Elodie of the Sea Page 2

  “Croissin.” I lower my voice so the others won’t hear. “You cared for me once, in your own distant way. Why would you do this? What did I ever do to you that you’re so eager to sign my death sentence?”

  “You will not meet the same fate.” He clenches my hand tighter, and his eyes shine with sincerity. “You’re strong—so much stronger than the others.”

  “I’m not.”

  Laughing once, he leans forward and places a chaste kiss on my forehead. “I’ve missed you, Elodie.”

  My shoulders sag, and I lean into him, hating myself.

  After several moments, Croissin leans back to further assess me, looking at me with something akin to awe. “The years have been kind to you.”

  “You say that like I was a troll before.”

  He smiles. “You were slender, and your eyes were too innocent. Too trusting.”

  There was a time I dreamed that I could marry this man, that he would be the one to defy tradition and leave my magic be.

  I was foolish then, a child besotted, and even if I’m suffering from a few residual flutters, I left that girl far behind.

  No matter what Croissin says—no matter what he believes—the binding will kill me as surely as daily sips of weak poison.

  A man clears his throat from behind the king, and we turn.

  “Aristos,” I breathe.

  The king forgotten, I cross the hall and meet the man in an embrace. He holds me so tightly it hurts, but I don’t care. There was a time he was my dearest friend. After several moments, I pull back, studying him.

  If the years have been good to me, they’ve been downright generous to the younger prince. Aristos was scrawny when he was young, with no muscle to speak of and hair that went every which way. He was still attractive—it’s in the blood—but there were times I felt he resembled a weasel more closely than a lithe creature of the sea.

  Now his dark hair is full and cut short. He’s almost as tall as his older brother, and his shoulders are just as broad.

  “You’re so handsome!” I whisper, laughing, delighted to see him again.

  He tugs me into another embrace and then whispers next to my ear. “You shouldn’t have come home.”

  I pull back, startled by his harsh tone. His eyes flash with pity and sorrow before he dons a happy expression for his brother’s sake.

  Croissin smiles benevolently at Aristos. “My poor brother was devastated when you left so suddenly.” He eyes me again. “But you’re here now, and here you’ll stay.”

  Aristos’s blue eyes—so much like his brother’s—flick to Croissin, but I cannot decipher the strange expression he wears.

  This is not how things were when I left. Aristos practically worshiped his brother, and me with him. Though four years older than both of us, Croissin would let us tag along with him as he explored the island. We were a trio—happy on the beach, exploring the reef from the time we could shift, seeing who would dare swim the farthest from Isle Milayle’s safe enchantments.

  But that ended long ago. Before Croissin became king.

  “Lyden will show you to your quarters.” Croissin sets his hand on the small of my back, his fingers splaying over the thin fabric of my gown. “The promising ceremony will take place this evening, and the wedding in the morning.”

  “Tonight?” I stop abruptly to look up at the man I used to know well but is now a stranger.

  As is our custom, promising ceremonies—and the binding that accompanies them if the union is royal—take place at night, and weddings are daylight affairs. There are usually several weeks between them.

  “Greer’s been gone several days now—we can’t afford to let our defenses drop.” He says the words kindly, but there’s not the slightest hint of mourning in his voice. They were married four years; shouldn’t he miss her? Feel something?

  “Several attendants will help you prepare.” The king squeezes my hand. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  The knot in my stomach coils tighter.

  I glance at Aristos as Lyden leads me away. He watches me, his expression hard, and then he turns on his heel and leaves.

  ***

  When I look back on this evening, I will remember the anguish on my parents’ faces. Not the thousands of candles, nor the shimmering, ethereal lights that dust the garden like glittering frost in the far north.

  Not the fuss and glamour and music and food.

  The sadness. The misery. The regret.

  In the gathered audience, Father wears a stony expression. His back is rigid, and his eyes are hooded, though he tries to hide the pain. Next to him, my mother cries into a handkerchief, unable to mask her grief. This is what they feared, why they planned my marriage years before my sixteenth birthday.

