You look . . .” I sense Peri moving away from me. “Breathtaking. Open your eyes.”
When they performed the final fitting on Sunday night, Peri and her mom kept me blindfolded so I couldn’t see what the dress looked like. Now, less than an hour before my party, Peri has dressed me with my eyes closed.
The anticipation is killing me.
My first sight of the dress—of me in the dress—nearly knocks my breath away. Though I knew vaguely what the dress would look like from the pattern mock-up they pinned to me last week, the final product is so far beyond anything I could have imagined that I am completely stunned.
The halter top has a deep plunging V that, while reaching almost to my navel, manages to be completely modest. From the waist, the skirt hugs the curves of my tail fin to the knee joint, before flaring out into a reverse-V hem. Dozens of ruffled layers fluff out the skirt in a million shades of green with subtle hints of gold.
I recognize the petticoat fabric. It’s the cloth Peri was working on when I came home last week.
In the back, the hem trails off into a point several feet longer than my fin. The tail waves gently back and forth behind me in the soft current of the Gulf Stream.
And the best part? The body of the dress is a magical shade of gold. At this moment it perfectly matches the tear-glittered shade of my eyes.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “The dress is amazing.”
“Mom and I knew we needed something extra special,” Peri explains, “for your last gown as a royal princess.”
If my eyes hadn’t already been glittering with tears, they would be now. Not because I’m sad, but because my life is about to change. Permanently. In a few short hours I will no longer be Princess Waterlily. I’ll be plain old Lily Sanderson, insignificant daughter of the king.
It’s a choice I’ve happily made, but that doesn’t mean the change is easy to accept.
“Come on,” Peri says, fussing with the green ruffles of my hem, “let’s get down to that party. I’ve heard the birthday girl is a total diva.”
We’re still giggling as we swim up to the private entrance to the royal ballroom. Mangrove, Daddy’s trusted secretary, is guarding the door. Ready to announce my arrival.
“You look beautiful, Princess,” he says, bending low over his fin.
“Thank you, Mangrove,” I reply dutifully.
His hand on the door, he asks, “Shall I announce your arrival?”
After a quick shared look with Peri, I nod.
He pulls the door open wide, swims into the room, and using his most ceremonial voice, bellows, “Princess Waterlily.”
A hush falls across the ballroom.
I force myself not to think about the last time I entered the royal ballroom on a wave of silent anticipation—Quince-related memories will only make me cry more at this point.
Instead, I focus on the crowd, on hundreds of merfolk dressed in their finest apparel, and on the ballroom. The ceiling covered in gold and green seaweed streamers, six different buffet tables of the most mouthwatering delicacies in the ocean, a school of lightning-bug fish—a uniquely Thalassinian species—swimming amid the streamers, making the ceiling twinkle with their flashing lights. It’s every mergirl’s dream. The only thing that could have made it more perfect would be if—
No, I can’t think about him right now. For the next few hours I need to be Princess Waterlily, not Princess Waterpot. I want my last moments as a royal princess to be proud ones. They’ll have to last me a lifetime.
“Happy birthday, daughter,” Daddy says, sweeping me into a massive hug and—thankfully—saving me from a Quince-related thought.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I say, hugging him back. “It’s beautiful.”
A mergirl’s eighteenth birthday is supposed to be the most magical day of her life. She is officially an adult, as far as the mer world is concerned, and all of her family and friends join in the celebration.
A royal mergirl’s eighteenth birthday is even more special. There is a huge buffet feast, which makes the one at Dosinia’s sixteenth birthday look like an after-school snack. In the far corner of the room, an eighteen-piece orchestra is playing a program of fun-yet-classical compositions. Women in gem- and pearl-encrusted gowns dance with men in sharp tuxedo jackets with gem- and pearl-encrusted cummerbunds. It’s like a fantasy world. Everything around me is glittery and sparkly and full of laughter and fun.
Everything except me.
If I were a bonded princess, this is the day I would go from royal to crowned. Accepting my future role as queen. When I made the decision to stay on land a few weeks ago, I knew exactly what I was getting into. I knew what I would be giving up, that I would be letting my kingdom and my ancestors down. I knew it, and I didn’t care. With so many of the things I care about most tied to land, I would make a miserable queen. And a miserable queen can hardly be a good leader.
