Prince Eric sat behind his father’s desk, the heavy mahogany stretching wide before him, its surface polished to a gleam beneath the glow of candlelight. The scent of ink, old paper, and briny sea air seeped through the cracks of the tall windows, mixing with the tension tightening his chest. The wood chair beneathhim was carved and aged, refusing even the smallest comfort. His father had once sat here on a pile of plush cushions. Eric had done away with them the day he first assumed his place at the desk, choosing instead to feel the raw edge of power against his spine. The weight of the crown didn't need softening. This was a hard job. It should feel hard.
His fingers curled around the edge of the latest financial ledger, his thumb brushing over the embossed royal crest. Fewer shipwrecks this year. Fewer men lost. The numbers reflected it—the kingdom’s trade had stabilized, thanks to his efforts.
Thanks, he thought begrudgingly, to King Triton and the trade deal that his father had struck some five years ago. It was a trade deal that Eric would have to pay for. And the bill was coming due soon.
Eric stared at the small velvet box perched at the edge of his desk. Its presence gnawed at his focus, a quiet sentinel of obligation. He reached for it and flipped the lid open. Inside lay a pearl ring—simple, elegant, and impossibly heavy with meaning. The ring had been his mother’s. She’d pressed it into his hand on one of her last lucid days. Her brown fingers had somehow looked pale as they flexed around the box, but her voice remained sharp.
“She'll need this.”
Eric didn’t doubt that Queen Selina had knownabout the deal his father and the Sea King had struck. Some days, Eric suspected his mother had arranged it herself. She’d always been the managing sort, adept at maneuvering people like chess pieces—especially his father. She had curbed his worst indulgences with little more than a lifted brow and a clipped word: his womanizing, his gluttony, the gambling that had once risked half the Coastal fleet. Since her death, the man had fallen apart like a once-great ship left to rot at the dock. It was Eric who’d been left to gather the splinters.
Eric exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through the short crop of curls on his head. The alliance had been a hard-won battle of negotiations after the kraken's unexpected appearance had nearly decimated the talks before they even began. But the agreement was working.
The Inland and Coastal Kingdoms, once tenuous neighbors, had grown closer under the banner of shared threat. Eric’s father and the Inland King had sealed their mutual interests with a pact of arms, joining forces against the troll invasion festering at the mountain borders.
The Frost Kingdom, ever aloof in its icy perch, had remained neutral—neither pledging troops nor threatening to withdraw from the coalition. Their silence came with its own kind of power. Neutrality from the Frost Matriarchs was a kind of consent. It kept the linesof communication open, should they be needed in future disputes.
The Sea King, and later his son, had honored their word, keeping monsters from the depths at bay, ensuring trade ships safe passage through the routes they had agreed upon—so long as seamen stayed within their lanes. And so long as the Coastal Prince kept his part of the bargain with the Sea King's daughter.
Eric shut the ring box and returned his attention to the ledgers. One particular entry caught his attention. He ran his eyes over the shipments expected over the next few days, then circled back to one route that should not exist. A single ship, an ocean liner, scheduled to leave today and return in two days’ time. By the size of the ship as well as its departure date, it should not be back so soon.
A mistake? Or something worse? A knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The door creaked open, and Grimsby stepped inside. The older man was tall and wiry, all lean efficiency with no wasted movement. The Coastal Kingdom's chamberlain was a man who had trimmed himself down to the essentials, just as he did with everything else in life. His sharp, hawk-like features were carved from discipline, his dark coat perfectly pressed, not a wrinkle or unnecessary embellishmentin sight. Unlike the king he served—who draped himself in rich velvets, gilded buttons, and rings that weighed down his fingers—Grimsby was a man of restraint.
Even his voice, when he spoke, was measured, pared down to its most necessary words. “You sent for me, Your Highness?”
He had sent for the chamberlain on another matter, but the one on the desk before him pressed firmer. If anyone had known about this unauthorized shipment's route, it was Grimsby. Eric pushed the ledger across the desk.
Grimsby adjusted his spectacles before peering at the document. A pause. The candlelight flickered, throwing deep lines across the older man’s face. “Ah.”
Eric’s hands flattened against the desk. “Ah?”
Grimsby sighed, shoulders lowering with the weight of something he didn’t want to say. “The king approved this shipment personally.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I had no choice, YourHighness. It was an order from HisMajesty,the king.”
Eric heard the comparison loud and clear. The words sent cold irritation spiraling through his ribs. It was a reminder of what he had not yet become. What he could not become—not until his marriage was sealed, until the promises made by his parents and theSea King were fulfilled, until he was a husband first and a ruler second.
He didn’t want to think about that. Not about the arranged marriage looming before him, a union built on duty, not desire. Not about the fact that he had never met Ariel, the mermaid princess who was the cost of his throne.
Instead, he focused on the immediate threat. This ocean liner would be carrying a season's worth of grain in its belly when it returned. It had left with a third of the gold from the kingdom's coffers to trade with Highlanders of the Northern Seas. If that shipment sank on its way out or on its way back, the coastal people would suffer a harsh few seasons. They might not recover. Worse, if Triton saw the taking of this route as a violation of their agreement, it could cost them more than gold. Eric couldn’t let that happen.
"If you'd like, I can send a gull to the captain. They can't be so far out yet that a message can't reach them."
“I’ll go myself,” Eric said, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair.
“Go?”
“To the docks.” Eric was already moving. “I'll take a cutter and intercept before it gets out into open waters and takes that route.”
Grimsby followed him to the door, quick and composed despite his visible disapproval. “You must beback in time to receive Princess Ariel,” he warned. “If the Sea King believes you are indifferent to this union?—”
“I know what’s at stake.”
