Chapter 2
Finn
“Remind me why I’m doing this again?” Finn asked.
He moved in front of the massive mirror leaned up against the wall in his office to smooth a hand down his suit.
It was blue.
It was always blue.
Blue evoked feelings of trustworthiness and approachability to constituents. Or, at least, that was what decades of research had concluded.
Black was too somber, tan too casual. And gray was often the color worn by lawyers. And no one wanted to be associated with lawyers.
Blue hit the sweet spot, especially when paired with a crisp white shirt and a lighter blue tie. Not red, which was too aggressive and power-hungry. Or even striped, which people couldn’t put a finger on why they didn’t like but didn’t, regardless.
‘Color theory’ was just one of the many strategic moves being used by Henry, Finn’s campaign manager. And only friend in the world.
What that said about Finn, he chose not to think about.
Finn’s gaze moved over the rest of his appearance to check for anything out of place: neatly styled brown hair, his cleanly shaven square jaw, and the green eyes that Henry insisted were just the right shade—not too dark to seem like he’d gone to a witch for an enchantment spell on them, but not too light that they made him look like a revenant.
“Because you are falling behind in the polls,” Henry said. He was slouched on the couch in the corner of the room, one of his long legs crossed over the other at the ankle, his pants riding up to reveal socks printed with some amorphous cat character from an old cartoon.
Finn had to wear white socks, no exceptions. And he could never miss a trim or teeth-whitening appointment.
Henry’s own light brown hair was brushing the collar of his suit jacket. And he’d never gotten his crooked eye tooth fixed.
“I’m not the politician; you are,” he’d reminded Finn when he’d mentioned it.
“It’s early yet,” Finn insisted.
“That is the exact type of thinking that is going to have you losing this race.” Henry snapped the newspaper closed and stood as he folded it.
“You need an advantageous marriage to a prominent member of one of the supernatural royal families. You know as well as I do that it’s important to make it clear we respect their dedication to stick to their old ways while also existing within a larger democratic rule.
Marrying a member of one of the royal families will send that message of mutual respect loud and clear. ”
“Fine. But why a mermaid?”
“Well, a mermaid would certainly look nice on your arm,” Henry said.
Finn’s nose wrinkled at that. He was willing to concede that an arranged marriage would be good for his image and career.
But he didn’t love the idea of choosing someone just because they were beautiful.
“And they were the only family who asked for a reasonable request in exchange for the union. The vampires wanted the removal of bite consent cards.”
Finn ignored that sticky subject.
“What did Tatiana ask for?”
“Tighter pollution regulations around the city.”
“That was already part of my campaign.”
“Exactly. We are winning here.” Henry’s golden-brown eyes were bright at not needing to give in on anything.
Henry was experienced and knowledgeable, but he could (at times) be a bit cutthroat for Finn’s liking.
“What do we know about my potential bride?”
“There’s not much to know. Yet. She’s the second-born daughter.”
“Second?”
“The firstborn is automatically meant for the throne,” Henry explained.
“Right. Anything else?”
“Her name is Iris Lanae Marivelle. She’s a princess. And she likes to read. That is all I’ve got.”
“Really?” Finn’s brows knitted. It wasn’t like Henry to have such little information. He’d once compiled an entire fifty-page document about an important sorceress whom he’d only needed to shake hands with. Now he was supposed to marry this woman without knowing anything about her?
“Stop fidgeting.” Henry swatted him with the news-paper. “It’s just brunch.”
“You’re sure she’s coming alone?”
“From my understanding.”
“And you’re sure you can’t come?”
“I have that speech to write for your press conference.”
Finn’s eyes narrowed at Henry, suspicious. Henry was the definition of a micromanager. He’d once crashed Finn’s personal training lesson to inform the trainer that Finn’s shoulders weren’t wide enough and that the situ-ation needed to be remedied.
Sure, Finn did appreciate his stronger, wider-looking shoulders. They did fill out a suit nicely. But Finn was forever concerned that Henry might drop in on his next haircut appointment or during his yearly physical.
“I’m not buying it. You never miss an opportunity to stick your nose in.”
“Fair enough,” Henry conceded. “But that is about politics. This is about your personal life.”
“You forced me to take up archery and take an interest in plays.”
He wasn’t even going to mention the piano lessons. That had been a disaster both of them wished to forget.
“Besides, in your eyes, my marriage is political.”
“Sure. And there will be discussions and media training for your bride-to-be, but I figure I can trust you to handle a simple meeting by yourself.” Henry checked his watch.
“You need to get going if you’re going to get across town in time.
Be charming. Ask her questions. Remind her how advantageous an arrangement this is for the both of you. ”
“Quite romantic,” Finn drawled.
“Never claimed there was anything romantic about politics,” Henry said. He flicked his wrist, checking the time. “You need to get going. Be the charmer we both know you can be.”
Finn said goodbye to Henry and made his way to the subway. It would shave off time and frustration simply to take a cab, but Henry thought it was important for Finn to be seen as a ‘man of the people.’
And given the positive press that had come from some other passenger snapping a picture of Finn while he’d been standing, one arm holding on to the bar, the other holding a book he was reading on interspecies relations after giving up his seat to a young fae woman, Henry was right about that.
The subway platform buzzed with its usual chaos—commuters dodging harried pixie couriers, a warlock softly muttering into a runestone, a bored centaur chewing something that looked suspiciously like a travel-sized hay bale.
Finn sidestepped a spill of what he suspected was a glamour potion—pink and sparkling on the floor. The last time he’d accidentally touched a glamour potion, he’d taken no fewer than fifty duck-faced selfies.
Just another Tuesday in Manhattan.
Still, he barely made it to the restaurant on time.
True to form, Henry had chosen the best possible spot for the first meeting.
