Page 34 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

“If you do take this role, how will you feel in two years? Five? Ten?” Elsbeth’s voice was gentle, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Will you be satisfied staying in one place? Holding meetings? Playing politics?”

Arick shifted, the question twisting in his chest. “I…I don’t know.” He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his sleeve. “Daniel would have been perfect for this. He always knew what was expected of him.” The words caught unexpectedly in his throat.

Elsbeth’s eyes softened. “Aye, Daniel was a fine lad. But he was a homebody, through and through. He liked routine. Found comfort in predictability. You” — she poked him lightly in the chest — “you were never made for that. From the moment you could walk, you were trying to climb the stables or sneak off to the docks.”

Arick huffed a short laugh, but it held no real humor. He sipped the cordial, his throat dry.

She stepped back to look him over. “You’re not like your brother, lad. And that’s no failing. Your heart doesn’t belong to stone walls and council seats. You’re made for adventure. For wildness. Which is exactly what someone in love with a mermaid ought to be.”

He choked on his drink. “How…how did you know?”

Elsbeth gave him a sly look. “Besides the fact you left the book open on my table?”

He paused his attempts to clean his sleeve to give her a chagrined look. “I should have cleaned up. I’m sorry.”

She waved his apology aside. “I already knew.”

“But how?” He hadn’t figured it out on his own.

Elsbeth’s smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “She speaks the Old Tongue. And she watches you like you hung the stars.”

“I knew you understood her!” His heart did a funny little jig at Elsbeth’s words. Did Sorcha love him in return?

She shook her head. “No, but it’s not the first time I’ve heard it spoken.”

The skirl of bagpipes echoed through the hall, quieting the hum of conversation.

Arick and Elsbeth turned as the herald stepped forward to announce the opening of the ball.

Thomas stood beside the king, with Cookie leaning against his knee.

The guest of honor was resplendent in his formal attire, which matched the blue and green tartan that adorned the hall, but his hair already showed signs of him being unable to keep from mussing it up.

There he was. The prince Beattie wanted to replace. The cousin Arick had loved his whole life.

He exhaled slowly. Elsbeth’s words wrapped around his heart, tugging him to something more. To the life he’d always longed for: adventure on the open seas.

But a glimpse of Beattie speaking to Lord Murray tore at him. Could he leave Thomas to their machinations?

He didn’t know. But for now, he wanted nothing more than to find Sorcha.

S orcha stared at her reflection in wonder. The maid, who had finally shared that her name was Joanna, had managed to tame Sorcha’s curls into a design that lifted her hair onto her head in twists, with only a few choice curls falling around her face.

“Thank you,” she said in the human language, drawing her hand from her chin outward at the same time.

Joanna smiled and adjusted one last curl before stepping back to allow Sorcha to admire her reflection in the full-length mirror a moment more.

The gown shimmered with every breath she took, its deep-sapphire silk catching the sunlight and scattering it across the room in tiny stars. The sheer side panels fluttered when she moved, like waves lapping against the shore. She looked like herself — and yet not. Human and mer, all at once.

“Almost perfect,” Ailsa said, a hint of mischief in her voice.

Sorcha shot her a questioning look and the princess stepped forward, holding out something that sparkled in the last of the afternoon sun.

“I found your necklace. I meant to give it back sooner, but it took me a while to find the right ribbon for it.” As always, one of her hands shaped the words as she spoke.

Sorcha gasped and took the pendant gently, clutching it to her heart. Even though the trinket was human-made, it reminded her of home. The silver cage gleamed softly, the sapphire within catching the light.

And the ribbon…

She pointed to the blue and green tartan that formed the crest Ailsa had pinned to her chest. “Same?” she asked softly.

“Same,” Ailsa said, smiling. “Now you carry a piece of both worlds.”

Sorcha nodded, blinking hard. She fastened the necklace around her throat, the cool metal settling like a steady heartbeat. Something whole again. Something hers.

Something that was both human and mer.

Joanna helped them both into dainty slippers that matched their dresses.

Sorcha winced as she stepped. Unlike the boots, the flimsy footwear did little to stop the stabbing pain that shot through her feet with every step.

But the tight pull in her chest that had lingered the whole afternoon was growing more insistent, so she refused to delay any longer.

The women hurried out of the room and down the carpeted halls.

