Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Eric leaned forward, elbows braced against the heavy mahogany desk, fingers steepled as he regarded the man across from him. “I owe you for the work you've done along the borders. The trolls won’t be encroaching again anytime soon.”
Prince Phillip inclined his head. “And I owe you for the troops and supplies you sent. If not for your ships, we wouldn’t have lasted through the first siege.”
Phillip had always been Eric's closest equal—same age, same crown-shaped burden pressing against his spine.
But where Eric had been forged in the fires of diplomacy and endless councils, Phillip had been honed by steel and bloodshed.
There was a sharpness to him now—a lean, hardened edge beneath the noble polish.
His broad shoulders bore the memory of armor, his hands the faint calluses of a blade too often drawn.
And yet, despite the scars of war—despite the faint tension that lived in his jaw and the dark bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes—there was a softness there too. Not weakness. No, it was something else.
Love.
Eric recognized it the way sailors recognized the tide: instinctively, without question.
It was in the barely there smile that ghosted his lips when he spoke of his bride.
A bride who was not the one chosen for him.
That same smile lived in Eric’s own chest now, stubborn and undeniable.
He'd only ever seen Phillip bloodied or brash. But now… now there was something gentler threading through the prince’s war-forged armor.
They had grown up side by side as future kings. Now they sat, both in love with women they weren't supposed to choose. Maybe that was what made rulers into men worth following—not just the battles they won, but the ones they chose to fight for love.
Phillip sighed, rolling his shoulders as if the weight of the past weeks still clung to them. “I only wish I were here under better circumstances.”
Eric leaned back in his chair, fingers tightening against the wood. He had a good idea of what Phillip had come for. The signs of battle still clung to him—his clothes, though fine, were worn at the edges, his sword strapped to his side as if he hadn’t dared part with it for even a moment.
“You need more aid,” Eric surmised.
Phillip exhaled sharply, nodding. “We barely had time to regroup after the trolls before we were blindsided again. But this time, it wasn’t monsters in the woods. It was the sea.”
“What I don't understand is why would Ursula attack your people?”
Phillip frowned. “Ursula? The sea witch? It wasn't her.”
Eric felt something in his chest loosen slightly. He'd seen Ariel's expression when her aunt was accused. He would be happy to deliver this news of the sea witch's innocence to his wife.
The relief was short-lived. Eric opened his mouth to ask an explanation of his ally. But before he could speak, the door to his office swung open.
He lit up at the sight of his wife. She was radiant in silk, her red hair piled atop her head, her sea-colored eyes meeting his with warmth. The weight of the day, the troubles of the court, the chaos of war—all of it melted away the moment he saw her.
“Ariel, I’d like you to meet my friend—”
A sharp sound rang out. The unmistakable rasp of steel being drawn from its sheath. Phillip's sword flashed in the sunlight. And he pointed it straight at Ariel.
Eric was on his feet instantly, but before he could even demand an explanation, Phillip's expression shifted. His grip on the sword loosened. His brows furrowed in deep confusion as he lowered the weapon.
“You are not Ariel.”
Eric didn’t think. Instinct roared through his blood, hot and undeniable.
In a heartbeat, he was on his feet. He yanked his wife behind him, putting his body between her and the man who had been his friend for as long as he could remember.
His sword was at his hip, but his hands clenched into fists, ready to tear through flesh if Phillip so much as twitched toward his wife.
“Explain yourself,” Eric demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
“Ariel used her siren song to attack me. She called the sea to destroy my kingdom. My castle lies in ruin. My people—my soldiers—dragged into the depths by her call. If we hadn’t sealed the gates when we did, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
"Ariel has been with me for days."
"I've already told you, this isn't Ariel. This is not the woman who attacked me."
What madness was this? It had to be the ravages of war that was turning the prince's brain addled. But why wasn't Ariel denying him?
Shock. That had to be it. She'd just had a blade raised to her throat in a place she'd thought safe. She'd come to him, thinking she was safe. And here, in his inner sanctum, she had nearly been assaulted.
Eric wanted to kiss the color back into her cheeks. He wanted to coax a sound from her throat by licking the column of her neck. But now wasn't the time for that. He needed answers from his ally before he made the man an enemy.
Phillip had lowered his sword, but Eric sensed the threat was still in the room with them. Phillip was wrong about Ariel, wrong about her aunt. Grief and anger had clouded his judgment.
Eric needed to reason this out. "Why would a sea princess attack your kingdom?"
“Because Ariel and Aurora are lovers,” Phillip responded.
That caught Eric up short and silenced him.
He noticed that his siren still hadn't said a word.
She wasn't denying any of this. He had been around her long enough to know that she always had something to say.
That sharp wit, that unfiltered tongue—it was one of the first things that had made him fall for her.
Yet now she was silent.
And it wasn’t just silence—it was the look on her face.
She wasn’t shocked. She wasn’t indignant. She wasn’t even surprised.
A frenzied cry rang through the chamber, full of disbelief and fury. The sound hit like a thunderclap, loud and damning. Sebastian stood in the doorway, his claws curled into tight fists, his bulbous eyes wild with horror as they locked on to the woman at Eric’s back.
The crab took a shaking step forward, his voice rising. “Sea witch!”