He would do well to remember that. He might be prepared to betray her, but he could not break the vows he’d made. She was his queen, even if he no longer wanted her to be his.
Still, his silence was a knife in her gut.
Grimsby, ever the cautious voice of reason, cleared his throat. His lined face was dark with suspicion as he spoke. “How do we know you did not use your siren’s song to bend his will?”
Ursula’s nails curled into her palms, but she did not waver. Instead, she stepped forward, placing herself fully in the center of the room, under the weight ofevery skeptical gaze. “A siren's song will not work on her true love.”
The words dropped like a stone into the silence. A charged, breathless moment passed. And then, slowly—too slowly—every gaze turned to Eric.
He was standing at the window, staring out at the restless sea. His broad shoulders were rigid, tension rippling through his stance. The man who had placed himself in front of a blade only moments ago, who had kissed her breathless in the bath only last night, who had pulled her into his arms and whispered that nothing could make him take back his vows—he was silent now.
That silly part of her that refused to die demanded that he say something. But Eric remained still, his gaze locked on the waves. A storm was brewing on the horizon.
Ursula had no time for silliness. She had no time for stillness. She had no time for silence.
She turned on her heel, snapping her gaze to Prince Phillip first. “I apologize for my niece’s actions. She's a stupid girl, and I've punished her and Princess Aurora with exile from all three of our kingdoms."
"You have no right," Sebastian shouted.
"Do not raise your voice to my wife."
Eric's voice was quiet in the room, but the sound of his command reverberated against every one of thefour walls and up to the ceiling. His words, spoken low and even, cracked through the chaos like a thunderclap. It echoed, not off stone and plaster, but down through bone and blood. It was as silent as a great wave, the brief and terrifying calm before it crashed down again.
Sebastian flinched and lowered his claws. He pinched his mouth shut.
Eric might have claimed her as his, but he wasn't reaching for her hand. He wasn't giving her his ear. He also wasn't denouncing her. So maybe… Maybe?
But first, she had another mess to make right. Ursula spun toward Grimsby. “The ocean liner that's behind schedule, we need to send out a gull out to them immediately. Tell them to switch course—there are pirates waiting in the waters for their return.”
“And how do you know this?” Grimsby's usual cautious, hawkish expression darkened further with suspicion.
“Do as she says.” Eric spoke again, in that quiet thunderclap that crashed over all of them. It was not a request. It was an order laced with the kind of authority that could not be questioned.
Grimsby swallowed his next words, nodded stiffly, and turned on his heel.
Phillip gave one last look at Ursula before wisely following Grimsby out the door. Then the others—the guards, the advisors, the lingering councilmen who hadno business being there but wanted to gawk at the spectacle—filed out after them.
The last to leave was Sebastian. The crab gave Ursula a look that said this wasn't over. She knew he would go cawing to the sea king. Ursula would be ready when her brother came to face her.
At last, she and Eric were alone. He stood motionless, his back still to her, facing the window and the vast stretch of sea rolling beneath the sky. The set of his shoulders was stiff, his muscles coiled like a storm battering a ship’s mast.
Ursula decided to break the silence. "I told you I was keeping secrets."
"You were keepingyoufrom me."
"I lied about my name. But I gave you all of me."
"Because you wanted me to steal you a throne."
"You gave meyourthrone."
He laughed at that. Not the warm, low rumble she’d once felt against her skin like a tide rising to meet her. This laugh was different—sharp, dry, stripped of affection. It cut through the space between them like fishing wire: thin, nearly invisible, but merciless all the same.
For the first time in her life, Ursula felt the ache of regret bloom behind her ribs. She had lied before. Lied to kings, to merchants, to monsters. She’d worn deception like armor. But she had never hated herself for it. And she wouldn't start now.
"You should be thanking me for saving you from her. Ariel is a spoiled, selfish brat. She would have made you miserable."
"My heroine."
