14. 14
fourteen
Orion
Arriving at the palace was easy and didn't take long. During the swim, all I could focus on was Sarah’s words from when we were in the temple.
Not to mention the way her hand had felt in mine.
And now, she looks at me differently. She knows things about my father I never knew, because of that damn scroll, and she learned them before I could.
If my father hid something from his past, what else did he hide? From me? My mother?
Once we're inside the palace, Sarah and I reach our chamber doors. I hesitate, my hand no longer holding hers. She released it the moment we approached the palace. Countless words press against my throat, but none make it free. She read the scroll for me, trusted me, even for just a moment, and let me work through my father’s secrets in my own way.
I can't let the moment pass without speaking up.
She shifts slightly, pressing her palms to the smooth surface of the door, ready to slip behind it, but I stop her. I need to be honest.
“Thank you,” I murmur, the words finally finding their place in the quiet between us.
She pauses, then turns to face me fully. There is something in her eyes—uncertainty, maybe, or the soft weight of understanding. Her fingers hover near the edge of the door, listening.
“I typically don't let anyone in,” I admit, my voice calm. “But tonight . . . You accomplished more than you know. And it meant more than I can explain.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, I flick my wrist. My doors open with a swirl of magic, and I disappear behind them.
My bedchamber appears the same. But something feels different. I feel different. Especially after today.
The room’s silence wraps around me as I approach the place I rest—a colossal shell, half-buried in polished coral, its inner surface smooth as pearl and shaped to cradle my form.
The open mouth of the shell curves upward like protective arms, shimmering faintly under the glow of the marilume across the ceiling.
I lower myself into it, my limbs unfolding as I sink against the cool, welcoming surface. My serpent tail coils instinctively, but even my awareness of it fades as exhaustion takes hold.
This allows me the ability to breathe. To unravel. To sort through the chaos climbing at the edges of my mind.
The swim to Myrrhallow usually isn't long, but Sarah’s human pace, paired with her sleeping in, left us arriving far later than planned.
When I was young, my father used to say, ‘A king must never bleed where others can see.’
Emotions were weaknesses. A king could have them, yes, but only from a distance. Only with control.
But I do not know if I believe him anymore.
Sarah has to follow me. That much is unavoidable.
But I have learned that her curiosity smooths the edges of that truth—that if I let her wonder, let her glimpse just enough, she moves where I lead her.
Not out of trust. Not because she wants to.
But because knowledge seems to pull her forward more reliably than force ever could.
I have spent my whole life trying to live up to my father’s legacy—to carry the weight of his example, his power, his rules. But now? Now I’m starting to question whether that path was ever mine to truly follow.
He is gone. She is here. And maybe, my trust belongs not to the past I thought I understood, but to the future she is beginning to help me see.
She read the scroll and saw what I could not. She is unraveling truths buried in magic and memory. She is a part of this. Whether I want her to be or not.
And when she touched my hand . . . goddess, help me.
There was something there. A pull. A flicker of something more. She felt it, I know she did. But it was not complete. Like something vital was missing, though I cannot place what it is.
Everything is shifting. My father’s legacy, my kingdom, the past, the future, her. I don't know what piece to hold onto first, the male I was raised to be, or the one I might become.
What I do know? Sarah might just be the reason I step out from my father’s shadow.
Before I can sort through any more of my thoughts, sleep takes me hostage. But it is not my father I dream of. Not of his past, or his legacy.
It is only Sarah who infects the darkest parts of my mind.
Flashes of her presence drift through me—the way the current plays with her hair, her sharp emerald eyes that could lure someone in just to strike them down without mercy.
She is breathtaking. Fierce. Beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with appearance and everything to do with spirit.
And when she finally sees that for herself, I hope I'm still beside her, watching it unfold and sharing it with her, if she will have me.
The usual sounds of the morning wake me. Pearlguards announce the morning shift as their voices echo through the outer walls of the palace, as they salute and report to their chain of command.
I lie still for a moment, eyes fixed on the carved ceiling above my bed, listening as duty hums back to life around me. It is familiar, comforting in a way, reminding me of my childhood years. But today, it grates against the fatigue that still clings to me like salt.
I sit up slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.
My limbs feel heavy, not from sleep, but from the relentless pace of the last few days.
The constant travel, the revelations in the scroll, the truth it whispered about my father .
. . and Sarah. Meeting her, watching her unravel everything I thought I understood—it is all lodged beneath my skin.
I've been pulled in too many directions, and my body knows it.
I rise, the base of my tail pressing against the cool, smooth stone of the floor, and stretch the tension from my spine with a quiet breath. I need clarity. A moment to shed the weight of everything.
I don't bother summoning a servant as I make my way through the arch on the far side of my chambers.
The kelp drifts aside as I approach, their fronds parting like they recognize me—like they missed me.
Just beyond them, my private bathing chamber waits, settled into a reef and open to the filtered shifts of the sea.
I slip into the tide-fed inlet, the water embracing me with quiet that no throne room can offer.
“Finally,” I murmur, letting the word melt into the current.
The cleansing kelp greets me, its soft surface brushing along my skin and scales, releasing faint iridescent oils that polish away remnants of travel and tension.