Vino on the River perfectly bridged both their worlds. It was squarely in Manhattan but was a waterfront establishment.
Finn was led toward the table on the patio, and he couldn’t help but notice the archway behind it, covered in green vines and vivid pink flowers, and how it would make the perfect backdrop for a photo op.
Finn winced at that train of thought, wondering when he’d started to view every single moment of his life through a media lens.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” the waitress—a human, if his instincts were correct—asked as she handed him a menu.
“I’ll have a negroni.” It was his knee-jerk order. Heaven forbid he be caught drinking some brand-name soda or a drink deemed too ‘feminine’ by the press. “Do you happen to have anything on the menu a mermaid might enjoy?”
“A mermaid?” the waitress asked, eyes filling with wonder. “Here? At the table?”
Finn couldn’t fault her for her awe. It was a rare occasion anyone saw a mermaid at all, save for maybe sunning themselves on a sandbar at the beach. You certainly never saw one in the city itself.
He’d wondered himself more than a time or two why a mermaid, of all species, would want to marry a human political hopeful. They were known for never straying far from the sea, if they ever bothered to surface at all.
“Yes.”
“Oh, my goodness. Oh, that is so neat. I’ve never seen a mermaid before! Um, I don’t think we have anything technically on the menu for mermaids. You know, since they never come on land. But I will talk to the bartender, and we will make up something super special for her. Him?”
“Her.”
“Right. Her. Okay. I will go get right on that,” she said. Then, voice a little lower: “I’m totally voting for you, by the way.”
Before he could even thank her, she was off. He watched as she rushed behind the counter, bouncing on her heels in excitement as she filled in her equally astonished-looking coworkers.
The three of them brainstormed for a moment before one produced a fishbowl-sized glass from under the counter. Then there was an almost alarming amount of preparation going on, as Finn silently worried he shouldn’t have ordered for Iris.
Admittedly, mermaids were one of the species he knew the least about.
Mostly because of their aforementioned aversion to being on land.
He wasn’t sure if they were more traditional, like the vampires and werewolves, or if they were more modern like many solo-practicing witches and warlocks, or demons.
Oh, well.
The decision had already been made.
Finn ran through conversation points in his mind for a few more minutes before, about fifteen minutes late, he heard the hushed whispers followed by the restaurant patrons craning their heads toward the door.
There were many supernaturally beautiful creatures in the world.
But Finn was willing to bet that this reaction was to a rare sighting of a real, live mermaid. Without her tail. An even rarer sight.
Finn was ready to scoff at their over-the-top shock and awe.
Until he laid eyes on her himself.
His tie felt too tight as he tried to swallow down his saliva, so he didn’t drool all over himself.
Sure, he’d seen paintings of mermaids. He’d even seen drawings of them in a biology textbook.
But nothing compared to the real thing.
She was soul-crushingly beautiful with her cascading pink waves over her tall, fit frame, clad in a flowing blue dress that hugged her every curve.
Her face was soft, feminine perfection with generous lips, high cheekbones, a dainty, lightly upturned nose, and eyes the decidedly un-human shade of sea glass.
There was a shimmery quality to her skin that must have been a mermaid trait, along with a small smattering of pearlescent scales up near her hairline, and what at first appeared to be scars on the sides of her throat, but logic told him must be where her gills would be when in the water.
He fully understood why everyone was gawking, why they were taking out their cameras to snap pictures. He never wanted to look away.
Belatedly, he remembered to rise to his feet and offer her a smile.
“Iris?” he asked. As if there would possibly be another incredibly rare mermaid in the same restaurant.
She opened her mouth to speak.
But just as she did, her foot wobbled.
Then she was falling, quite literally, right into him.
His arms went out automatically, wrapping around her. He was overwhelmed with salt water and citrus—the scent that seemed to cling to every inch of Iris. He couldn’t help but notice how her body seemed to perfectly melt against his—all her soft curves against his hard lines.
Iris’s arms had gone to his arms, fingers grabbing the material of his shirt. It conjured up images of her hands peeling it off of him, of her eyes bright with desire and—
No.
He couldn’t let his mind go there.
This wasn’t even meant to be a real marriage. At least, that wasn’t how Henry pitched it to him.
“It’s all on paper, of course,” had been his exact words. “Unless the two of you want there to be more.”
“You all right?” Finn asked, wondering if Iris could hear the breathlessness of his voice just then. Because he could hear it. Loud and clear.
This wasn’t supposed to feel like … anything. This was meant to be a diplomatic move. A photo op. A partnership on paper with clear political boundaries. He wasn’t supposed to notice her curves pressed to his chest and imagine … anything else.
Yet for one mindless moment, his body betrayed him.
He cleared his throat.
He needed to focus.
Be charming.
Ask questions.
Don’t ogle the mermaid.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Iris said, stiffening and pulling away.
He’d heard stories about the voices of mermaids. They’d never been described on the same level as sirens, but it was said that there was a certain sweetness and a sing-song quality that made you want to lean closer to hear more.
Finn pulled away before he could do something that absurd.
“I’m still … getting used to my land legs.”
Finn reached to pull out her chair, getting pinched brows from Iris, who was likely not familiar with the human custom. Or, you know, chairs. After a moment, she slid in so he could move to his side and sit.
“I’m so glad you were willing to meet with me today.”
For just a moment, there was a flash of something across her face. It was sharp and cutting. But gone so quickly that Finn was almost sure he’d imagined it.
When Iris spoke, it was almost as if her voice got even sweeter, more musical.
“Oh, of course. I have so many plans for our courtship.”
He wasn’t sure why, but Finn felt like he’d somehow just stepped into some sort of trap.
Though he was relatively sure that he wouldn’t mind being trapped with someone like Iris.
Or so he thought at the moment.