Ursula stiffened.
"It's the only other logical explanation. But why would your aunt do this?"
Ursula had to fight to contain her ire. What could she say? She couldn't clear her name and say she didn't do it because she was, indeed, with him all night. Or maybe she should?
Maybe now was the time to come clean and tell Eric that she was Ursula. It wasn't like he could divorce her.But he certainly wouldn't look at her like he was now, like she could do no wrong. Like they shared jokes between them. Like he wanted to know what she thought and would take her advice to heart.
"Is Prince Phillip unharmed?" Ursula asked instead.
"It would seem he's been taken in by the Forest Folk," said Grimsby. "He and the Forest Guardian have a… history."
Ursula knew that history well. She was willing to bet the Forest Guardian and the prince had more than a history. They had a future together. One that didn't include Phillip's intended bride. So why had Ariel razed the castle if Phillip no longer wanted to marry Aurora?
"And Princess Aurora?" Ursula asked. "Is she accounted for?"
"It would appear she's disappeared with the siren," said Grimsby. "Likely a hostage."
Ursula kept her snort in. Aurora was a hostage, all right. A willing hostage. Hopefully, she and Ariel would both stay gone.
"We should send aid to help rebuild the castle and offer to take in displaced refugees," Ursula said.
Grimsby raised a brow at the command.
"Do as your queen tells you," said Eric.
Grimsby's mouth pinched, but he nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."
That's right. Eric was now a king, and she was hisqueen. The Coastal crown had only been waiting for its prince to take a bride before the honorific and the duty passed on to him.
The carriage rocked to a stop. The moment the door swung open, sunlight flooded in, too bright, too harsh. Ursula blinked against it as Grimsby stepped out first, his posture stiff, formal, ever the perfect chamberlain.
Eric followed, his broad frame cutting a striking figure against the morning light. He turned back toward her, extending his hand. When her fingers touched his palm, the sunlight softened, appearing to coalesce around him. Only him.
The moisture in the air was clean here at the castle, waves and sunlight mixing at this elevation to satisfy both her lungs and her gills. Her legs ached from use—from last night as they had wrapped around her husband, as well as the long use of the two limbs in favor of her fin. She had to endure it just a while longer before she could unfurl herself in a tub of warm salt water.
Servants lined the grand courtyard. Courtiers stood just beyond them, watching, waiting, whispering. A sea of eyes raked over her, assessing, calculating.
Ursula reached up, trying to smooth her hair, fix the folds of her gown. She looked like she'd taken a roll in a reef. Because she had. As she looked around, she sawsome uptilted smirks, some lowered brows, and some wide eyes full of wonder.
She leaned toward Eric, lowering her voice. “You didn’t tell me we’d have an audience. I look like a drowned jellyfish washed up on shore.”
“You look like a bride who was well loved by her husband on her wedding night.”
He was right about that. She had been well loved. That was the only word to call what Prince Eric of the Coastlands had done to her body last night. He hadn't used her. He hadn't abused her. He had loved her.
Eric pressed a loving kiss to her lips now. Right there at the gates to his kingdom, where all eyes could see. When he pulled back, he smiled down at her, like a clam showing off the pearl in its belly.
“You're a rare gem, King Eric.”
"I'm your rare gem, my queen."
"That you are. All mine. And I am your queen." Ursula exhaled slowly, straightened her spine, and pulled the regal air she’d been born with around herself like armor.
She had fought for this moment. For this crown, for this title. She was Queen of the Coasts. Not Queen of the Sea, not yet. But she was a queen, nonetheless.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The throne room was suffocating. The heavy stone walls, the banners overhead, the long mahogany table where his council argued endlessly—it all pressed down on Eric like the hull of a sinking ship, cracking plank by plank, flooding faster than he could bail. Duty and expectation rose around him like seawater, threatening to drag him under before he could catch a breath.