  The king was never supposed to have me.

  My sweet sister, Lenelle, holds her new baby in her arms. Silent tears run down her cheeks. I know she blames herself—one of the reasons I came back was to meet my nephew after all—but it’s not her fault.

  Nor is it Croissin’s, not really.

  It’s mine.

  I was the fool who set foot on Isle Milayle without the protection of a wedding ring.

  Croissin stands to the side of the low courtyard balcony, murmuring with his advisors and several of his knights. The ceremony will begin in just a few minutes. I stand just inside the palace, peeking out through a nearby window, hiding behind a drape.

  “Elodie!” a man hisses behind me.

  Startled, I turn.

  With wild eyes, Aristos yanks the drapes closed and pauses only briefly to make sure we’re alone.

  “He killed her.” The prince’s words tumble out in a rushed whisper. His eyes are wild, and he says the words with so much conviction, I step back.

  “Croissin,” he says without waiting for me to ask him to elaborate. He shoots a nervous glance over his shoulder, checking to make sure we’re still alone. Afraid of nearby ears, he lowers his voice. “He killed Greer.”

  Greer—our late queen. Croissin’s own wife.

  I begin to shake my head. “Her power began to wane. It’s horrifying, but to be expected—”

  “No.” Aristos grasps my shoulders. His grip is too tight, and his fingers dig into my skin. “With his first wife, yes. But not this time. He did it on purpose, Elodie, pulled far more than he should.”

  “Why would he do that?” I demand, hoping my poor friend has simply gone mad in the time I’ve been gone. But ice is already spreading through my veins.

  “Because you returned.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but no words come out.

  “He’s always wanted you—always.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true,” Aristos says urgently, almost snarling. “Why do you think he humored us as he did? He knew it was wrong, knew you were too young, but he loved you.”

  I shake my head because that’s not how I remember it at all. Croissin never thought of me that way, not back then. The age gap was far too significant when we were young.

  “It’s not only that.” Aristos begins to pace, though he is still careful to keep his voice low. “I swear guilt over stealing the magic has made him mad, just like our father before us. It’s not right for them to steal it; it does something to their minds.”

  “Are you sure?” I finally manage.

  He turns back. “Of course I’m sure! I’ve been here, saw him lose his first wife. He ranted and raved that it wouldn’t have happened with you. That you were stronger.” His eyes meet mine, and his voice drops to a whisper. “It’s terrifying, Ellie.”

  “Why does he think my magic is strong?” I demand, fully believing him now. Croissin said almost the same thing to me a few hours ago.

  “Remember Shannea?” Aristos asks, referring to a mermaid who now lives on the mainland. “She married that gimly, brought him to the island for a time. He told Croissin he’d had glimpses of the future—said he saw you as Milayle’s queen, ruling over the isle for forty year
s.”

  “Me specifically?” How is that possible? “I don’t think I was ever introduced to the gimly.”

  “He saw you leaving one afternoon after we’d come back from a swim.” Aristos shakes his head as if disturbed. “The words stayed with Croissin. He believes them with his entire being.”

  “Forty years? That’s impossible.”

  Gimlies are rarely wrong…but they only see possible futures, things that could come to pass. Every day there are hundreds of choices we make that can affect the outcome.

  But still…in what future could I rule for forty years? How can I ensure my magic stretches that long? Long enough for my own son to take the crown…

  Hope blooms in my chest.

  “Do you think there’s a way?” I ask, the ice in my heart melting like Errinton snow in midsummer.

  “You’re missing the point!” Aristos exclaims, exasperated. “My brother murdered his queen. You aren’t safe here. If he thinks you’re invincible—full of an unlimited supply of magic—he’ll kill you all that much faster. By accident, perhaps, but you can’t argue the outcome would be the same.”

  Voices drift to us from down the hall. They’re coming for me.

  “What do you expect me to do?” I demand.

  He looks over her shoulder, toward the door. “Croissin had me work the binding magic into the rings, but I put a harmless light illusion on it so it will glimmer as if enchanted. Go through the ceremony, say the words, and then run away. Run away tonight.”

