I would be that queen.
My tail twisted in the wet sand as I turned away from the ship, shifted the bag on my shoulder, and pushed myself upward. I kept hold of my knife, ever wary of predators, but my thoughts still drifted toward my spell and my prince.
I ducked beneath the mast of the ship, which had fallen ages ago, its massive sails long eroded by the water, and was gliding over the ship’s bow when a form rose up before me. I cried out and tried to stop, but my momentum carried me straight into the merman’s chest.
A chuckle vibrated in the water around us. Hands gripped my shoulders, easing me away from him. My heart skittered as I recognized the face—that perfect, beautiful face. Lorindel’s mouth was wide and amused, his black eyes locked onto mine, his blond hair swirling in the current.
“This is a surprise, Nerit,” he said. And oh, my name, in that voice. A shudder cascaded from my neck to the tip of my tail. “What are you doing so close to the shallows?”
“I—nothing,” I stammered before amending it to, “Just looking.”
I swallowed hard. His hands were still on my shoulders.
He was so close. Never once had he been so close to me, other than perhaps a brief passing in the coral halls of the Sea King’s castle. There had never been a reason for him to be so close to me. I was no one.
“Looking for what?” There was mirth in his expression. His eyes held me in place, as resolute as a barnacle clinging to the body of a ship.
I thought of the barnacles in the bag that even now bounced against my side. I thought of the spell book lying in my cave, the ingredients scrawled out by some ancient hand. I debated if I had any reason to lie—but then, what would I say if not the truth?
“Barnacles,” I whispered.
“Barnacles?” His voice had a laugh in it. “Those mean little suckers? Whatever would you want with them?”
Before I could formulate a logical response, his hands were tracing down my arms, past my elbows to my wrists and, finally, my fingers. Every gliding touch sent a flurry of tingles across my skin.
“You’re hurt,” he said, his brow dipping with sympathy as he lifted my hand. The pad of his thumb traced mine. The tip of his tail brushed against my fin.
His tail. He was so close, and I was still holding the knife.
But how could I take three scales now without him noticing?
“Is this from the barnacles?” he asked, indicating the wound that had stopped bleeding.
I nodded.
A sly glint entering his eyes, Lorindel took my thumb into his mouth.
I squeaked. His tongue rolled over the tip of my thumb and a current of desire rocked into me. I dropped the dagger. The bag slipped from my shoulder, sinking toward the deck of the ship.
I swayed toward the prince, swooning, yearning . . .
“I’ve got it!”
Lorindel jerked back, fast as a skittish triggerfish. Turning his head to one side, he spat, his face blanching. “Took long enough.”
I spun around.
Lorindel’s three closest confidantes surrounded us—the twins, Merryl and Murdoch, eagerly flapping their gold-tipped fins, and beautiful, silver-tailed Beldine, the girl who had long been rumored to be Lorindel’s future bride. She was holding my sack, already clawing through it while the others watched, smirking.
My brain was still fogged from Lorindel’s touch, and it was a long, muddied moment before I could grasp the reality. This—all of it—had been a trick. A diversion to get my pack.
Mortification burned across my skin.
“Barnacles, just like she said.” Beldine pulled a strip of wood from the pack. “Along with some fish bones, snail shells, and—” She gasped and recoiled.
I knew what she had seen before she reached in and pulled out the single octopus tentacle, holding it between her fingertips as if afraid it would bite her. She threw the tentacle onto the ship’s deck and turned a repulsed scowl toward me. “No, you didn’t. You witch.”
I cringed. “Witch” was not an insult lightly used. Our elders told tales of sea witches long dead. They were said to be sickly, slimy creatures who fed on fish spines and used their cruel magic to bring misery upon innocent merfolk who stumbled unwittingly into their path.
“Nerit,” said Lorindel, his previously tender voice now as rough as coral, “tell me the creature wasn’t alive when you took this.”
I glanced at him, my jaw unhinged. He looked angry, but also . . . ashamed.
Of me?
I tried to back away, but the twins were there to stop me, and I had nowhere to go.
The truth was that the octopus had been alive when I had taken my blade to one of its eight legs, holding the beast down with the flat of my palm while I sawed it off. This wasn’t my choice, though. It had to be taken alive, for the spell to work.
My bottom lip began to tremble. I looked from the prince to Beldine to Merryl to Murdoch. All of them stared at me with the disgust I’d almost—almost—grown used to.
Merryl cursed beneath her breath, an odd tinge to her pallor as she looked down at the tentacle. “It’s just like the sea horses all over again.”
Of course she would bring up those damned sea horses, hateful girl. It should have been long forgotten, but they refused to forget. It was one of my earliest attempts to perform a spell from the old books, and I had required a ring of sea horses strung together in a protective circle. I had hunted down fifty of the tiny creatures, and ever-so-carefully pushed a needle through each of their spiraled tails, pulling the string through their flesh, one by one.
It was only a small wound. It wouldn’t have killed them. And the spell would have given me the ability to command schools of fish. For weeks, I had dreamed of my own personal entourage of butterfly fish that would follow me everywhere I went. There were days when I still dreamed of it.
It would have worked, too, if Beldine hadn’t found me, thirty sea horses in, and started shrieking as though she’d just seen a murder. Lorindel and the twins had not been far behind, and Lorindel had forced me to release the creatures. And the looks they had given me . . . the look he had given me . . .
That was the moment I realized I was different from them, somehow, and Lorindel’s sneer spoke plainly that my differences were not endearing. In fact, my interest in long-forgotten magic was barely above tolerable.
I feigned indifference, and over time that indifference became a well-crafted shell. For years, I pitied those around me, those who were not enlightened to the possibilities of enchantment. Those who would live their trivial lives and die without knowing what it was like to undo a piece of the world and weave it into something new. I mocked the insignificant worries of my peers. I judged their silly gossip and believed myself above them all.