34. 34
thirty-four
Orion
Virellan greets me the same way every time.
A rush of peace and quiet strength moves through me the moment I cross the barrier.
At the palace gate, I'm met by bowed heads and the muffled thud of tridents striking the marble floors.
Nyxalene waits inside the entryway. Her silk-black hair drifts behind her like shadowed ribbons, her posture nothing short of precise and composed.
I glide through the corridor, the hush of the water deep around us as I swim past her, heading straight for my chambers. Her strokes lengthen as she follows, determined not to fall behind.
“Your majesty,” she presses, her tone carrying restrained urgency. “You've been gone too long.”
My steady pace halts. I turn to her, confusion threading through my thoughts, pulling my brows low.
“Clarify your implications, General.” The words leave me, more command than inquiry. Her statement suggests that my absence has extended far beyond what I intended.
Her stance shifts. She glances toward the warriors stationed along the hall before lowering her voice to a whisper. “Orion, it's been seventeen sea days.”
Seventeen sea days? My mind blanks completely as I consider what this could mean.
I replay the journey in my thoughts. The weight of travel lifts slightly, but exhaustion presses into every muscle.
My tail drags through the currents, my arms ache from the effort to return, yet my body isn't to blame.
Each movement carries the remnants of the emotions I drew from the ruins—anger, regret, sorrow, triumph.
My mind hums with defeat, more from what I endured emotionally than physically.
The ruins themselves had felt heavier upon arrival, though I had attributed it to the events that took place there.
That trauma lingered, pressing on me even on the return, folding into every stroke.
I didn't question it. I never question fatigue after a journey like this; it feels natural, expected.
By the time I reached the gates of Virellan, my body begged for rest, my chest tight from the burdens carried home.
Everything felt right, but seventeen sea days doesn't add up. I had prepared for six, based on how long my warrior’s first journey took.
The trip was scheduled appropriately, the effort matched the plan—and still the numbers do not.
“Great, another conundrum to overcome,” I mutter, irritation lacing my tone.
I choose to move away from the puzzle at hand and focus on what matters. “I want a status report on the finlings in Current Two. Given my newfound prolonged absence, I need to know how they're doing.”
Nyxalene drifts back slightly, giving me and the guards a bit of space. Without a word, she turns and heads toward the royal quarters. I follow her lead, her movements slowing as we approach Sarah’s room. Her motions are careful, almost hesitant.
Nyxalene stops short of Sarah’s doorway. She cannot shapeshift as I can, so she merely gestures at the entrance, giving me a slight nod, before slipping away down the corridor.
My gaze flicks toward my own doors. My resting place is so close, yet entirely out of reach, for now.
I catch the subtle drop of her shoulders as she rounds the corner, though I cannot tell whether it stems from relief that I've returned or that she no longer has to bear the weight of ruling in my stead. Nyxalene was never trained for the crown. She was shaped for battle.
I enter Sarah’s chambers without announcing myself. The bed is unmade, and small trinkets scatter the space, her daggers among them, carelessly left across the coral dresser. All signs point to her attendance, but her presence is nowhere to be found.
Shifting to human form, I sink onto the edge of her bed after grabbing the torn shorts from my shark hide satchel and placing them on. I trace the coral frame’s curves and twists, letting the quiet wrap around me as time passes.
Eventually, she appears, rounding the corner from her cleansing chamber.
Water drips down every line of her body, gleaming under the crystal light. She’s wrapped in a thin sponge cloth, meant to draw the water from her skin. Useless beneath the sea, but necessary here in the dry air of her chambers. She moves easily, unaware of me, and partially unwraps the cloth.
“You should take a sweep of your surroundings before exposing yourself so freely.” My voice breaks the stillness, and a knowing smirk tugs at my mouth.
Sarah freezes, crimson flooding her cheeks as she yanks the cloth tight around her body.
“Orion! You’re back.” Her voice holds genuine surprise. There's no anger in it, despite what I almost witnessed.
“I am. I apologize for my delay in returning.”
My eyes wander over the room, catching details I overlooked at first. The bed is unmade because she's been sleeping in it.
The trinkets scattered about are things she has collected since arriving in Virellan.
Even her daggers—in desperate need of a polish—rest in neat alignment on the dresser, not the careless placement I assumed at first glance.
“Have you been staying here in the palace rather than Drekaris?”
“I've still been training, if that's your concern.”
She grabs a small garment, likely one of the original pieces Nyx gave her upon her arrival, and disappears back into her cleansing chamber.
Her voice drifts out from within. “I travel with Nyxalene each day to Drekaris for my training, and every night she returns to escort me to the palace. I knew you would be gone for a few days, but when a few turned into several, then weeks, I began to get concerned . . .” Her voice falters, the sentence left hanging.
