Page 25 of The Merman’s Betrothal (Outcast Hearts #2)

Situated just underneath the record chambers, the throne room was long and narrow.

It curved in a gradual semi-circle, following the cylindrical shape of the palace.

A small number of officials were present, the bare minimum required to witness the oddly secretive deed of marrying off Bluefolk royalty.

Fionn recognised the Court Shaman and the Bearer of Records among them, as well as some of Iomhar’s palace guards.

His brothers, Brudus and Drostan, were also present.

They flashed him sheepish, sympathetic smiles and then dropped their heads.

Their silver hair had also been braided tightly like Iomhar’s.

Fionn scanned their bodies for new tattoos; saw with envy that Brudus had received accolades for saving a Minchman caught in a human fishing net, and that Drostan had recently seen success with a hunting party over a giant squid.

The Blue King sat on his living coral throne at the apex of the semi-circle, where all gazes would be directed to him in the middle of it.

His bronze crown was made of a delicate twisting of wires that emulated flowing kelp.

The metal was similarly woven through the king’s thick silver hair, a permanent emblem of power that was never removed from his head.

He emanated regal indifference to Fionn’s entrance, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on a clay document in front of him.

Fionn nodded to his brothers and took his place in front of the throne.

‘ You are late, ’ his father said distantly without looking up from the tablet held in his lap.

‘ Apologies. ’ Fionn’s reply was purposefully terse.

‘ I thought it possible you might have run away. ’

Fury gripped Fionn’s heart. Did his father think so little of him? ‘ I would never forsake my duty. ’

A blatant lie, he realised. He was desperately doing his best to forsake it. But he wouldn’t give the king another reason to look down on him.

‘ Indeed, ’ the Blue King said. His DeepSong was strangely heavy. ‘ Then let us begin. ’

Fionn kept still as a blindfold was tied around his head.

It was imperative (he was reminded, unnecessarily, by the Shaman) that he didn’t see any member of the Redfolk tribe until it was time to reveal his betrothed.

They couldn’t risk the fae bargain binding Fionn to the wrong family member.

What if he soul bonded with the Red King, of all people?

That was why this practice was so vital. There could be no mistakes.

Then it was time for the recital of the oaths.

Not from Fionn, of course. He was to be merely an ornament in these proceedings, seen and certainly not heard.

The Blue King and the Shaman would do all of the talking, reminding the congregation of their strong alliance with the Redfolk and their responsibility to uphold that relationship at all costs.

Recalling the vital bedrock of tradition upon which all these customs were founded, and the fae origins that even now the Bluefolk acknowledged in their heritage.

Underlining the debt they owed the Redfolk against both fae and human threats, and the duty of repaying them.

Halfway through these ritual lies, Fionn found his mounting resentment too much to bear.

‘ Why do we not forge our own measures against such threats? ’ Fionn blurted out, interrupting the Shaman in his recounting of how the marriage bargain was struck.

The answering silence was almost bewildered—had the First Prince spoken?

The Shaman cleared his throat and continued as if he hadn’t.

Fionn raised his voice. ‘ Why do we place our fate in the hands of the Redfolk? Why not take command of our own safety? ’

Ah. In this new silence Fionn detected familiar disapproval.

His father’s voice, deceptively soft, resounded across the chamber. ‘ Hold your tongue. Such words spoken before Redfolk would be taken as treason. ’

‘ There are no Redfolk here, ’ Fionn replied petulantly, listening to the uncomfortable shuffling from the small crowd. ‘ If this were a true alliance, they ought to applaud a desire to defend ourselves. ’

‘ The bargain defends us, ’ the king sang calmly, though to Fionn’s ears it was laced with condescension.

Fionn ripped off his blindfold. He was faced with a floating kelp curtain, a secondary visual obstacle. He burst through it, provoking a ripple of alarmed gasps over the assembly.

‘ The bargain imprisons us! ’ Fionn declared. If the first gasps had been loud, the second were deafening. ‘ We rely too much on hiding in our small corner of ocean. We daren’t face the wider world for fear of what’s out there. Yet if we remain so isolated, it shall surely come for us anyway. ’

There’s something of Rory in this, Fionn thought while exhilarated by the freedom of his song. The ocean was much larger than he could comprehend and there were problems greater in it than the ones faced by Minchmen alone.

‘ You know nothing of the dangers of the deep oceans, young prince, ’ the king answered flatly.

It seemed his gaze flicked briefly to Iomhar, who floated a few yards to the side of the throne.

