She had played this game before, had used her voice, her body to lure fools into her grasp. She knew how to play the damsel, how to let her lips tremble just so, how to widen her eyes in feigned innocence, how to shiver in a man’s presence and make him think she needed saving. Men were helpless to come to the rescue—at least, men of power were.
The weak ones, the Flotsams and Jetsams of the world, the creatures that slithered in the dark, they weren’t interested in saving anything. They only knew how to take, how to leech power from someone stronger. The eels' powers combined made for an interesting dive in the seaweed, sure. Outside of a bed of seaweed, they thrived on fear, on desperation, on having someone else to prey on.
Men like Prince Eric? The ones raised to command? Those brought up to lead, to carry the burdens of others? They were helpless to resist the helpless. They wanted to be needed.
Ursula would wager the prince was a mama's boy.
“Take me back to your castle,” she said, feigning breathlessness, letting herself sound like a girl lost, fragile, in need of a strong protector. “Keep me safe from my father and his goons.”
Prince Eric pursed his lips. There were prickles of light in his hazel eyes. He was not quite under her spell. He looked like he was thinking. With the brain closer to the sun than the one nearer to the sea.
"No," he said. "That's not the best idea."
Irritation flashed through Ursula like lightning. He wasn’t listening to her. He'd brushed her words, her wants, her plan aside for his desires.
She'd been all wrong about him the other day when she'd saved him. Wrong about whatever she thoughtshe'd seen in his eyes. Wrong about the man who had saved all those lives at a cost to his own. He had been stupid to put others in front of himself. And now he would try to put himself in front of her.
"If I take you to the castle, someone from the court will let your father know you are here. Or they'll, at the least, let my father know, and that man holds secrets as well as he holds his spirits. No, I have a better idea. We wait until nightfall. In the meantime, we go to the market and get you something to eat.”
"Something to… eat?"
"You must be famished. When's the last time you ate? How long have you been running? Or rather swimming?" He glanced down at her bare legs, then blinked as though caught leering. "Let's get you taken care of. Get food in your belly. Clothes on your back. Let's get you off those feet. I'm told walking is taxing for merkind. Would you like me to carry you?"
"I…carry me?"
He pulled his arms back, hands up as though she was a guard about to put him under arrest. "Did I overstep?"
"No… You… I can walk."
Eric smiled, as if pleased with himself. He lowered one arm and offered her the other. Just as she reached for it, he hesitated. His gaze searched hers, somethingshifting in his expression. Those sparkling thought bubbles dimmed, focusing in on her.
“Do you disagree with my plan, my lady?”
Ursula's mind short-circuited, sparks firing in all directions in searching for the right response. She'd never been asked this question before. She'd always had to be the one to carry the heaviest load.
"Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."
Her lips parted, and the truth fell out like an anchor sinking into the deep. “I want to sit on a throne.”
Silence.
And then—he smiled. Not the soft, comforting smile of a prince indulging a girl’s wishes. It was the look of a man intrigued, as if she had just told him his cock was the biggest she'd ever encountered.
Of course, she would tell him that when he presented said cock to her. Right now he stood before her, wearing a cocksure grin.
Prince Eric's fingers curled gently around her wrist, pulling her just a fraction closer. “After I feed and clothe you, you can sit on mine. Would you like that?”
Ursula's thoughts tangled like seaweed in a riptide. It had to be the salt in the air. She wasn't sure if they were talking about an actual chair or his lap. She wasn't sure which she wanted more at this moment.
A shiver ran down her spine, down the backs of her legs, and out to her toes. It was an unfamiliar experience,not just because she rarely used her legs or feet. For the first time in her life, someone wasn’t trying to quiet her. Someone was listening to her.
Prince Eric's eyes searched her face, hesitant, considering. He was still holding her hand, his grip firm, steady. His expression had shifted. He regarded her as if something about her didn’t quite fit.
Ursula wasn't used to males trying to figure her out. She was used to being admired for her beauty. Men revered softness, obedience, a woman’s willingness to follow. They didn’t look at her like this—like she was something capable, something to be reckoned with.
"I didn't thank you for rescuing me," he said.
Instead of responding, Ursula demurred. What was she supposed to say? That it was a lapse in judgment? That he’d caught her in a weak moment? She lowered her gaze and let him read into that what he would.
