Page 6 of The Merman’s Betrothal (Outcast Hearts #2)

Fionn had witnessed numerous soul bonding ceremonies throughout his life.

He had no role in the proceedings, was just there as decoration.

But he was grateful to have a good view by the throne.

He’d watched with envy as the king performed his ritual between the betrothed parties: a binding of blood from the partners involved, mixed with blood from the Blue King to transfer his soul bond magic to unite them.

And then the king would bless their union into marriage and personally etch the tattoo into their palms.

A farcical version of this lay in store for Fionn. His soul bond ceremony would be cold and political. Tightly controlled, too—they could not risk him seeing the wrong Redfolk kinsman first. Fionn would experience much of the event from behind a blindfold.

He wasn’t sure how to respond to Neacel’s apparent disbelief. ‘Do you not know the story of King Uradech and the origins of the marriage bargain?’

‘I know some of the songs.’ Neacel smiled sheepishly.

‘The nursery rhymes and so on. I know that King Uradech made the bargain with the Redfolk six hundred years ago to protect our kingdom. That we renew our alliance with them through royal marriage. But I don’t understand how such a deal can dictate your soul bond. ’

Fionn uttered a frustrated ‘ Hmph. ’ But perhaps it was no surprise for the popular renditions of history to leave out the sordid details, he considered.

Bluefolk were a proud people, after all.

It was much easier to swallow the Redfolk’s demands if they were dressed up as willing acts of diplomacy.

Supposedly, the purpose of the entire marriage arrangement was to ensure a ‘peaceful dialogue’ between their two tribes. But as far as Fionn was concerned, it was a hostage situation.

‘Our marriage bargain was bound in the blood of the Red and the Blue Kings of the time. So it was formed from the mixing of the soul bond magic that they harboured,’ Fionn more or less recited from memory.

‘It created this bastardised soul bond that dwells in every First Prince, waiting to ignite upon first contact with any Redfolk soul. It is not possible for me to simply refuse if I do not want it.’

‘That’s awful.’ Neacel’s disbelief turned to dismay. ‘It is clear this grieves you.’

Was it? Fionn hadn’t meant to let on so much.

‘I will do my duty.’ Fionn had expected to become aggravated if they continued discussing the subject but, strangely, he felt himself relaxing the more he spoke about it. He felt moved to say something daring. ‘You might call all soul bonds sacred. But I’d call mine a curse, personally.’

Neacel visibly recoiled. ‘And to think, I know people who believe you are gifted with a fated bond to your betrothed.’

‘A fated bond?’ Fionn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Such things were the subject of legends and children’s stories. ‘How an earth would that work?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps the fates themselves might intervene to ensure you are matched with your natural soul mate.’

Neacel seemed to be treating the question seriously, which made Fionn stop in the middle of the road. ‘Don’t tell me you believe in soul mates.’

When Neacel didn’t answer, a quick glance revealed that he’d flushed an even deeper shade of pink. The poor kid really was a romantic. Did anyone but children believe in soul mates these days?

The concept of a fated bond—a soul bond that would spontaneously ignite with your destined other half—was the chance-in-a-million so rare that only dreamers believed the old stories were true. Fionn said as much to Neacel.

‘What is the harm in dreaming?’ Neacel responded with a slight edge to his voice. ‘Such stories give us hope. Take the legend of Nechtan and Bridei. I may hope to know a love so pure one day.’

Fionn couldn’t help but scorn this. The legend of Nechtan and Bridei was a breathtakingly romantic ode about two fated Minchmen who found each other at the forming of the kingdom thousands of years ago.

‘Who could ever hope to have a love so pure as theirs?’ Fionn said with poorly masked ire.

‘One that spans worlds and wars and such great loss? Why would Nechtan leave everything he holds dear just to follow Bridei into the unknown? Giving up his crown and his kingdom? It doesn’t make sense given everything Nechtan says about duty at the beginning of the story.

And I don’t see why Bridei should change his mind about Nechtan after their soul bond ignites. It is unrealistic.’