Still, despite all my thinking and rationalizing and accepting, I didn’t know it would be this hard, that my feelings would be this painful, when the moment came.
Instead of sparkling gowns and formal jackets, I see my future subjects. These are the people, along with the thousands beyond the palace walls, I’ll be leaving heirless. Are my selfish wants worth what it will cost them?
“Good evening, Princess Waterlily.”
I turn and find a trio of girls my age bowing into the water. They look like coordinating Oceanista dolls. One has pale skin, red hair, and a mint green tail fin. One has a fake tan, bright blond hair, and an orange-gold tail fin. And one has naturally dark skin, long flowing black curls, and a glinting mahogany tail fin.
The terrible trio. Though I haven’t seen them in years, I recognize them from my early tutoring sessions in the palace.
As I said, they never seemed to like me very much.
“Hello, Astria,” I say to the redhead, the leader; then to the other two, “Piper, Venus.”
Piper’s eyes widen. Probably surprised that I remembered their names after all these years.
“We are honored to be a part of your birthday celebration, Princess,” Astria says, all mocking respect.
I could tell her to call me Lily, but since I’m pretty sure that’s what she wants, I don’t. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck are at attention, and I have a feeling this is going to end badly.
This is my last birthday as the royal princess of Thalassinia, and I’m not about to let three snobby clones ruin it for me.
“Of course,” I reply magnanimously, bowing my head slightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“It’s too bad,” Astria interrupts.
I freeze in my escape.
“Really,” Venus agrees. “Too, too bad.”
“Too, too bad,” Piper parrots.
“If only . . . ,” Astria says.
She leaves it hanging, like a grub on a hook, waiting for me to bite. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. Astria, Piper, and Venus have been trouble since we were guppies. They’re the reason Daddy made me spend a week scraping the algae off the palace roof when I was nine, for something that wasn’t even my fault.
Still, knowing all that, I can’t help but ask, “If only what?”
Astria gives me an appallingly sympathetic look. “If only you had found a boy willing to bond with you.”
“Such a shame,” Venus commiserates.
My mouth drops open. They have no idea. I’m on the verge of setting them straight when I feel a warm arm wrap around my waist.
“Has Lily been telling you how she rebuffed my advances?” Tellin asks, hugging me close to his side. “I’ve been begging her to bond with me for ages, but she just won’t relent.” He smiles at me. “Loves her human too much.”
My three tormentors suck in identical gasps. Since he’s dressed in Acropora’s finest royal uniform, they know exactly who he is. And what he is.
Take that, sea witches.
They are still slack-jawed when Tellin says, “I believe this is my dance.”
As he tugs me away, I glance back over my shoulder. The look of utter shock on their faces is the best moment of the night.
Even though I’m still mad at him for the whole Quince-revelation thing and the whole conspiring-with-Doe thing, the saving-me-from-the-terrible-trio thing is enough to cool my anger a little.
“Thanks,” I say as he leads me into an open spot of the dance area in front of the orchestra. “Those three almost put Dosinia to shame.”
“You are quite welcome,” Tellin says, pulling me into his arms for the dance.
Now that we’re out of range of the terrible trio, I refocus on why I’m mad at him. Social savior or not, he has a lot to answer for.
“Doe told me about your plan.”
He doesn’t miss a beat in the music. “Did she?”
“She did, and—” I’m not sure how to say exactly what I think of that, so I blurt, “I appreciate your faith in my abilities as a leader, but it was all kinds of ridiculous from the start, wasn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” he says with a gentle smile. Then, changing the subject, he says, “I must confess my motives for rescuing you from those girls were not entirely selfless.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I already know.
“I mean,” he says, whirling me into a spin, “that I wanted the opportunity to plead my case one last time.”
I wish he wouldn’t. Not now. Not when I’m already plagued by doubts and guilt and stressed out about the situation with Quince and my chances of ever going to college. It would be almost too easy for him to succeed.
“You are what Thalassinia needs,” he says. “Look at the merfolk around us. Spoiled, privileged, and without direction. They have no idea what strife and hardship are. They need you to guide them into the future.”
As Tellin turns us in a slow circle, I say, “Not me.”
I think about those times when I sat with Daddy in the throne room, listening to him preside over cases with the authority and magnanimity—woo-hoo, another SAT word usage in real life—that makes him the very best sort of ruler. I could never be as great as him.