  “How do you still have magic left?” I ask, my poor addled mind clinging to insignificant details.

  Aristos turns back, a crooked smile on his face, likely thinking this isn’t the time for this conversation. “I’ve preserved it, used it as little as possible.”

  Pity fills me. “You’ve stayed away from the sea?”

  “I have.”

  What if it leaves him anyway? Then he’s deprived himself of his time in the water, and for what?

  The voices grow louder, and Aristos sets his hand on my shoulder, drawing me back to the matter at hand. “Tonight, Elodie.”

  “But what will he do to you once he figures out what you’ve done?”

  Aristos thinks about it, and a shadow crosses his face. No matter how old they are, Croissin is still his brother and his king. He is wise to fear him, especially when what he’s urging me to do is treason. “Perhaps I’ll come with you.”

  “But you’ve never left the island,” I whisper. He’s never wanted to, not even when the love of his life felt the call of adventure. He stayed behind when Cassia left the year before I, and he lamented her absence with all his heart—dying inside when she finally wrote to tell us she’d found love with a human man of Triblue.

  Aristos and I exchanged a few letters over the years, though they are difficult to send to Milayle. In Aristos’s letters, he mourned Cassia like she was dead. My heart ached for him, but I never understood why he didn’t leave the island, search for her and declare his love.

  But then, when we were children, Aristos was always the one farthest from the reef in our games, the one not daring to venture into the open sea. Sometimes our monsters are imaginary…but very real in our heads. Aristos is terrified of the open sea.

  “I will come with you,” he finally says.

  His answer shocks me, but I try to hide it. “And if we leave, what happens to Milayle?”

  The footsteps grow louder.

  “I don’t know—I honestly don’t, but Elodie, there’s more. Croissin plans to—”

  “Elodie,” Croissin says as he enters the room. His eyes wander over me, and he’s obviously pleased. “You look stunning.”

  Our gazes meet, and Aristos’s words dance through my head. Did Croissin truly care for me? Was my silly fantasy a shared one?

  Could he have possibly killed his wife because I returned?

  Fear makes me tremble, but I stand tall.

  “Like a queen,” Croissin adds, his eyes strangely satisfied.

  Fear, sharp and palpable, washes over me. Aristos is at least partially right. There’s something about Croissin that’s distinctly different from the boy I once knew. A hardness lingers about his eyes, a cockiness to his gait. Perhaps it’s merely the merman in him—that narcissistic part that develops as they age. But something tells me there’s more to it than that.

  “Are you ready to take your rightful place by my side?” The king extends his hand.

  I share a brief look with Aristos. Again, that pleasant expression is plastered on his face. It’s practiced—as if he wears it more often than not.

  Unable to conceal the slight shaking of my fingers, I accept Croissin’s hand.

  “Nervous?” he asks quietly. The words have so much genuine affection in them, I almost cast aside everything Aristos said.

  Almost.

  “I am.” Though it’s the truth, it’s not only for the reasons he believes.

  He squeezes my hand and leads me onto the low balcony. Below us, all the inhabitants of Isle Milayle stand in the firelit courtyard. Mother continues to cry. Father still stands as if made of stone. I can’t look at them.

  A young boy holds a pillow with the binding rings. Aristos’s creations sit on the fabric, glowing softly in the flickering light. We each have one, Croissin and I, so that we may be linked together. As per tradition, we’ll wear them in addition to the wedding bands we’ll don tomorrow. Or we would don tomorrow…if I were to stay.

  With the crowd’s rapt attention on us alone, we begin the promising ceremony and the binding. I set my hand on Croissin’s, half dizzy with nerves as Aristos himself ties the silver promising ribbon around our wrists, locking us together.

  Once we’re connected, Croissin puts his ring on his finger, and then, slowly, with his eyes locked on mine, he slides my ring over mine. Aristos’s illusion tingles, sending a shiver over my spine.

  If Croissin tries to draw my magic now, he’ll know his brother tricked him. From the corner of my eye, I see the prince stiffen. He’s thinking it as well.

