Max
The muted hum of voices below was now a muffled backdrop. As Wolcott activated the sound barrier on his private balcony, a sudden silence descended, heavy, as though they’d stepped out of time.
Wolcott withdrew a vial from his coat, pouring an unknown substance into two mugs of ale before sliding one across the small table. “Ready to meet her?”
Her.
A slow nod. “She knew we were looking for her. Came to me in a dream, agreeing to meet but only on her terms. We have to drink this, fall asleep, and then she can pull us into her dreamscape.”
Hells, Max thought. That kind of power.
It took little time and thought before Max nodded in agreement, lifting his mug to knock against Wolcott’s. Max knew if he took any longer to dwell on it, he’d talk himself out of it, and they needed help now.
A minute later, and they’re both staring at the ceiling from Wolcott’s bed, both their eyes getting heavy before they’re pulled into a spelled sleep.
Max’s vision blurred, and never quite cleared as his eyes opened again, finding himself in what could pass as the inside of a cave. His mind alert as he straightened to stand beside Wolcott, but the clarity never changed. Magic, to protect the security of what was most likely the sea witch’s home.
A flash, and Ursula becomes the only clear object in the room.
A sea witch. The last of her kind, thanks to men who feared powerful women. Men like Triton, who shared the same prejudice and hostility towards witches as Max’s father.
The witch had curves for days. Tentacles sprawled from her waist down as she sat leisurely on a mossy bed as if it were her throne.
Violet skin contrasted with the messy long shag of white hair and green eyes that dulled, making her appear bored to death, or perhaps just dead inside.
“Are you done ogling me, Prince?”
Max snaps out of it, opening his mouth to apologize.
“Surely, that new mate of yours wouldn’t appreciate it. Perhaps after I kill you for your disrespect, I’ll take your little witch for myself.”
Tapering down a growl, he said, “Apologies.”
A wicked smirk graced her lips, followed by a small sound of amusement before Wolcott cut in.
“Admirations aside, I hope you’ll consider our offer. Your power is unmatched, and would be invaluable—”
“Admirations aside?” she interrupts, laughter in her voice. “Admire away with your boot-licking compliments all you want. I already know you’re desperate. No need to make it more pathetic—”
“Not desperate,” Max interrupts.
She raises a full white brow that does nothing to hide her ancient but youthful beauty. “No? Your little mate strong enough to conceal an entire army already, prince? Is that why you’re here? To boast about your latest possession, who has completely lost her autonomy thanks to people like you?”
Tense silence fills the assumed cave before she continues.
“No, she’d have them ripped apart before they reached the shore.
What a feast she’d provide for my creatures.
” Chittering sounds echoed, but they couldn’t see anything beyond the magical veil.
“Marvelous little thing. Do keep her close. Else someone takes her away. Magic like that gives everyone in the world legal cause to kill on sight.”
“If they dare try,” Max threatens.
Ursula smiles with delight at the thought of that fight. Sparks of violet erupt in her eyes like flames.
Wolcott steals Max’s attention with his furious glare, silently begging Max to shut the fuck up. Guilt stirs in Max’s chest, but only because Wolcott was holding out hope for someone who clearly only wanted entertainment.
Max breaks eye contact with Wolcott, determination flooding him. “I don’t suppose you’ve found comfort in hiding. Or was I wrong to assume?”
“You’re wrong to assume anything regarding what I want, Prince Maximus,” she snarled.
“Forgive me for assuming a queen’s needs and wants. Royalty has always had a knack for shirking their duties and hiding in the shadows.”
“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you? Pray tell, how is your whore of a mother?”
Max can feel his eyes shifting, struggling to hold back the scales that threatened to coat his skin.
Ursula smiled triumphantly.
The moment Max sees this, he remembered how stubborn he was. How he’d never been one to give up a fight.
“My father’s days are numbered, much less King Triton’s and Jafar’s. You want out of this wretched cave or whatever disgusting hole you’ve slithered into? Me and my whore of a mother—” he growls. “—are your best chance.”
Ursula’s eyes sparkle with fury and want. Clearly, she likes what she hears. Max continues while she’s given him the chance.
“Be ready for the army when the ravens come, and let us help you reclaim your throne.”
“No.”