“I’m not queen material.”
“Do you think I am king material?” he asks with surprising sharpness. “I was not prepared to lead my kingdom, but when my father fell ill, I did not turn away from my duty.”
I don’t miss the subtle accusation. That I am turning away from my duty.
I force myself to ignore the jab.
Tellin looks every bit the king right now. There is nothing left of the young boy I used to play what if with.
“How did you do it?” I ask quietly.
“How? I didn’t stop to think about how,” he says. “I just did it. Because it had to be done.”
“I—” I close my eyes. “I don’t have the strength to be the queen. I’m not . . . I will never be enough.”
“Lily,” he says, pulling me close, “there is no such thing as a perfect ruler. Every king or queen has a weakness. The key is recognizing yours and compensating with your strengths.”
“What strengths?” I ask. “What do I have to offer my kingdom?”
“Your compassion,” he says instantly. “Your kindness, your heart, your loyalty, your unique experience.”
My experience. On land, he means.
He’s playing to all my doubts, tugging at my guilt. Could I be queen? Well, I know I could be queen, but could I be a good queen? Am I what my kingdom needs? Daddy has always been opposed to coming out of the ocean, certain that humankind is rarely the most tolerant and understanding of anything different or other. But what if he’s wrong? Should I take up the mantle of my title and use my influence to pull the mer world out of the water?
My head is overflowing with thoughts. Too many things.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pushing out of his arms. “I need to—I’m sorry.”
I leave Tellin on the dance floor, floating in the middle of the swirling and whirling couples. I flee the room, slipping out the back entrance and winding my way through the service halls to the one place where I’ve always felt safest. Daddy’s office.
With everyone, including the palace staff, at the party downstairs, I’m not surprised to find the royal wing deserted. Daddy’s office is empty and dark. As soon as I swim through the door, the bioluminescent light in the ceiling comes to life, filling the room with a soft blue glow.
I absently drift to the right, to the wall of mosaic portraits depicting my ancestors. The many before me who ruled Thalassinia with varying degrees of effectiveness. They weren’t all perfect, I know, but they were better than me.
First on the wall is Daddy, our latest king. His portrait depicts him seated at his desk, the trident in his right hand and a clump of chenille weed in his left, representing strength and integrity. He looks so young. He took the throne when he was not much older than Tellin, I suppose. Maybe Daddy was just as uncertain, and just as determined to do his best.
Next on the wall is my grandfather. He passed long before I was born, so I have no memories of him beyond this portrait. He is standing on the balcony of the royal chamber, presumably looking out over his subjects gathered below. The people called him Pecten the Generous because he was quite free with the kingdom’s funds. Which is also why Daddy had to spend the first part of his reign restoring the treasury.
Before grandfather, there was Teredo the Just, the Golden Queen Alaria, Marianus the Cautious, and Quahog the Magnificent. He’s the one who got eaten by a giant squid because his guards couldn’t get down the royal aisle—aka the Bimini Road—fast enough. Not so much common sense. Guess they meant magnificent in other ways. A dozen more faces grace the walls, ancestors whose names I barely remember but whose blood—and duty—runs in my veins.
Such a legacy.
Am I crazy to give this up?
“Your portrait should be next.”
My entire body sighs.
“I didn’t ask you to follow me, Tellin.”
“I know,” he says, swimming up next to me.
I’m staring at the last portrait—which was the first one created. My great-many-times-over grandfather, Chiton, the first king of Thalassinia. The one whom Capheira, our mythological ancestor, first granted the gift of mer life. He doesn’t look that different from Daddy, a similar face with white hair and a short white beard. Same smiling blue eyes.
“Lily, you can’t just let this slip away,” he pleads. “There is too much riding on your future.”
“Thalassinia will find another heir,” I reply, turning to face him.
“But when?” he demands. “And what sort? You’ve trained for this your entire life. You’ve been bred for this.”
He braces his arms against the wall on either side of my shoulders.
“Tellin, I—”
I interrupt my own thought. Here in the utter privacy of Daddy’s office, with the dim lights and in the cage of Tellin’s arms, it almost feels . . . right. He’s so close and so passionate about making choices for the common good. My duty, my responsibility. My destiny. It’s only a kiss away.
It would be so easy just to lean forward a few inches, press my lips to his, and vanquish all my doubts and guilt forever. So easy . . .
