I glide into view. Immediately, I tuck the Sea Julienne behind my back.

“It’s you.” Caralorn’s emerald eyes—the same eyes as my eldest cousin Malakat—glitter in the faded afternoon light. “What are you doing out here?” His eyes follow my hands, and I know he knows exactly what I was doing.

“Just a little bit of farming,” I lie. “The fields are looking amazing, but?—”

“That’s fine,” he interrupts, eyes narrowing before he looks away. “For a moment you looked like”—he glances at me then looks away again, pain evident in his eyes—“someone else.”

My mother, he means. Merfolk don’t take photographs like land monsters do, but I’ve seen drawings of her. We could be twins, with the same dark eyes and aqua scales. My rust-hued fin tips come from Father, though. I’ve always suspected that part of why Caralorn hates me so much is that he and Father fought over my mother, and my father won her heart. But when she died, Caralorn grieved her even though she wasn’t his. Seeing me reminds him of that.

His eyes narrow. “What are you holding?”

Knowing I can never deny him here underwater, I bring the Sea Julienne from behind my back.

He blanches, lips pursing as he stiffens, rising from the rock to back away from me. After a quiet moment where he stares, and it feels like he’s looking into my soul, he sighs. “Leave me, Niece.”

“Thank you… Goodbye, Uncle,” I say quietly, swimming slowly around him with the Sea Julienne tucked behind my back again. He says nothing as I glide away. I don’t relax my gills until I’m safely over the ridge and nearing the edge of an underwater cliff with the merkingdom below. I almost felt like he could take one look at me and know I made plans tomorrow with a vampire.

It’s not like it’s expressly forbidden to have friendships or work outside the merkingdom. It’s just considered distasteful. Especially for the king’s eldest niece. If he had his way all of the time, I’d do nothing but prepare for being some distant royal’s future wife. It was a fight to even get him to let me work at the bar. But working there is the only time I feel remotely peaceful, and I can masquerade as being of service to my people by literally serving them.

Sighing, I swim over the ledge and down into the cavernous valley the kingdom is built into. Tall spires punctuated by hole-like entrances dot the valley floor. Every so often, a glass bubble indicates an air-filled section of the city, not that any of the surface dwellers visit often. The gargoyles sometimes do while on their rounds, but that’s about it. I truly think the bubble sections are a mere formality, because Caralorn never built any sort of transportation system to allow landers to access them.

My destination is a pink coral tower covered with ornately scrolled shell decorations, glittering tall from the middle of the city. Gritting my teeth against a fresh wave of pain, I pass the giant gates at the city’s edge. Twin statues of my uncle holding a trident greet me, but like always, I feel nothing but frustration.

Swimming through the city, I force a smile and wave when other merfolk greet me with cautious looks and reverential dips of their heads.

By the time I make it to the suite I share with my cousins, I’m exhausted and the pain’s nearly unbearable. The moment I glide through one of the big round openings into our suite, my cousin Thatraeia grabs my arm and yanks me to her side. Pale coral eyes flash and narrow, and she crosses her arms.

Sighing, I look away before she can start in on me. Not that it stops her.

“The surface again? Must you go every day, Ama?”

I return my focus to her. Where my scales and hair are all the shades of the lake, she’s all pink and coral, like the castle come to life. We’re opposites in so many ways, but of my bevy of cousins, she’s the only one I’m close to. Their mother left after producing six girls—I think she couldn’t bear living with the fact that Caralorn loved someone else—so I’ve become Thatraeia’s surrogate mother in many ways.

“Yes, my sweet cousin. It’s my one joy. Let me have it, please? I’m not bothering anyone by disappearing for a few hours.”

It’s the age-old conversation between us, and we only have it when we’re alone. I’m certain my other five cousins know I go to Ever, but we don’t speak of it, and they leave the lake infrequently.

But Thatraeia and I have always been the closest, even though she’s the youngest of us seven. Now she twitches her ears and huffs out a bubbly, irritated noise.

“It’s just coffee. We have coffee here. I hate it when you leave… The others are mean.”

I thump the tipped-up end of her nose playfully. “Our coffee is served cold in bubbles. It’s sludge. I’m not built like the other merfolk. I like my coffee hot and dark. Not gelatinous.”

She rolls peachy-rose eyes at me but plants both hands on her hips. “Well, did you have fun, at least?”