Max blinks. His surprise morphing into bafflement. She wanted to say yes, but her stubborn ass came in with that answer already, and refused to change her mind. Max realized there could only be one explanation for this.
“Is there another with an impossibly better offer?”
Ursula snarls in agitation, and with a wave of her taloned hand, Max’s stomach drops as they’re thrown out of the dream.
Sitting up at the same time, Wolcott glares at Max with fury.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Max starts. “You know as well as I do why she really wanted us there. Someone already has her in their clutches.”
Wolcott fumes as he stands from the bed, pacing back and forth in the room.
“Wol?”
Wolcott freezes, then stands by the window, staring out at nothing while he broods. “You fucking crowns think you know everything.”
Max tensed at the tone, the level of Wolcott’s voice dropped to. But he remained silent to see where he’d go with this.
“After all this time,” he shakes his head. “I should’ve known it was impossible for you to see me or anyone else as an equal.”
Anger sparks as Max jolts upright. “That’s bullshit!”
“Is it?” Wolcott shouts, whirling around to face the fight he clearly needed. “Was I, or was I not just a fucking bystander while you acted as though you held court?”
Max gritted his teeth, failing to find a real argument for that. That’s all these meetings and conversations ever truly were. Holding court. “I’m sorry we can’t all bounce back and forth from licking boots and brawling when things get difficult.”
A bitter laugh escapes Wolcott’s throat. “Oh sure, you can. That’s all royals ever do when you lose your grip on power. The only difference is you’d have someone else fight your battles for you!”
For a moment, Max considered the merits and consequences of giving in to the fight his boiling blood was begging for, giving Wolcott what he himself was practically begging for.
At that realization, he took a deep inhale, then walked out of the room.
“Oh sure,” Wolcott starts. “Walk away because you’re too important, right?”
Max didn’t engage as he forced his feet to keep moving.
“Where are you going!?” Wolcott shouted.
“Home, before we both do something we regret,” he said as he gripped the stair railing, then froze in place.
The painting he’d passed by countless times for many decades, stole his attention like the first time he’d ever seen his little blade.
Footsteps pounded as Wolcott charged towards Max, grumbling, “As if I’ll regret finally bashing your head in.”
But Max couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge the threat from his oldest friend.
Wolcott slowed as he neared, undoubtedly noting Max’s trance.
“Hey,” Wolcott barked for his attention.
Max finally turned to face him, eyes wide with wonder. “Why do you have that?” he asked, pointing at the painting of the dark-haired beauty on a beach.
Tension eased from Wolcott’s shoulders as he looked at the painting with a sad little smile on his face. “That’s Iris.”
“The late sea witch?” Max asked, face contorted with bewilderment.
Wolcott nodded, aggression forgotten. “Surely you’ve seen her before?”
“She didn’t die,” Max whispered as he took in the ethereal face of his mate.
“Oh, she’s dead,” Wolcott chuckled darkly, bitterness back in his voice for a new reason. “My crew found her body near the docks, bleeding out. Her daughter nowhere to be found.”
Max’s eyes widened impossibly further as he whirled towards Wolcott. “Daughter? What was her name?”
Wolcott scratched the stubble on his chin. “Ella, I think.”
Memories of Sin flooded Max’s mind: her scars, her stories, the name she said her stepmother gave her. His heart raced as the realization crashed over him. She likely doesn’t remember her true name. “It’s her,” he murmured. “Sin is Iris’s daughter.”
Wolcott’s brow lifted. “And yet you didn’t know?”
Max shook his head, a million questions and possible answers screaming to make purchase in his mind, his hand closing into a fist. “If she’s Iris’s daughter, then her natural magic might be locked away. What she has now, tempestum, it’s chaos. It can’t be caged.”
Wolcott crossed his arms, watching Max intently.
“That kind of power might be exactly what we need. If she trained, if she learned to wield it, she could unseal whatever magic Iris passed down to her. But that’s if she still has it.
No witch with tempest magic has ever wielded another. Not even Jafar.”
At that, Max stormed back inside Wolcott’s room, headed for his bookshelf, fingers trailing across the spines of the shelf reserved for grimoires.
The familiar name appeared, and he grabbed it without hesitation. “I need to borrow this,” he said. “But I can’t promise I’ll bring it back.”
Wolcott nodded. “If she’s truly Iris’s daughter, then she can keep it.”