An image of Quince flashes in my mind.
I can’t.
Just because something is the easy choice does not make it the right one. Quite often the right choice is really, really hard. I’ve made my decision. I love Quince and I believe my future lies on land. I’m not about to throw all of that away to avoid snide comments from girls like Astria or to wash away guilt that Daddy has assured me I don’t need to feel.
“Tellin,” I say, pressing a palm to his chest to push him away, “I can’t. I have to make my own choices in life, or it won’t be my life.”
“Damn it!” Tellin slams a palm against the wall so hard I feel the vibrations—quite a feat under water. “Lily, you can’t do this. You’re going to ruin everything.”
“What?” I have never seen that kind of fury in his pale eyes. “Ruin what?”
“You have no idea,” he says, his voice a rough growl. “My kingdom . . .” A look of complete desperation washes over his face. “We’re dying, Lily. With the rising ocean temperatures, the coral in our kingdom can’t survive. It’s disrupting the entire cycle of life in our waters.”
I suck in a gasp. I knew that ocean warming was a worldwide problem, that the mer kingdoms had been in talks for years about how to combat the effects. But I didn’t know any kingdoms had been so dramatically affected already.
Thalassinia has been lucky in its more northerly location. We’ve seen new species migrating into our waters, but so far that’s only been an interesting sea forestry study. Down in the already warm waters of the Caribbean, in an ecosystem so entirely dependent on the coral reefs, I can’t imagine what Acropora must be going through.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, even though I know it’s totally inadequate.
“Sorry,” he scoffs. “Lily, my father isn’t ill, he’s dying. My people are starving. I haven’t been living on land because I want to. I’ve had to. Many of my subjects have been forced to either leave the waters or emigrate to other kingdoms.”
“That’s awful,” I say, cupping his cheek in sympathy. “But I don’t see how bonding with me—”
“You don’t see?” he spits. “Uniting our kingdoms is the only hope. With the strength and prosperity of Thalassinia comes the salvation my people need.”
“But—” I shake my head. “Our bonding would not unite the kingdoms. You said it would be a bond in name only, so I could take the throne.”
“You are either very naive or willfully blind,” he snorts. “And selfish.”
I have no response to that because, well, am I being selfish? I can’t tell anymore.
“You have doubts,” he pleads. “I can see you do.” He floats down and lays his head against my belly. “For the love of your merkin to the south, I am begging you.”
This is so much to take in. The fact that he’s been lying to me about the bond. The famine and ecological destruction wiping out his kingdom. So much emotion. It’s a lot to process, and the only thing I know is I am not the solution. I can’t be. Right?
Thalassinia is a prosperous and wealthy kingdom, and we are very generous with those less fortunate, but we don’t have the capability to support an entire second kingdom. Especially one as large and diverse as Acropora.
Tellin’s hopes for a united kingdom are unrealistic.
“Tellin, I’m very sorry for your kingdom’s suffering,” I say, feeling helpless. I gently wrap my arms around his shoulders. “But bonding with me won’t—”
“The hell it won’t,” he growls before suddenly kicking upward until his face is level with mine. “It’s the only option we have.”
His abrupt movements are such a surprise, his lips are nearly on mine before I react. I twist to the side, dislodging his body, and—with a flick of my fin—I’m out of his arms and in the center of the room.
He doesn’t chase after me. He just drops his head against the wall. His shoulders are heaving and I think he might be crying. Sobbing.
“Tellin . . .” I swim back toward him, overcome by sympathy. Maybe I should be angry, but desperation makes people do uncharacteristic things.
“Don’t. That was unforgivable.” He shrugs off my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lily. I am so sorry.”
I take a deep breath. This is my friend speaking, not the desperate king of moments ago.
“I understand,” I say, floating to his side. “You are worried about your kingdom.”
He looks at me, his pale eyes bleak and lost. And glittering ice blue. “I’m worried that, if things don’t change, there won’t be a kingdom much longer.”
So much pressure on one so young. No wonder he tried to take such drastic action. To find out that your father is dying and your kingdom might be, too? That’s a lot to deal with.
He shouldn’t have to deal with it alone.
“Have you spoken to Daddy?” I ask. “Or to the other kings and queens?”
The mer kingdoms are all unique and sovereign nations, but we are joined by a common secrecy, a common heritage. We try to protect and help one another out as much as we can.
