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LYSSANDRA

P rincess Lyssandra had always hated dark rooms. Dark rooms meant night – and night meant the ten other merfolk princesses she used to share a room with would be sleeping. Leaving her alone with only the inky shadows and the odd groaning noises from their mother’s bedchamber for company.

Dark rooms also meant cramped, windowless cupboards. Like the ones from her childhood where cruel merfolk nobles would shove her in. They’d tease her for the strange shape of her ears, laughing as the heavy door would click shut and seal her in the darkness. Hours would pass before anyone would find her. Usually Adriana.

Still, the longer she spent with an iron cuff clamped around her wrist, stuck behind another particularly heavy locked door, the more she began to wonder how she could ever find the vast open ocean so suffocating. There were no endless coral forests here in Faelenna. No sprawling reefs or dolphin fields. Only damp cave walls and far too many glowing orb lights that, while similar to the bubble lights of the merfolk palace, didn’t feel anywhere near as warm.

But none of that mattered now. She was here – hidden away in the underground faery palace and locked inside a small, cramped bedchamber. And she’d have to get used to the glowing orb lights.

Or at least she would, when they finally let her out of her dark prison.

“Oliver?” she called, edging closer to the thick door. Oliver was the name of the faery guard outside – or at least that was what she called him.

He didn’t speak much.

“I cannot let you out, Your Highness,” he stammered from outside. “Please don’t ask me again.”

“I just want five minutes.” She smushed her face against the door, pressing her hands against the wood. “The Queen will understand. She told me herself, she wants me to feel at home here. Please, Oliver.”

The guard stayed silent for a while, probably thinking. Or maybe soiling himself.

Lyssandra sniffed through the keyhole. Thankfully not the latter this time.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said after far too long. “But the Queen will bring you breakfast in a few hours. You can ask her about a walk then.”

Huffing, she pushed away from the door. A few months ago she’d have asked the Faery Queen to execute him, out of spite, just like she’d done for the others. James, Leonard, Frank, maybe more that she’d forgotten.

‘ We just want you to feel welcome here ,’ the Faery Queen had said, not hesitating to sign another death warrant. As if another dead guard would bring her daughter back, might please her enough to forget how her family had cast her into the ocean all those years ago.

She couldn’t even remember what Ikelos had said they’d traded her for. Not that she remembered much these days. It wasn’t just her room that was dark.

Hours passed, or maybe minutes, as she laid against the door. Just as she considered screaming to pass the time, a rustle sounded in the distance.

“Mother?” She jerked upright. She didn’t like to call her that, but it seemed to please the woman when she did. And if she pleased her enough, maybe she’d have her cuff taken off.

Maybe, someday, she’d kill all the faeries and return to the merfolk.

Lyssandra chuckled into her hand, waiting for Queen Amabel to knock against her door. But when the knock never came and the rustling became a dull groan, her laughter cut off with a gasp as she shot up to her feet.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, peering into the darkness.

Only shadows stared back at her.

“I know someone’s there,” she growled. “I heard you.” Or maybe she’d actually finally gone mad. The palace healer certainly seemed to think she was close the last time he’d visited – especially when she’d bitten him. “Show yourself!” she spat.

Another groan rumbled through her bedchamber, turning her bones to ice. Until that groan became a word. “ Lyssa ?”

Her shoulders sagged. The voice was low, weak, and some would even say, a little whiny. Most definitely her brother’s.

She let out a huff. “What are you doing here?” She scowled. “And why didn’t you knock? You’re supposed to knock, Arenn. It’s rude to just enter a lady’s bedchamber without—”

He sucked in a sharp breath as if just listening hurt him. “Please…” he wheezed. “I need help.”

“Go to a healer.” She threw herself back against the door, folding her arms. “Or have your mother kiss it better for you. I don’t care.”

Arenn groaned again. “Please, Lyss. I-I can’t see… It hurts. I won’t make it to the healers.” His voice trailed off as Lyssandra quirked a brow. She supposed he did sound quite ill.

And it wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

“What happened?” she sighed, dragging her feet towards the sound of his heavy breathing.

“It’s a long s-story.”

In the darkness, she could just make out his slumped over form by the dresser. She made it three more steps before her bare feet slipped on something wet, warm, and… sticky?

Blood.

“ Arenn ,” she gasped, rushing to crouch by his side. “You’re bleeding! What happened? Where are you hurt?”

“Feels like everywhere,” he rasped. “Why is it so dark in here?”

“You’ve got your mother to blame for that.” She padded her hands around him, desperately searching for the wound. “Well, technically her healer.” She scowled. “He told her cutting out the light in here would help me rest.” Her hands worked down his limp arms. “So now I just sit in the dark for twelve hours then sit in the light for— Found it.”

Arenn hissed in pain. “Be careful with that,” he snarled, but Lyssandra could barely hear him over the blood crashing in her ears.

“Your bond, Arenn,” she choked. “H-how? Who did this to you?” She might not care for her brother, but to mutilate a faery bond in this way? The pain he must be in… “Where’s Naria?” Panic hit her like a wave. “Did they do this to her too?”

It was as if the room had been plunged into ice. “No,” Arenn said, his voice deathly low. He didn’t elaborate. Then again, he didn’t need to. Lyssandra swallowed down a sob while intense feelings began to stir in her chest. Feelings she hadn’t felt since trading her tail for feet and killing that damned king.

“You can tell me everything as soon as I’ve healed you,” she told him, hands shaking. “But first, I need you to help get this cuff off me. I can’t use my Divine Gift with it around my wrist.”

“Damn iron cuffs,” Arenn groaned, sucking in a deep breath. “This is going to hurt,” he growled to himself.

“Do it for her,” she said, voice tight. “For Naria.”

“For Naria.” Tipping his head back against the wall, his shoulders shook as a vine rumbled along the floor, creeping towards Lyssandra’s cuff.

A few minutes later, the guard collapsed outside.