The younger girl yelped.
“You reckless little guppy. Do you have any idea what humans do to creatures like us?”
Ariel wrenched her arm free, stubbornness flashing across her delicate features.Can you imagine all the treasures up there?
"They have no treasures. They trade in junk, and they'll throw you in a net. Or worse."
They’re not all bad.Ariel jutted her chin toward the ship.Not everyone is trying to hurt us.
A splash overhead. A human voice, sharp and guttural. Then came the thunk of something heavy piercing the water.
A harpoon. It missed them by mere inches, sinking into the seabed below.
“Not all bad?” Ursula seethed, shoving Ariel behind her. “Tell me again, little princess—what part of that looks like it isn't trying to hurt you?”
A second harpoon cut through the water, closer this time. Ursula shoved Ariel downward, dragging her away from the ship’s shadow.
“Swim,” she ordered. “Now.”
For once, Ariel obeyed.
A third harpoon sliced through the water, its deadly tip a silver blur against the dark. It grazedUrsula’s arm as it shot past. A burning sting sliced across her skin.
A sharpthwipcut through the current. Then a sickening thunk. Ariel’s body jerked. Her song cut off in a choked, soundless scream. The harpoon had struck just below her ribs. Its wicked barbs snagged against soft flesh, and the force of the impact spun the child in the water like a broken doll.
Ursula lunged, catching Ariel before she could drift. Warm blood—too warm, too much—spilled into the sea, curling around them in ghostly tendrils.
Another harpoon shot past. Rage swallowed fear whole. Ursula opened her mouth and sang.
Her siren's song was not high-pitched and happy like her niece’s. Ursula's dark song tore through the ocean in deep, resonant waves, slicing through the water like a shockwave, a command, a summons, a reckoning.
Miles away, deep within a trench untouched by light, a massive eye blinked open, and the sea shuddered. The shift in the current could be felt on the sea's floor, through the floorboards of the hulking ship. Shadows raced across the surface of the waters. Waves rolled outward as something enormous rose from the depths.
The ship's hull groaned. The sound was loud enough to pierce the veil of the waters. Then the shoutingbegan. It was no use. Even though it was miles away, there was no way the sailors would outrun what lurked in the deep.
The kraken breached the surface. A monstrous limb, thick as a hundred ship masts, broke the surface in an explosion of white water. The sky darkened beneath its shadow. The humans screamed.
A single colossal tentacle slammed down upon the ship. The impact sent a crack through the air, louder than thunder, as the mast splintered like dry driftwood. The vessel tilted wildly, men and cargo spilling into the sea in a chaotic, flailing mass. Then the real carnage began.
The moment their fragile bodies touched the water, the ocean came alive.
Sharks.
Serpents.
Predators that lurked in the depths, drawn by the scent of human blood and panic. The humans did not stand a chance. Spoils of their trade—chests, barrels, metal, and glass—sank into the abyss, swallowed whole by the tides.
The ocean turned red. The seabed became a toxic graveyard as bodies and trinkets sank. Ursula didn't spare the scene a glance, but Ariel did.
Trembling in her arms, the sea princess twisted just enough to look back. The pain left her eyes, andwonder took its place. Not wonder at the carnage above her but curiosity at the items falling to pollute the seabed.
Ursula wanted to shake her, but she couldn't. It would probably damage the girl even more. But not as much damage as she'd just done calling the kraken to aid her against the humans. She'd saved Ariel, but she highly doubted her father or brother would ever save her a seat at the table for her troubles.
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
The steady scratchof a quill against parchment filled the king’s office, the only sound beyond the distant crash of waves against the harbor walls. But it wasn't the king who sat behind the desk. The royal rump hadn't been in this office for at least the last five years.