I debate telling her about Betmal. I shouldn’t. But she’s always had a way of knowing when I’m hiding something. So, despite my reticence, the entire story comes out. She gasps at my plan to meet him tomorrow for dinner.

“How are you going to get out of work?”

I grin. “I’m off tomorrow.”

“Ooooookay.” She draws out the word with a skeptical look. “But what if Father finds ou?—”

“He won’t,” I assure her. “This probably won’t lead anywhere anyway, but what if it does, and I could save up enough money to start over somewhere else? You know that’s always been my dream. And Caralorn probably wouldn’t care if I disappeared. I wouldn’t be a burden anymore.”

Her concerned look morphs into one of sadness, the wispy coral tips of her ears drooping. “I’ll be so lonely if you leave,” she whispers.

“Then come with me,” I encourage for the millionth time. “We’ve talked about this so many times. The only reason I don’t go is because I can’t afford to, and Thalassa knows, Caralorn would never help me leave and dishonor his promise to raise me. But if we could because of this…”

She purses pink lips together and shakes her head. In her mind, her father is still a giant figure of power. And he is, literally and figuratively. But I’m also not so na?ve I don’t realize there’s a bigger world out there that doesn’t include him or any of my other cousins.

Thatraeia and I just need money to access it and get far enough away that it won’t matter what he does. I’m hoping we’d be out of sight, out of mind, especially given he has five other daughters who seem perfectly content living under his thumb.

I’m stuck in the meantime, and for the foreseeable future, but if there’s any chance at all of eventually saving enough to leave, I have to take it.

When she shakes her head again, I sigh and swim across the room to my wardrobe. After pulling it open, I don a red coral bra and add a few red necklaces to my outfit. Merfolk aren’t fussed about clothing in general, but I feel like dressing up.

Thatraeia gives me the silent treatment until it’s time to leave, then she takes my hand and brings it to her chest, her gaze imploring.

“Please be careful, Ama. Vampires are dangerous. The entire world is dangerous, and you’re delicate.”

I pull my hand from hers. I know what she means. That I’m not strong, not tough.

When I yank my hand away, she pouts. “Don’t be mad. But you being attacked and frozen by the revenant scared all of us. If you weren’t so insistent on going up to the surface, if you could have run awa?—”

“Stop.” I put both hands up to halt her stream of consciousness. She doesn’t mean to throw my disability in my face, but she does it nonetheless. I back slightly away from her. “If I didn’t go to the surface, I’d be miserable. And nobody could have outrun the revenant. What happened wasn’t my fault, and nothing could have changed the outcome. I wasn’t the only victim, if you remember.”

She lifts her chin but doesn’t respond. She’s right that if I never went above at all, I probably wouldn’t have been attacked by the detached soul of a recently deceased Everton. I don’t remember his attack, actually, and I don’t remember much of what followed. I just remember pain and waking up in a saltwater tub at Doc Slade’s, wondering what the depths happened.

When I got home, Caralorn was just furious I left the city at all. He forbade me to in the future, but I have to be true to some part of myself, if only for a few hours each day. Over the years, he’s decided to adopt a “don’t ask” policy on my coffee trips, as long as I keep them short.

The reality is that merfolk aren’t meant for lakes—we’re meant for the open sea. It’s not natural to live in Ever…and Caralorn loves to remind me how it’s my fault we’re living in an environment that’s not entirely suited to us. If I’m honest with myself, it’s another reason I tend so thoroughly to the Sea Julienne—I don’t even disagree with Caralorn’s assessment of blame.

Leaving my cousin in stony silence, I swim out of the suite and through the city to Sovereign Sip, the swanky cocktail bar at the very edge of the Depthless Cliffs. Beyond that, the lake is so deep, it’s said that nobody’s ever seen the bottom. Sometimes I like to imagine that Caralorn leaves my little dowry down there, simply because it’s his responsibility to safeguard it for me. And one day, I’ll venture to the bottom, look for it, and scoop it up. I’ll drag Thatraeia to another haven, and maybe get the new leg I know my parents would have wanted for me.

Working here at the bar is my second joy, something I fought tooth and nail for. I don’t really earn any money for the work—Uncle sees to that—but I do it all the same. It’s a chance to see my people under fun conditions. And when my boss Rikard can, he slips me a little bit of cash under the table. It’s enough for my coffee trips, but that’s about it.