“My father wouldn’t let me,” he says. “Too proud to ask for help.”
I know that pride is a powerful emotion, but it is also a terrible indulgence. Especially when the fate of your kingdom is at stake.
“Your father is not in charge at the moment.” I take Tellin’s hand in mine, showing my support. “You can move beyond his pride.”
“You know,” he says with a sad laugh, “that’s why he stopped speaking with your father. Because King Whelk refused to sign the arranged bond agreement for us. My father can’t stand the thought of being denied.”
Well, at least that makes more sense. I couldn’t really see Daddy wanting to arrange a marriage for me, not since he’s been so adamant that I follow my heart.
I shake off my annoyance at Tellin’s father. “You need to call a council of kings and queens,” I suggest. “Present them with your situation, and I’m sure you will not walk away without numerous promises of assistance.”
“You are too generous,” he says, squeezing my hand. “Fletcher is a lucky man.”
“I like to think so,” a new male voice says.
I spin around so fast, Tellin is pulled in my wake.
“Quince!” I squeal. Then I’m across the room, throwing my arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses.
“Such a shame,” Doe says, drifting in after Quince. “I was hoping to ruin your party like you ruined mine.” She sighs. “Looks like I brought the guest of honor instead.”
Ignoring Doe, I scream, “You’re here!” I squeeze him tight. “What are you doing here?” Then I suddenly realize just exactly where here is, and I say, “How are you here?”
With a smile, Quince pulls my arms from around him and twists—awkwardly, because he’s still in human form and still not the best swimmer—and shows me his neck. There is a black circle of waves tattooed at the base. The outer portion of the mer mark.
I am completely overcome with joyful, tearful emotion.
“Daddy found you?” I manage.
“Actually,” Daddy says, swimming up next to Doe, “your cousin found him. I merely performed the ceremony when she brought him to me.”
I glance, teary eyed, at everyone in the room. My squid-brained cousin, who’s turning out to be not such a horrible young mermaid. My darling daddy, who found a way to bring me and Quince even closer together. My adored Quince, who is willing to accept all the craziness that comes along with life with me.
“We have something to talk about,” I tell him, trying to sound stern but knowing that my glittering eyes and huge smile undermine the effect.
“I know,” he says with a matching smile. “I acted like an ass.”
“Well . . .” That takes a lot of the steam out of my lecture. “Okay. As long as you recognize the fact.”
He flashes me a wink. “Always.”
“You know, daughter,” Daddy says, swimming over his desk and sinking into the massive chair behind it, “it is nearly midnight.”
Oh, no.
My heart starts beating flipper fast. I’ve been anticipating this moment for weeks now—sometimes eagerly, sometimes less so. But I’ve known it was coming. Now that it’s here, I’m a little (a lot) freaked out.
“Mangrove and I have drawn up the papers.” He pulls a few sheets of kelpaper from a drawer and sets them on top of the desk. “They only require your signature.”
I swim up to the desk, painfully aware that all eyes in the room are on me. Daddy hands me a pen. I didn’t expect it to happen this fast.
“Right here.” He points to the line where I’m supposed to sign. Where, with one curl of ink on paper, I’ll renounce my claim to the throne. Forever.
This is what I want, I remind myself. To be on land, with Quince and Aunt Rachel and lip gloss and mediocre sushi.
The squid ink–filled quill clutched in my fingers, I move my hand over the paper. Over the line.
Hovering.
My entire body freezes, like Peri when a jellyfish floats by. I can’t move a muscle. My brain is racing. Is this the right decision? Easy or hard, is this the best choice for my future, for the future of Thalassinia and of Acropora and the other mer kingdoms?
I have never felt so completely paralyzed by doubt.
Eyes wide, I seek out Quince, my rock. He’s floating between Doe and Tellin, watching me calmly, betraying no emotion. When my gaze flicks to Tellin and back to Quince, his look shifts. Like he’s bracing himself.
Then, in a moment that’s just between us, Quince nods.
I don’t need to voice the question I know he’s answering. Our connection is stronger than any formed by a magical bond. And always will be.
Without giving myself time to think about the situation, I drop the pen, jet myself across the room with one powerful kick, and grab Tellin by the shoulders. I only have an instant to register the pure shock in his eyes before my lips brush his.