Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The houseboat pitched beneath Eric’s feet, a toy in the mouth of gods. The sea was chaos—pure, ancient chaos. The ocean liner loomed in the distance, crawling toward port like a wounded beast, and all around it was madness.
Triton’s army sliced through the surf, spears drawn, golden armor flashing like lightning beneath the waves.
Sea monsters flanked them—creatures out of old sailors’ nightmares, their eyes glowing, their teeth bared.
And from the deep, he felt it—a pulse, a shift, the roiling stir of something vast and ancient.
The kraken. Its tentacles breached the surface like mountain ridges rising from the sea. In the center of it all, caught between monstrous force and human fear, was his wife.
“Hold fire!” Eric shouted over the wind. But his voice was lost to the storm, to the panic, to the thunder of fins and harpoons.
A harpoon launched into the air from the liner. Eric's heart slammed into his ribs. Another one flew, this one angling—aimed low. Aimed at her.
“Cease fire!” he screamed again, voice raw, fists clenched.
But no one could hear the king's orders from the small houseboat in the middle of the sea.
The houseboat rocked again. Eric stumbled, bracing himself on the slick railing, spyglass slipping from his hand. His throat burned with the taste of bile. He couldn’t stop them. He wasn’t fast enough. The naval ships behind him were too far. The sea was too deep. And he—he was just one man.
Not a merman. Not a soldier. Not a god. Just a king who couldn’t swim fast enough to get to his queen.
He felt the helplessness rise like a wave inside him—thick, choking, the kind that could drown a man before he ever touched the sea. He couldn't save her himself. He had to trust that she could get herself out of this.
It went against every instinct in his body—to protect, to fix, to fight. But he couldn’t fight the ocean of waves, a gang of sea monsters, or an army of mermen.
Then his wife—his beautiful, brilliant, battle-tested wife—opened her mouth. And sang.
Her voice rolled out over the waves—not a cry, not a scream, not even a warning. A song. Low and haunting, threaded with power and sorrow and a fury that had been tempered into command. It wrapped around the chaos, wove through the storm. The sea seemed to pause. The wind held its breath.
Seasoned sailors and hard-nosed navy officers stiffened like marionettes caught mid-dance.
Harpoons wavered. Eyes glassed over. Fingers loosened on triggers and hilts.
Even the creatures of the deep, monstrous and wild, faltered in their charge.
The kraken, that ancient titan of shadow and tide, curled back ever so slightly, its massive tentacles swaying in the rhythm of her lullaby.
But not Eric.
He heard her. Every note. Every ache and promise stitched into the melody.
And gods, it was beautiful—achingly, heartbreakingly beautiful.
The sound of it pierced his soul with memories: of her smile curled against his chest, of her hand twining with his under candlelight, of her body arching against his in the dark.
But it did not drown him.
Because she could not drown him.
His heart had already chosen. She had no power to compel him, not like this, not with her song. She’d told him the truth; her voice had no sway over a soul mate.
At first, Eric thought her voice was meant for the men on the liner. He thought she'd charm them, sway their hands, ease the fear in their fingers that made them drop their weapons.
But they didn’t stop. They aimed. They fired. And she ducked.
The notes of her song didn’t rise in desperation, didn’t shift into commands meant for men. No—her voice deepened, swelled like the belly of a wave. The tenor of it was meant for something older than the bones of ships. She wasn’t singing to the soldiers. She was singing to the kraken.
A massive tentacle had already slammed across the liner’s hull, tearing through wood and sending a shower of splinters into the air.
The liner listed hard, groaning like a beast, wounded and confused.
Before the next strike could land—before the kraken could finish what it started—Ursula’s voice pierced the chaos.
The kraken hesitated. Its great eye—black and rimmed in bioluminescent fire—blinked once. Another note rang out, high and trembling. The tentacle withdrew.
Like a beast coaxed back to sleep, it began to sink. Tentacles folded in on themselves as the massive body disappeared into the deep. The sea stirred, a churning belly slowly quieting.
Eric’s hand gripped the ship’s railing as though it were the only thing anchoring him to the world. She’d done it. She’d saved them.
But the harpoons still flew.
The men on the liner saw her tail, not her crown. They didn’t see a queen. Their queen.
Eric was about to jump—screw swimming, screw pride, screw everything—he was going in after her, even if it killed him.
The sea split with a thunderclap of foam and light.
Triton rose like a storm given form. Golden armor dripped seaweed and wrath.
His trident burned with light, raised high, casting eerie shadows across the deck of the houseboat.
Mermen surrounded him in tight formation, eyes glowing with magic, spears poised to strike.
Eric did not back down. He stood tall, chest heaving, sea spray clinging to his cloak and soaking through his shirt. His hand gripped the hilt of the dagger at his belt in readiness.
"We will leave the sea witch to you and your men's disposal." Triton stepped forward, water rolling off him in rivulets. “The treaty stands on the marriage of our kingdoms. I will find my daughter. I’ll make this right.”
“I don’t want your daughter. I want your sister.”
“I'll have her fin to you on a platter in moments.”
“You touch a scale on my wife's tail and I will gut you.”
A flicker of disbelief passed over Triton’s face. His grip on the trident shifted. The mermen behind him shifted, uncertainty rippling through their ranks.
“You want…” Triton pointed a webbed thumb over his shoulder toward the battle in the waters. "… her?"
“Get me to her before my men spear her and I'll offer you a concession. No taxes on sea goods sold in our markets for the next two years.”
Triton tilted his head as though he was having trouble seeing Eric. “You would offer this,” he said carefully, “for her?”
“She’s my queen.”
“Clearly, you’re under her siren's call.”
“Or she's my true love and her call won't work on me. Either way, you can make an ally of me or an enemy. But you decide now.”
Triton’s gaze lingered on him, sharp and weighing. Then he exhaled, the fury in his shoulders softening ever so slightly. He looked at Eric like he'd just swindled him at cards.
Eric was done with this particular game. The King of the Sea wasn’t a worthy opponent. The man had lost his daughter, who had brought one kingdom to her knees, and his sister, who had the Coastal King wrapped around her finger. Triton’s only use to him was his fin.
“Can you swim fast enough to get me to her?”
The next moment, they were diving. The cold rushed over Eric, the shock of it a spear to the lungs. Eric didn’t falter. Didn’t fight it. He let Triton pull him under, let the sea swallow him whole.
They moved fast—faster than any ship, faster than any tide.
The kraken was sinking slowly into the waters when they surfaced. The beast was retreating, but his men were not. Harpoons cut through the water, slicing toward the siren, still singing for their survival.
A harpoon grazed her side, a flash of red blooming in the water, a thin ribbon of blood curling through the sea like ink on parchment.
Eric’s rage exploded. He slammed himself between Ursula and the incoming barrage. His men faltered when they saw him. The harpoons stopped. But his wife wasn't swimming; she was sinking.
A soft gasp escaped his throat. The water around her was tinged crimson. Her song died on her lips as her body drifted down, down, down—
No.
Eric dove after her. His arms closed around her. Her skin was cool, too cool. Her gills fluttered weakly.
Eric held her close. His heartbeat was a frantic drum against her stillness. He kicked toward the surface, pulling her up, up, up—
They broke through the waves. Eric gasped for air, but his only focus was her. His arms tightened. His hand pressed against her wound, desperate to stop the bleeding.
“Stay with me,” he commanded. He would've sung it. But her eyes closed, and he wasn't sure if she'd heard his song.