As I float through the bar’s tan coral entryway, Rikard catches my eye from behind the bar. Purple lips curve into a genuine smile as he grabs a glass globe with a small hole in the top. He turns and slips it onto a tube that deposits gelatinous martini mix into the glass. That done, he sticks a sprig of seaweed into the opening and hands it to a merman hovering in front of the bar.

I join him, slipping up over the coral surface and smiling at the nearest patron. The Sip isn’t super busy this time of day, but in about half an hour, it’ll be filled with the King’s Guard and merfolk getting off work.

“There she is.”

My blood freezes as I turn, glass in hand, to see my cousin Malakat glide through the front arch with several of the King’s Guard at her back.

I force a smile. “Hello, Cousin. Can I get you something to drink?” I make purposeful eye contact with the other three guards. “And what about you three?”

One of them opens his mouth to say something, but zips it shut when Malakat shoots him a dirty look. Technically, she’s head of the guard, so they report to her even though she’s far younger than the rest of us.

Not that you’d know it by looking at her. She’s every inch the guard captain with long, glittering green nails and her emerald hair twisted into an intricate series of braids that give her a distinctly warlike appearance. She’s closest in age to me, and being my uncle’s eldest gives her a very fuck-off vibe.

“Mead, girl. Get it quickly,” she snaps, drumming her fingers on the sea-leather straps crisscrossing her chest.

Resisting the urge to snap at her, I turn and get the drink. When I hand it to her, she takes it roughly, and the sludge sloshes slowly around in the glass, threatening to dribble out of the small hole.

I take the other guards’ orders. They’re terse and direct when she’s around. But I know them all well. We’re the same age, and all older than Malakat. But since she’s here, they won’t say a kind word to me. Not and risk her wrath.

“I looked for you this morning,” Malakat says in a cruel tone, leaning over the bar to bring her face close to mine. “You weren’t around. Where were you?”

I shrug. I don’t owe her a minute-by-minute update about my day, and she knows I go to the coffee shop. Avoiding the topic is my usual tactic because she’s always shitty about it.

When she sneers, I level her with an irritated look. “I was working in the Sea Julienne fields, among other duties.”

She snorts and sips at the gelatinized mead we import from the General Store in Downtown Ever. “Farming. What a life. It’s a shame you’re not part of the guard, although I suppose with that fin, how could you be?”

It’s hard not to remind her that even having a King’s Guard is pointless since we live isolated in a lake. There are no other clans to protect Caralorn from. Mentioning that would just anger her and I’m already over this interaction.

I don’t blanch or show any visible signs of irritation. It’s exactly what she wants. The reality is that the only reason she’s the head of the guard and not me is because of my half-fin. But in a way, it’s a blessing. I’m not cut out for that work, nor do I have any interest at all in doing it.

And one day, when Caralorn matches her to some merman guard she’s been the captain over for decades…things are gonna be awkward for her.

I wouldn’t want that.

Rikard calls for me, saving me from having to talk any longer to my least favorite cousin. I join him in the back room, and he assigns me a task that doesn’t need doing at all but will keep me out of Malakat’s braids for an hour or so.

The moment he heads to the bar to take my place, that little flame of determination that started burning when Betmal made his proposal flares bright inside me.

I can’t live like this forever, under the thumb of a king and a cousin who are, at best, dismissive and, at worst, downright cruel. Whatever it takes, I’ve got to get out of here.

* * *

T he following morning, I wake to someone violently shaking my shoulder. Blinking my eyes open, I flare my gills to pull oxygenated water into my lungs.

Malakat glares down at me. “Rise, girl. Father wishes to see you.”

I sit upright and swing my tail over the edge of the coral bed.

Malakat’s emerald eyes flick to the missing fin, and she smirks, but says nothing.

Goddess, she’s mean.

The clamshell lights on the walls glow the palest of pinks. It’s still early, the castle thoughtfully telling us it’ll be time to wake a few hours from now.

Malakat lays her spear over her shoulder and sighs. “Get up , Ama.”

Hissing at her rudeness, I slide, irritated, from the bed and wave at the door. “Well, go on. Lead the way.”

She snorts and spins, shooting across the room and through the door.

My fin aches, but I don’t take the time to stretch it, even though I usually do that in the morning before I leave the royal suite. I don’t like to do it once I’m out in the city, so I have to do it here. I’ve had enough judgmental looks to last me a lifetime.