‘ Or of the relentless tide that is humanity, that can now sweep away our very existence like sand from the shore. ’

‘ Then do something, ’ Fionn all but spat back. ‘ Do something more than sit on your throne, auctioning off your son. ’

For the barest, unthinkable second, his father looked as though he’d been struck. The entire throne room went still, gills collectively closed in apprehension.

Fionn took his chance and ran.

With a mighty kick and a deft spin he avoided the first guard who dared lunge for him and was soon soaring out of the outer arches into open water. He heard Iomhar calling his name. Fionn raced into the current, swiftly calling it to carry him far, far away.

To Loch Broom, as it turned out, because that’s where his mind was fixed on. The body of water next to which Rory lived. Where his soul mate, maybe, or at the very least the man he admired greatly, lived.

Fionn drifted listlessly for a while, staring up at the darkening sky above the surface.

A couple of hours passed. Long enough for a few hot, angry tears to be spilled and long enough for Acha to find him and nuzzle her nose into the crook of Fionn’s arm.

‘ Hello, friend. ’ Fionn cuddled her close. ‘ At least you do not reject me today. ’

Out of the swirling murk, Iomhar’s voice reached him. ‘ You have more people fighting in your corner than you realise, little sprat. ’

Fionn rolled away from him. ‘ Are you here to bring me home? ’

‘ No. ’ Iomhar swam above him, blocking out the moonlight. ‘ But you understand that you cannot run from this. ’

Fionn pouted. ‘ Why not? What is stopping me from leaving the Minch tonight? ’

‘ Wrath and ruin to your people, ’ Iomhar said simply. ‘ And I know you will not forsake them. At best, the Redfolk would rescind the magic that keeps us safe and hidden. At worst, they would declare war and try to conquer us entirely for themselves. ’

Fionn scratched dejectedly behind Acha’s ears, staring into the cloudy water. ‘ They might as well have, already. ’

‘ No, ’ Iomhar said firmly. ‘ We send them tribute, yes. But they stay out of our affairs and we stay out of theirs. It is symbiotic, like a clownfish and anemone: we feed, they protect. ’

‘ Then why should I also become tribute? Is my value equivalent to one basket of shrimp, or three? ’ Fionn knew he was being too flippant and that this argument would get him nowhere, just like every time he and Iomhar had discussed the matter.

But for now the familiarity of it was almost comforting.

‘ No one condones this bargain, Fionn. It was made by a foolish king of centuries past. Your father thinks— ’

‘ I do not care what my father thinks, ’ Fionn cut him off.

Iomhar looked away. He touched a hand to the centre of his tattooed chest as though contemplating something, then shook his head.

‘ Your father does understand the burden of the marriage bargain, ’ Iomhar sang quietly. ‘ Do not forget, he had to watch his own brother accept the same fate. ’

‘ And I am sure he was as actionless then as he is now. ’

Fionn was startled to find that Iomhar didn’t seem willing to counter this. Though glancing at the old Minchman’s face, he perceived sorrow in his heavy features.

‘ I shall leave you to rest, ’ Iomhar eventually said before gliding away. ‘ You know where to find me if you need me. ’

After a beat, Fionn called out, ‘ Thank you, ’ after his disappearing shadow. He would miss Iomhar when he was married off to the Redfolk.

If he was married. Although Fionn’s prospects with Rory had taken an absolute nosedive, and recollection of that turn of events only added to his despair.

Who was he fooling? What was the point in continuing to pursue Rory if their interactions were going to keep ending in hostility? Was Fionn’s lofty ideal of serving his kingdom really a good enough reason to keep following the pull of this fated bond?

Truthfully, selfishly, Fionn didn’t want a mate who hated him. Suffering Rory’s loathing would surely be just as awful as being a Redfolk’s marriage possession.

But also, selfishly, Fionn really wanted Rory to like him. Out of all the things that had gone wrong today, Rory trying to punch him was the one that hurt the most. Did Fionn really inspire such anger in him?

And yet, that same anger was part of what captivated Fionn. Rory’s anger and his empathy for the ocean. The spirit of adventure that clearly lived inside his closed-off heart. Fionn clung to those moments on the beach with Rory and the leatherback turtle.

Fionn had seen something in Rory that he couldn’t let go of: a spark. The sense of a lit fuse burning slowly down to something of shining brilliance.

Perhaps Rory could not see that spark for himself.

A prince and a fisherman, Rory had said, as though the unbelievable part of their match was merely a matter of station rather than the worlds they came from.

So why, when it was now crystal clear that they both harboured attraction for each other, was Rory so resistant to accepting a fate with Fionn?

The dark ocean failed to provide answers.

Fionn floated in his cloud of gloom while the water turned gradually sour.