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“Poseidon, I wish I had your waist and hips,” my sister groaned. “The mermen go wild for them. I’m never going to get a merchild out of these hips.”
Unfortunately for Nimian, she’d inherited our grandmother’s long, thin waist and tiny hips. Me, I’d inherited my paternal aunt’s curvy figure, which only she and I shared in the family. And yes, the mermen did go wild over my body. But being leered at for my hair, my eyes, my hips, and my chest made me feel shy and uncomfortable. Especially when all the mermaids in court turned catty out of jealousy because I attracted all the attention.
While Nimian reset her smudged makeup, I remembered what my aunt, Taura’s mother, had taught me when I was five: most mermen were only after a beautiful princess so they could hang on her arm. Over and over, she’d drilled into me that I was worth more than that. A strong-willed, smart, resourceful, and adventurous princess like me was any merman’s equal. A bright jewel of the sea. Something to be treasured. She was right. Without my aunt’s mentoring, I don’t know how I would have survived navigating the royal court—or sneaking away from it. For that, I owed her the world.
“Time to leave,” Nimian squealed, clasping her hands and twirling in the water.
In her excitement, she accidentally knocked over a mosaic I’d been working on for my father’s upcoming birthday: a collection of shells, pearls, and corals on a bed of crushed coral glue, all arranged into a portrait of my father.
I set it back on its stand and asked, “Do you think Papa will love his birthday present?”
My sister huffed as she examined my artwork. The slightest hint of pink flushed in the scales around her eyes—a sign of anger or jealousy. Merfolk couldn’t hide their emotions very well under water.
“You’re the favorite daughter,” she said. “Can’t do any wrong in Papa’s eyes. I’m sure he’ll love it.”
Over the years, I had learned to brush off Nimian’s sour seaweed reactions. It was no different with the rest of my sisters. Collectively, they all moaned behind my back—or so the palace servants told me. Apparently, my sisters never understood why I was Father’s favorite. To this day, I didn’t know why, either. I never got invited to play the harp in the kingdom’s orchestra like my eldest sister, and heir to the throne, Aquina. And Nimian’s crab chowder had won three medals at the last Under the Sea Bake Off Competition.
My art certainly wasn’t the award-winning kind. The pieces I glued on always shifted. I had a strange habit of making people look as if they had googly fish eyes. I’d always thought my father merely felt sorry for me, since I wasn’t as gifted as my sisters. He always insisted on displaying my artwork next to the official portraits of his family. It annoyed the pompous court painters to no end, having their royal portraits associated with my imperfect paintings. Whenever a visitor came to the palace, my father showed them my new pieces. I didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop boring everyone to death when he beamed with pride.
A horn sounded in the distance—the warning signal that the event was about to commence. The shell the guards used was one of the few instruments capable of making high-pitched sounds beneath the density of the water.
“Hurry,” Nimian said, dragging me out of my quarters and down the corridor.
Nerves swelled in the pit of my stomach. Instead of brushing my skin, the water felt like little crab claws, dragging me down.
Sea flowers hung from the columns holding up the palace’s roof. Silk banners decorated the walls. Seaweed in pots danced in the stream flowing through the palace. Extra crystal lamps hung from the beams. My father and his team had really gone to extra lengths to decorate for this occasion.
Soldiers positioned next to tall, thin shells stood to attention and nodded as we passed. I smiled nervously and nodded back. It seemed everyone was on duty this afternoon.
I bumped into someone and stumbled forward. “Oh, my. I’m terribly sorry.” I grabbed a muscled arm to steady myself.
“That’s perfectly fine, princess.” Strong hands clamped on my arms and straightened me.
My heart slammed into my sternum. I knew that voice. And I did not like the owner. My gaze drifted from the bands protecting the merman’s wrists and forearms, up to the metallic scales of the soldier’s armor. I looked up farther, right into his cold, mud-brown eyes. Faraall, the commander of my father’s army. Armed with his usual smug smile, he shifted the trident under his arm to his hand, holding it tightly to his side. Scars along his cheek and shoulders proved his might in battles. His crooked nose was a reminder he’d gotten into one too many fist fights as a teen.
What did he want? He was always stalking me around the palace!