Neacel tilted his head, lips pursed. ‘You know the story well, then.’

Heat crept up Fionn’s neck. He hadn’t meant for it to become a rant, but it was a legend that had gotten under his skin for everything it represented. Nechtan and Bridei shared an all-consuming type of a love he could never hope to attain. Unlike Neacel, Fionn’s situation had no room for hope.

Yet he always listened raptly to the story whenever someone told it, and tried to ignore the jealous heartache it inspired in him.

Fionn cleared his throat and nodded to the crossroads before them. White, tiled buildings loomed on either side. ‘Which way from here?’

Neacel tentatively stepped into the lead again. ‘Not far. We shall hear it before we see it.’

They did indeed hear the thumping bass a whole street away.

Sound didn’t travel through air as well as it did through water, but Fionn’s finely tuned ears had no trouble picking it out against the low hum of human town life.

Everywhere there was something buzzing or rumbling in the background; distant cars and nearby fluorescent lights; people talking and pipes gurgling; some canine creature howling behind a closed door.

Fionn hunched over as they approached the source of the heavy bass notes. The grating melodies that humans took for music spilled from an open doorway where a man in black was checking people before they went in.

Just as Fionn was tensing for a confrontation, Neacel bounded ahead with a smile.

‘Evening, Simon!’

The bouncer’s dour face broke into an answering grin as he looked first Neacel, then Fionn, up and down. ‘Back in town, eh, Nicky? The rest of your lot are inside.’

‘Thanks, friend.’

Fionn had to jump to follow Neacel inside. He grabbed hold of the young Minchman’s shoulder and hissed in his ear. ‘ Nicky? And what does he mean, your lot? ’

Neacel chuckled and removed Fionn’s hand. Inside the club, he suddenly seemed more brazen. ‘Relax, Your Highness. They think we come from a nearby town. And that our choice of dress is, let’s say, a tradition for our outings of getting sloshed in Ullapool.’

‘I still distrust that word.’

‘Come have a dram of whiskey, Your Highness. You might find it lessens your troubles a little.’

Fionn had no choice but to follow Neacel as he wove a path through the thick crowd. He walked taller in here, seemed to fit right in.

They reached a wooden bar and a woman behind it asked what they’d like to drink. She had good tattoos on her arms that looked like foliage, though Fionn couldn’t translate what they might mean.

Before long two glasses of amber liquid were placed in front of them. Neacel immediately held up two fingers with a smile and a nod, and the woman responded to this code by adding another pair of whiskeys to the set.

‘ Slàinte Mhath! ’ Neacel raised his first glass in cheers to Fionn and downed it instantly.

Fionn regarded his with suspicion. There was something… spicy?… about the smell. He took a small sip—and spluttered it straight back into the glass, gasping.

Neacel laughed, slapping him on the back. ‘It gets you like that, the first time. But you’ll learn to love it.’ The amusement fled his expression. ‘Or actually, I suppose you won’t, if you leave us soon.’

Once the burning sensation had left his tongue, Fionn motioned Neacel away from the bar with a scowl. It was too loud and he was already sick of being jostled. ‘Let us find the others.’

They wove through the crowd with difficulty.

As far as Fionn could make out, most of the people here were simply standing and shouting at each other rather than dancing to their infernal music.

The other Minchmen ought to have been easy to spot, but with all the noise and flashing lights Fionn struggled to make any sense out of the bodies surrounding him.

Eventually Neacel pulled him into a corner, sheltered from some of the noise. He pushed another glass into Fionn’s hand. ‘Are you okay, Your Highness?’

Fionn groaned, rubbing his temple. ‘This isn’t my idea of a good time.’ He tried the whiskey once more. It burned all the way down his throat, robbing his lungs of oxygen. ‘Are you sure this isn’t poison?’

Neacel seemed to be staring at him with concern. ‘Perhaps we should leave. You don’t look well.’

Fionn desired nothing more. But he’d made a promise to Neacel, and if it was the only request he granted to a subject before he left the kingdom, Fionn would rather die than fail.