Tiny, cleaner fish dart close, moving with instinct and routine, picking at the edges of my tail and shoulders without fear or hesitation.
I tip my head back, letting the water glide through my hair. Here, I am not a king. Not a ruler. Just a tide-born serpent, carried and reclaimed by Mother Ocean, who knows my needs long before I give them voice.
I linger longer than I should, letting the last of the kelp trail along my arms before I exit. The currents shift as I move, slicing along the grooves of the stone chamber, as if reluctant to let me go. But duty awaits.
I glide from the bathing chamber into the main space of my quarters, the water parting and swirling around me in lazy eddies.
My hair floats back from my face, still haloed by the motion of the currents.
In the bathing chamber, my magic goes dormant.
As if it knows it is not needed there. Once back in my bedchambers, it returns.
A subtle pulse ripples through the space as light threads and unravels like moonlit tides before awakening once more—a familiar presence on my skin.
Only now, when my runed magic glows across my skin, do I feel the slight burn spreading over the left side of my chest. Most of the runes signifying my power, my strength, are swirling symbols from a language lost to the Great Sea War.
No one has uncovered a single clue that might help us understand the ancient script woven across my body.
When I was born, my father explained that, as my mother's life slipped away, a surge of power descended from the sky and struck me.
I drowned from within. He said I glowed from head to toe with a brilliant teal light.
Several minutes passed as he watched it condense, collecting beneath my skin.
That was when the first rune appeared—the first sign of my magic.
Powerful waves were etched into my upper arm, divided by a single line that rose from the sea and reached toward three stars aligned along the point of my shoulder.
Over the years smaller runes and intricate designs have continued to appear.
Each one felt no worse than the bite of sea lice as it etched itself into my skin.
The rune igniting across my chest now is nothing like those.
Pain consumes me, blurring the edges of my vision until darkness creeps inward.
I manage to keep myself upright for now, but the agony coursing through me shows no sign of easing.
I sink into my tail as it instinctively curls around me, bracing my body while a tsunami of pain crashes through me.
I grit my teeth for longer than I'd like, but the rune finally dims, the vibrant color bleeding away as the pain fades with it.
I trail my fingers across the design while looking down, and I honestly cannot even begin to decipher what it means.
If it weren't a part of our tradition for magic wielders, I would be angry about having this etched permanently into my skin without knowing its meaning.
But that would be disrespecting Mother Ocean and I can't bring myself to do that.
The answers will be revealed when Mother Ocean decides I am ready for them, just like the other I have.
Until then, I have more pressing concerns.
I draw a breath, redirecting my thoughts back to Sarah. The way she looked at me yesterday—conflicted and as sharp as the Snapdragonis race she has been compared to. She is stirring feelings I haven't allowed myself to feel in years, and the scrolls revelations only tangle those feelings further.
I move with fluid precision to my chamber doors, fully expecting to find silence in the corridor beyond. Her chamber sits directly across from mine, and I mentally prepare myself to have to knock, to wake her, to face her groggy frustration this early in the tide.
But when my doors part, I stop. She's already here.
Idling just outside her chamber, her hair flowing smoothly with the soft flow of the morning tide, a light blue dress clings to her frame as if the sea itself is dressing her.
She is poised and alert, watching the guards posted outside her doors, unaware that I have been brought up short just by the sight of her.
She is composed, far earlier than I expected. The sight is unsettling me more than it should.
“Wow, it seems I have misjudged your abilities to adapt,” I say, my surprise evident, like the slow, inevitable pull of the deep.
She turns, facing me, a small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, I didn’t feel like getting another commanding entrance from the king. He wasn’t too pleased with my late awakening the day before. So I thought I’d learn some things before I went to sleep last night.”
“Oh, really, and what would that be?” I say, mouth parted in excitement, anticipating her responses. But she stays quiet, smiles at me, and descends to the Trident Hall, leaving me behind.
Gliding up next to her, I match her pace, which is much slower than an average swim down here, but still faster than the average human.
We make our way through the palace corridor, the silent hush of the morning still lurking behind every corner.
I nod to every guard who salutes as I pass.
They all appear somewhat on edge, hard to see typically, but I know my guards.
Anticipation leaks from them as they try to maintain a mask of indifference.
The council waits on the other side of the grand doors. They'll expect answers.
Though, I'm not the one who holds them. My father made certain of that.
Severing his magic from within himself and hiding the truth, waiting for someone else to absorb it so the truth could reveal his lies.
His secrets. No. He wouldn't. And for that someone to be human?
To be someone as curious about the ocean—and as well versed in its mysteries—as Sarah?
All I can hope for is that she's prepared for the storm waiting beyond the doors of the Trident Hall.
Sarah and I float in silence, the weight of the future pressing in.
Her dress drifts around her legs, it's pale blue fabric nearly blending with the soft hues of the surrounding water. She keeps an arms length between us, with her arms stroking against the currents, but I can feel the anxiety between us as we move through the halls. I don’t speak.
Neither does she. The silence says more than words ever could.
I nod to the Pearlguard, and the towering doors of the Trident Hall sweep open. The uproar of my nobles crash over us like a breaking wave.