She's been worried about me? The same woman who refuses to admit we are sea mates?
“Anyway,” she continues, her tone shifting.
“I have completed all my duels—passed every one. Defymin and I have worked closely to sharpen my combat technique, and Nyxalene has been helping me refine my magic in your absence. I told her that if you didn't return by the twentieth sea day, I wanted to go home. But I’m glad I decided to wait here for you; it felt like the right thing to do.”
She waited for me. Not out of duty and not because she owed me anything. I don't know what I've done to deserve that kind of faith, but it anchors me more than any chain ever could. Another reason—I suppose—to add to the growing list of things I like about her.
When she reemerges, now properly dressed, my gaze finds hers instantly. There's a faint glimmer in her eyes, something soft and unguarded. Then, before I can respond to her words, a single tear slips down her cheek. I rise without hesitation and close the distance between us.
My hand lifts, fingers grazing lightly beneath her chin, coaxing her face toward mine. “You know,” I murmur, “your beauty shines even more when your tears cleanse your face.”
Everything Sarah does has a way of catching me off guard—and I always find myself expecting greatness from her.
I get lost in her eyes, the gloss of tears prominent along their edges.
Her arrival in Virellan was supposed to be temporary.
Her powers were meant to be relinquished, and she was meant to return home.
But now, that bridge is one I know I will never have to cross. She belongs here. In Virellan. With me.
I can’t explain the feeling that unfurls within my chest. The heartbeat is mine, but the pull is ours. Our connection. The very tether I have spent so long trying to understand. But what if I don’t need to understand it? What if the whole point is to accept it? Without fear. Without hesitation.
My hand slips from beneath her chin, gliding along the side of her neck. I take one deliberate step forward, until only inches separate us. Her breath brushes against my chest, warm and unsteady, and electricity races through every nerve in my body.
I have no idea what I am doing, but the bond does. It pulls. I follow.
She remains utterly still before me, tears continuing to trace silent paths down her cheeks.
“Orion . . . I don’t think—”
“Shh, Snapdragon.” My voice is barely more than a whisper. “Don’t think about anything. Just breathe.”
The words are meant as encouragement. A way to ease her fear. To help her trust what Mother Ocean has granted us. But my own moxie is abandoning me. I cannot stand here another moment fighting something that has already chosen us. So I lean closer and kiss her.
The instant our lips meet, everything inside me goes still. Her warmth floods through me, startling in its intensity. It is not merely the sensation of her lips against mine. It is something deeper—something ancient and instinctive, as though some dormant part of me has finally awakened.
Then I feel it.
Click.
Not a sound, but a certainty. Like the final piece of my heart is sliding into place.
The bond I have spent months questioning, resisting, and dissecting into parts I could comprehend—it suddenly makes sense. I have been searching for the missing piece when it has been standing in front of me since the day I entered her home, claiming she must come to Virellan.
The realization tears through me so fiercely that I nearly forget to breathe. My lips move against hers with a tenderness I did not know I possessed, as though some part of me is terrified that if I pull away, the revelation will disappear with her.
I have spent so long being skeptical of this connection. Now, for the first time, I don’t want to let it go.
My hand remains against her neck, feeling the frantic pulse against my fingertips, while the bond thrums between us—no longer an enigma, no longer something I need to unravel.
It is simply here. And for one breathless moment, so am I.
Then, she pulls away.
The sudden absence of her nearly tears my soul in two.
She wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands, her gaze falling anywhere but mine. She takes a step backward, putting distance between us—more distance than I ever intended to create.
My hand falls uselessly to my side. The warmth of her lips still lingers against mine, but the bond that had felt so perfectly aligned only moments ago now feels painfully exposed.
Rejection is not something I have often known, but it stings all the same, like the jolt of an eel. The pain holds onto me longer than it should, burrowing deep into both mind and marrow.
She looks hurt. And I, equally so.
“Why do you hesitate so greatly on the bond?” I ask, unable to keep the strain from my voice. “Can you not feel it pulling us together?”
She slowly backs away, turning in a full circle before walking toward the open archways that overlook my kingdom below.
“Orion, whatever this is between us . . . It’s an impossible dream. We come from two separate worlds. I come from the surface, a world of technology and science. You come from magic, royalty, and the endless sea. The bond doesn’t change that.”
“Have you never questioned your draw to the ocean?” I press gently. “The way she calls to you?”
Her eyes flicker toward the waves beyond the archway. “No—I mean, of course I do. That’s why I became a marine biologist.”
“I think that Mother Ocean had a different plan for you,” I proclaim, “and this was her way of bringing you here. To me.” The words linger on my tongue longer than they should. “Don't deny the bond, Sarah. Take your time. I'll always be here.”
Without another word, I turn and leave her chambers, choosing silence over a refusal I cannot bear to hear.