The corridors were empty.

“We’re not late,” the princess reassured her with a grin. “Everyone else is expected to arrive before us, while we’re to make an entrance within the ballroom proper.”

None of which made sense to Sorcha, but she followed her friend’s lead anyway.

The tightness in her chest eased, alerting her that Arick was near. But the closer they got, the more her hands grew damp and her stomach fluttered.

This was her last night on land and her first human ball.

What if she made a fool of herself?

She nearly stopped to laugh at herself. So what if she made a fool of herself? She’d never see any of these people again.

The thought steadied her. Lightened her steps.

Head held a little higher, she quickened her pace, suddenly eager — eager to see Arick, to feel his arms around her one last time, and to learn what dancing on two legs was really like.

The women paused outside a set of double doors at the prompting of the herald stationed there.

As they waited to be announced, Sorcha took in her surroundings with wide eyes — the muted strains of music drifting through the polished wood, the delicate scent of fresh blooms woven into the garlands, the flicker of golden light on polished stone.

Below, in the central hall, a few guests still mingled — and among them stood a tall, broad-shouldered sailor, whose gaze found hers like a beacon.

Arick looked up and froze.

His jaw slackened as his eyes swept over her. She raised a hand in a small wave, beckoning him up, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. At last, he seemed to shake himself free of whatever spell he’d fallen under and took the stairs two at a time until he stood, breathless, at her side.

“You look like a mermaid,” he murmured, unable to take his eyes from her. He shifted to face her more fully, then signed a single word. “Beautiful.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks, and suddenly she wasn’t sure of anything. What was she even doing there?

But then he offered his arm, and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him steady her.

Together, they stepped forward, and the herald’s voice rang out above the music as their names were announced to the assembled guests.

Heads turned, curious eyes following their descent down the shallow steps to the ballroom floor. But Arick didn’t falter. His hand stayed firmly on hers, anchoring her as the polished floor opened before them.

“Dance with me?” he asked, his voice low.

She hesitated.

“Your feet hurt, don’t they?” he asked gently.

She nodded, wishing it weren’t true.

“Come on, then. I have an idea.”

He led her to the dance floor, drawing her close. With a grin, he tucked her feet atop his boots, his arms holding her tight.

They moved with the music, a gentle sway that soon had them gliding across the ballroom floor. She tucked her head against his shoulder, the world slipping away.

It wasn’t the same as dancing under the sea. But it was close. If only she could stay in his arms forever.

One song melted into the next, and then another, the music wrapping around them like waves.

Arick whispered something now and then, making her laugh softly as they danced, her heart full that she could understand him.

The ache in her feet faded beneath the glow of being seen, cherished, held.

The music shifted, a brighter rhythm taking hold.

Arick’s arms loosened as he began to guide her toward the edge of the floor.

“May I have this dance?” a voice cut through her dreamy haze, sharp and unwelcome. Arick’s sudden stiffness warned her before she noticed who it was.

MacIsaac stood there, his hand outstretched, his face bearing a practiced smile. She glanced at Arick, unsure. But Ailsa had warned her about such occurrences and that it would be considered an offense to refuse. Arick’s jaw was tight, but he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

Sorcha nodded and placed her fingers lightly in MacIsaac’s hand, following him toward the forming lines of dancers. Her limp worsened with every step, but she did her best to hide it.

The music picked up, lively and structured, allowing more space between them. MacIsaac guided her into the steps with stiff precision, his palm heavy at her back.

He spoke as they danced, long droning phrases she couldn’t follow. Then he turned her, brought her back to face him, and said in slow, clipped tones, “You don’t belong here.”

Sorcha blinked, trying to follow the rest, but his voice dropped, and the music swelled around them. She caught Ailsa…Arick… and something that sounded like proper match .

His condescending gaze told her enough.

She tried to step away, but his hand tightened on her waist — not enough to draw notice, but enough to warn her.

“You’re not a noblewoman. You’re not even a lady.”

Sorcha stared at him, and to her own surprise, laughter bubbled in her chest. No, she wasn’t a noblewoman.

She was the daughter of the queen of the ocean. That made her more than his equal. A princess.

Tossing her head back, she let go of his hand and stepped away.

Before she could find the right words in his language to tell him exactly what she thought of him, the ballroom doors burst open.