‘Not until we’ve found Seòras.’ He shoved the whiskey back into Neacel’s hands and grabbed hold of a nearby stool.

Using the wall for balance, he hopped up for a quick scan of the area.

Fionn was deep in concentration, intent on picking out tattooed and kilted Minchmen, so it came as an utter shock when his eyes landed on him instead.

He was the furthest away he could be, briefly illuminated by a strobing light, surrounded by a gaggle of humans. His hair was short like Neacel’s but he was taller and a little heftier.

And he was him .

Fionn fell right off the stool and landed on the floor with a graceless thump.

A few merry humans mocked him for being drunk and turned away. Neacel bent to grab his elbow but Fionn shot to his feet in a frenzy.

‘Are you all right, Your Highness?’ Neacel didn’t hide the alarm in his voice.

Fionn whirled and grabbed him by the shoulders. He could feel his own eyes trying to pop from their sockets. ‘Did you see him? It was him . I need to— I have to—’

He tried to tear away into the crowd but Neacel had the presence of mind to seize Fionn’s jacket like an anchor. ‘Who, Your Highness? Stop!’

Fionn’s brain seethed like a powerful maelstrom. He could barely keep up with the words tumbling from his mouth, let alone the thoughts behind them. ‘Him! That one— I— I don’t understand— why I feel this way—’

‘What way?’

Fionn couldn’t articulate it. His body seemed to be acting on some instinct of its own, fighting his conscious thoughts purely in an effort to get closer to the man on the opposite side of the club.

His heart thudded erratically in his chest. There was this growing something within his ribcage, so huge and bewildering he could barely breathe.

Fionn collapsed into Neacel’s arms just as the underlying panic kicked in. His insides felt alien, like something had jumped inside and was rearranging the very fabric of him.

He seized a whiskey and downed it with shaking hands. The fiery liquid refocused his scattered thoughts into a point. Fionn stared into the empty glass, shocked beyond words as full comprehension bloomed in his mind.

There was definitely an otherness sitting within his chest. A phantom sense of the ocean surrounded him. It was like there was a current pulling at his soul. Trying to move him in one inexorable direction.

‘I think I have just bonded with someone,’ he said faintly.

Neacel glanced down at Fionn’s empty glass. His expression suggested he was wondering whether Fionn had somehow snuck a dozen other whiskeys behind his back. ‘Bonded, Your Highness? How would that be possible?’

How, how, how? Fionn didn’t have an answer, except for the impossible one.

He was still dizzy from the mental collision; that was surely the only reason he allowed the next words to slip past his lips: ‘Perhaps it’s fated.’

‘I thought you didn’t believe in fated bonds?’

‘I don’t.’ Fionn stared blankly at the crowd. He was still out there. The other end of this internal tugging sensation. His… mate. His soul mate?

It couldn’t be. Surely all that talk of mates and bonds and bargains on the way to the club had addled Fionn’s brain in some way. But he couldn’t deny the invisible waves trying to push him across the room.

‘I don’t know if he saw me,’ Fionn said, moving urgently into the crowd. Was the bond pulling his mate towards him, too?

Neacel’s eyes widened slowly, mouth dropping open. He hurried to catch up, watching Fionn like a miracle in action. Fionn broke through the throng and lost his breath once again.

His mate wasn’t large by Minchman standards, but appeared stocky next to the humans around him.

He didn’t wear a kilt; instead a mixture of denim and cotton that made him blend in well.

Facial hair, too, that was especially strange.

Perhaps he was more savvy than other Minchmen, to be able to disappear so easily in a crowd of humans.

His face was young but hardened by work and weather.

He had a strong, attractive jaw and serious eyes, offset by the scruffiness of his dark hair.

There was no denying it now. Every fibre of Fionn’s being screamed that he was connected to this person. He had to close the distance between them.

Deaf to Neacel’s calls to slow down, Fionn strode forward.

His soul mate looked up. Mild interest turned to deep confusion. The current pulled Fionn in, enveloped the two of them. The rest of the world dropped away and Fionn captured his lips in a kiss.