Grabbing my little pile of Sea Julienne, I stuff a huge handful in my mouth before following Malakat through the door and along a still-dark coral-hued hallway. We wind through the castle toward my uncle’s suite. When we hook a right toward the grand ballroom, I sigh. Not his suite, I guess…his secondary meeting room.

Business meetings at this time of day? That does not bode well. It occurs to me that perhaps he’s somehow found out about my dinner with Betmal, and he’s going to put a stop to my escape plan right now. Caralorn doesn’t want me around, but he doesn’t want to give me the means to leave, either. He’s insufferable.

Shoving concern down, I follow Malakat through a white clamshell-encrusted door into my uncle’s private conference room. He floats at the giant arched window on the far side, staring out over the kingdom with his arms crossed.

When we enter the room, he spins in place, eyes narrowed as he takes me in. Every time he looks at me, I see the disdain and blame he has for me. It makes me feel so small, even smaller than I make myself feel.

“I’ll be blunt,” he says, floating to a flat coral table that takes up most of the center of the room. “I’ve arranged a suitor for you, Amatheia, from a clan I’ve known since I was a merminnow. They will be here in a few days to officially meet you and make an offer on what’s left of your dowry, in the customary way. You will be on your best behavior for Prince Stefan, or so help me…” His voice trails off as he glares.

I can barely pull water through my gills fast enough.

A suitor?

It can’t be.

I float toward him, desperate to find some reason why this won’t work.

“Stop, Cousin,” Malakat snarls. “Father sent me to arrange this with Stefan’s clan. He’s handsome, brilliant, and rich. This is good for our family, and Thalassa knows, you owe us.”

I choke at the accusation. It’s been so long since she reminded me that most of my cousins also blame me for my parents’ deaths and our resulting relocation. It’s why we’re not close. It’s?—

I look from her to my uncle. “I don’t want this. You have six daughters, and Malakat is your eldest. Give her to him. Sounds like she thinks he’s great.”

Caralorn’s eyes widen, and he glides over the table to get right in my face. “And yet I’m stuck with you, and you are the eldest female under my care, Amatheia. Do what you must to your fin to ensure you don’t seem weak when Stefan arrives. The prince brings money to our clan, and that is reason enough to accept him. You should be grateful I’m honoring your parents' wishes by providing a permanent place for you in the future, just as I have for the past years.”

I cross my arms; I’m livid. “Why don’t you just let me leave this Thalassa-forsaken castle and move somewhere else? My parents would rather me forge ahead on my own than be married off to a male I do not love. You know that’s true. Why do you insist I remain here?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Is it just so you can continue to torture me about how their deaths were my fault? Because I can assure you, there’s not a day I don’t hate myself for it.”

Caralorn snarls and lurches forward, gripping my throat and shoving me against the nearest wall. “I will not rehash their deaths yet another time with you. She died in my arms , or have you conveniently forgotten that? You will accept Stefan, or else I cannot guarantee your safety with this clan.”

Eyes popping wide, I scan the king’s face, but he looks serious as a heart attack.

“Just let me go,” I whisper, begging him with my expression to stop being such an asshole.

“Never,” he hisses. “I won’t dishonor her memory by not ensuring a successful future for you, despite my personal feelings on the topic.”

Fuck that. I’m done.

So I smile up into my uncle’s angular face, focused on his flashing green eyes. “As you wish, Caralorn,” I say in a simpering tone, not bothering to use his title.

I shove out of his grip, and without waiting for him to say anything else, I spin in place—fin throbbing—and glide for the door. I lift my chin as merfolk begin to fill the halls to begin their day. I don’t stop or drop the smile from my face until I reach the royal suite.

Everyone but Thatraeia is gone, and she comes to me immediately as I push the door closed and sink down to the ground, splaying my aching tail to one side.

“Ama!” Thatraeia drops down next to me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “What happened? I awoke, and you were gone!”

The tears don’t come, not here underwater. But the rage builds. Rage at what happened to me, how Caralorn’s clan treated me because of it, and the expectations of being the unwanted firstborn of a dead king and queen.

That same rage fills me until I’m ready to rip something to pieces.

Thatraeia pulls away from me, peachy eyes scanning my face. “Ama?”

“I’m taking that job,” I say with conviction. “I’m taking that job and getting that money. And then I’m out of here, Cousin.” I lift my eyes to hers. “And I’m taking you with me.”