Eric was done with this particular game. The King of the Sea wasn’t a worthy opponent. The man had lost his daughter, who had brought one kingdom to her knees, and his sister, who had the Coastal Kingwrapped around her finger. Triton’s only use to him was his fin.
“Can you swim fast enough to get me to her?”
The next moment, they were diving. The cold rushed over Eric, the shock of it a spear to the lungs. Eric didn’t falter. Didn’t fight it. He let Triton pull him under, let the sea swallow him whole.
They moved fast—faster than any ship, faster than any tide.
The kraken was sinking slowly into the waters when they surfaced. The beast was retreating, but his men were not. Harpoons cut through the water, slicing toward the siren, still singing for their survival.
A harpoon grazed her side, a flash of red blooming in the water, a thin ribbon of blood curling through the sea like ink on parchment.
Eric’s rage exploded. He slammed himself between Ursula and the incoming barrage. His men faltered when they saw him. The harpoons stopped. But his wife wasn't swimming; she was sinking.
A soft gasp escaped his throat. The water around her was tinged crimson. Her song died on her lips as her body drifted down, down, down?—
No.
Eric dove after her. His arms closed around her. Her skin was cool, too cool. Her gills fluttered weakly.
Eric held her close. His heartbeat was a frantic drumagainst her stillness. He kicked toward the surface, pulling her up, up, up?—
They broke through the waves. Eric gasped for air, but his only focus was her. His arms tightened. His hand pressed against her wound, desperate to stop the bleeding.
“Stay with me,” he commanded. He would've sung it. But her eyes closed, and he wasn't sure if she'd heard his song.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Pain. A dull, insistent ache at her side. A fire burning low in her throat.
Ursula's body felt heavy, weighted, as though she'd been buried under a ship. Maybe she had. The last thing she remembered was the kraken sinking and the sailors firing harpoons at her.
Maybe she'd sunk them? Would serve them right. She'd been trying to save the fools. It was her last time trying to save men. She was done being a heroine.
She tried to breathe and felt the cool, familiar rush of saltwater flood her gills. Not just any saltwater. This salt tasted of home.
Panic licked up her spine. Had she failed? Had she been dragged back to the depths, shackled, thrown at Triton’s feet like a trophy of war?
Her fingers twitched. Something soft and warm twined around them. Not chains. Not bonds of imprisonment. A hand.
She knew this grip. The strength in it, the warmth. Even beneath the water, she could feel his pulse. Steady. Unyielding.
Eric.
Ursula blinked, the murk clearing from her vision. Above the surface, moonlight bled silver over the world. She saw the dark outline of a body, his body, slumped on a hard, unforgiving surface. Not sand. Not stone. A pool.
She wasn’t at the bottom of the sea. She was in a saltwater pool. She was inside the castle, in the pool he'd promised to build for her.
She sat up abruptly. The moment she did, Eric’s grip on her tightened. His breath hitched. His head snapped up. Then he was on her. Pulling her into his arms, holding her so tightly it stole what little air she had left in her lungs.
Ursula gasped. Eric's grip loosened instantly. He murmured a curse, pressing his forehead to hers.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
His hands cupped her face, traced the curve of her jaw, brushed over the damp skin of her throat. His fingers drifted lower to the wound at her side. Painflared at his touch, but his hands were so careful, so reverent, that she didn’t pull away.
“Triton said you needed the sea to heal. So I brought it to you.”
Ursula swallowed, throat raw. Her voice was hoarse, rasping, but she had to ask. “Why didn’t you give me to him?”