  With the show complete, Croissin leans close to my ear. “Tomorrow, you will be mine.”

  And though I believe it’s voiced as a sweet endearment, a murmur of affection, my body reacts like it’s a threat.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bran

  I stride through the halls, plotting my escape as the woman at my side drones on about the upcoming coronation. I don’t remember her name. Is it Collette? Colleen? I honestly don’t care.

  Somehow, without my permission, she’s become my official etiquette coach. She speaks through the nose she keeps firmly tilted in the air, and she criticizes everything from my wardrobe to my pastimes.

  If I didn’t have a proper upbringing—if I weren’t Triblue’s crown prince—I’m afraid I’d find the nearest cellar and push her into it.

  “Your Highness!” she exclaims with a birdlike screech. “Are you listening?”

  “I’m locking it all away,” I lie as I tap my temple.

  She raises her perfectly plucked eyebrows. I swear the woman is eighty years old, but that hasn’t hindered her grooming regimen. There are topiaries that see less tending.

  We turn a corner, and there, right in front of me, like an angel descended from the clouds, stands a princess of Glendon. The sunlight streams through a nearby window, shining on her golden blond hair, making her look like a painting come to life.

  “Anwen,” I exclaim, holding out my hands to greet her. I flash her a look, silently informing her she has impeccable timing. I turn to Collette…Colleen…whatever the old thorn’s name is. “Please, excuse me. As you can see, our guests are arriving.” I take the woman’s soft, wrinkled hand and bow over it, signaling that it’s time for her and her list of dos and do-nots to bid me farewell.

  But instead of gliding away, she clears her throat and shoots a pointed look at Anwen.

  The princess watches, amused.

  Trying to contain my sigh, but doing a poor job of it,
I turn to Anwen. “Anwen, may I introduce to you…”

  Oh yes, that’s right. I don’t know her name.

  “…my etiquette instructor,” I finish lamely.

  Said instructor narrows her beady eyes as I turn to her. “And it is my pleasure to introduce you to Her Royal Highness, Princess Anwen of Glendon, wife of His Royal Highness, Prince Galinor of Glendon.”

  Anwen, being the lovely rose she is, takes the woman’s hands in her own, smiling like this is the most brilliant part of her day. “It is a pleasure, madam. Your gown is exquisite. Is it from Vernow?”

  No one can diffuse a situation like Anwen.

  After a few more exchanged pleasantries, the princess sends the woman on her way, promising they’ll get together for tea soon.

  Anwen’s eyes sparkle as Collette/Colleen turns the corner. She crosses her arms and grins. “So, Your Soon-to-be-majesty, how are you holding up?”

  I groan and rub my hands over my face. “I’m going to sea. Dristan can have the crown.”

  She laughs, thinking I’m joking.

  “Are they here?” Anwen asks, speaking of my brother and his family. “It seems like I haven’t seen you all in ages.”

  “What are you talking about? Belle likes you more than me,” I say, speaking of my young niece. “Half the time she calls me Uncle Brad.”

  Cocking her head to the side, Anwen says, “That’s not so far off.”

  I set my hands on Anwen’s shoulders with affection. “The problem is that it’s the name of the dog Archer gave her.”

  Anwen giggles, and then her eyes light when she sees her husband turn the corner.

  The crown prince of Glendon is a giant of a man, makes even the most competent of us feel like weaklings in his presence. I step back from Anwen and extend my hand, a broad smile spreading across my face. “Galinor.”

  “Don’t pretend I didn’t just catch you with your hands on my wife.” He gives my hand a hearty shake, grinning. “How are you?”

  I draw out an exhale. We’ve been friends for a long time; I don’t have to hide anything from these two. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Galinor nods knowingly. Though his father is still firmly seated on Glendon’s throne—and doesn’t appear to be moving anytime soon—Galinor will be in my place soon enough. Unless, of course, his older brother, Teagan, decides he wants it back before then. But since the man’s enjoying his life of adventure, I don’t believe that will happen anytime soon.