And yet.
Her feet moved before her mind caught up, propelling her toward the edge of the cliff. Damn it all. She had a kingdom to reclaim, a throne to seize. But first—she had a heist to ruin.
Ursula’s bare feet whispered over the rocks. She reached the end of the cliff and launched herself into the air, the sea rising up to meet her like a dark lover. The surface broke around her with a quiet roar—then silence. Everything else fell away as the water swallowed her whole.
Her body shifted the moment she hit the depths. Her legs fused, muscles tightening, bones realigning. Silken skin shimmered, split by iridescent scales that rippled from her hips to her toes. Her tail unfurled with a snap of motion, sleek and strong, more weapon than limb.
The transformation burned, but the ache was familiar—welcome, even. She exhaled through her gills,bubbles curling past her shoulders, and then she moved. Faster than a current. Faster than thought.
The cold water kissed her skin, rushing past her in silver sheets. Her hair streamed behind her like red smoke. Her eyes narrowed as the coral reef loomed ahead—jagged teeth in the dark, and somewhere behind them, the massive shadow of the ocean liner, lumbering right toward the trap she’d helped set.
Up ahead, the familiar slither of twin shadows caught her eye. Flotsam and Jetsam moved as they always did, creeping low along the murky places in the water. Their voices slid through the mist like oil on water—laughing, conspiring, hungry.
She didn’t slow. Didn’t call out. She didn’t need to. They would feel her in the water soon enough.
“Ursula,” Flotsam hissed, his grin stretching wide, too many teeth behind too little warmth. “Where have you been?”
Jetsam coiled out of a reef crevice beside him, his voice slick as oil. “Word is you seduced the prince. Slipped into the castle like a siren in silk. Tell us, love. How many baubles did you get out of him? A crown? A key to the treasury?”
She said nothing. Because they weren’t wrong. That had been the plan once. Sneak into the kingdom. Win the prince. Bleed the Coastal Crown dry and return to the sea draped in stolen silk and power.
But then she thought of Eric standing on the docks, salt in his hair and worry in his eyes. Of his hands cupping her jaw as he’d whispered his vows—rough and trembling, like he meant them. She remembered the way he’d nearly drowned after saving his crewmen. No one had bothered to save him. Except her.
And when she needed him most, he had turned his back on her.
Well, she had been the one to turn her back on him. But he hadn't chased after her.
He'd said he was going to fix the mess she'd made. He probably was. But his way wouldn't work because her initial plan was too good.
Already there were hungry sea creatures gathering in the path of the liner. Sharks and scavengers slunk through the dark, drawn to the sight of a soon-to-be helpless ship. Just like the land folk on the docks, the sea folk in the reef were desperate for scraps.
At least Eric was trying to do something to help his people. Meanwhile, brother dearest and his court kept all the kelp to themselves. The sea folk deserved more than scraps from Triton's tables. But the land-dwellers deserved more as well.
The common sailors, the merchants who worked tirelessly, the fishmongers struggling to make ends meet. Not all humans were villains. Just as not all sea folk were innocent.
And the kraken—it was just another pawn, another beast being manipulated for power, just as she had been.
For too many years, Ursula hadn't played sides. She'd only played for herself. Today she was going to shake all the game pieces up. She was going to do away with the board itself.
“You want to tear that ship apart? Raid what little the humans have? Then what?” she asked, her eyes sweeping the gathering. “The humans will retaliate. The treaty will shatter. The sea will become a war zone.”
A rumble of discontent rippled through the predators and scavengers. Jetsam hissed beneath his breath. Flotsam stayed still, his gaze narrowing on her.
Ursula was no longer a pirate. Nor a castoff princess. She was Queen of the Coastlands.
“We do not have to be scavengers. I have the Coastal King’s ear. He’s a fair man. He listens."
That was the truth. Eric had listened to her. He'd even taken her advice and gave her the credit. He might be angry with her now, but he would listen.
"I have helped you raid. I have lined your pockets with stolen goods. And yet we have always had to keep coming back for more. There's another way. A way where you will no longer have to scrape by. Who's with me?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The wind tasted of brine and anticipation. Eric stood at the edge of the dock, spyglass pressed to one eye, the sun glinting off the brass casing. The salty air stung his throat as he adjusted the focus, his jaw tightening when the image sharpened.
It was just as the gull's note had foretold. The ocean liner—massive, regal—was sailing the wrong way. Through the wrong channel. The waters ahead of it looked deceptively calm, too calm, like a sleeping beast that hadn’t yet stirred.
Behind him, boots scraped against planks. “Your Majesty?” came the gravelly voice of Captain Hawthorne, his uniform crisp, his expression drawn taut as a bowstring. “What are your orders?”
