Page 33 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

If my father hid something from his past, what else did he hide? From me? My mother?

Once we're inside the palace, Sarah and I reach our chamber doors. I hesitate, my hand no longer holding hers. She released it the moment we approached the palace. Countless words press against my throat, but none make it free. She read the scroll for me, trusted me, even for just a moment, and let me work through my father’s secrets in my own way. I can't let the moment pass without speaking up.

She shifts slightly, pressing her palms to the smooth surface of the door, ready to slip behind it, but I stop her. I need to be honest.

“Thank you,” I murmur, the words finally finding their place in the quiet between us.

She pauses, then turns to face me fully. There is something in her eyes—uncertainty, maybe, or the soft weight of understanding. Her fingers hover near the edge of the door, listening.

“I typically don't let anyone in,” I admit, my voice calm. “But tonight . . . You accomplished more than you know. And it meant more than I can explain.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, I flick my wrist. My doors open with a swirl of magic, and I disappear behind them.

My bedchamber appears the same. But something feels different. I feel different. Especially after today.

The room’s silence wraps around me as I approach the place I rest—a colossal shell, half-buried in polished coral, its inner surface smooth as pearl and shaped to cradle my form. The open mouth of the shell curves upward like protective arms, shimmering faintly under the glow of the marilume across the ceiling.

I lower myself into it, my limbs unfolding as I sink against the cool, welcoming surface. My serpent tail coils instinctively, but even my awareness of it fades as exhaustion takes hold.

This allows me the ability to breathe. To unravel. To sort through the chaos climbing at the edges of my mind.

The swim to Myrrhallow usually isn't long, but Sarah’s human pace, paired with her sleeping in, left us arriving far later than planned.

When I was young, my father used to say, ‘A king must never bleed where others can see.’

Emotions were weaknesses. A king could have them, yes, but only from a distance. Only with control.

But I do not know if I believe him anymore.

Sarah has to follow me. That much is unavoidable. But I have learned that her curiosity smooths the edges of that truth—that if I let her wonder, let her glimpse just enough, she moves where I lead her. Not out of trust. Not because she wants to. But because knowledge seems to pull her forward more reliably than force ever could.

I have spent my whole life trying to live up to my father’s legacy—to carry the weight of his example, his power, his rules. But now? Now I’m starting to question whether that path was ever mine to truly follow.

He is gone. She is here. And maybe, my trust belongs not to the past I thought I understood, but to the future she is beginning to help me see.

She read the scroll and saw what I could not. She is unraveling truths buried in magic and memory. She is a part of this. Whether I want her to be or not.

And when she touched my hand . . . goddess, help me.

There was something there. A pull. A flicker of something more. She felt it, I know she did. But it was not complete. Like something vital was missing, though I cannot place what it is.

Everything is shifting. My father’s legacy, my kingdom, the past, the future, her. I don't know what piece to hold onto first, the male I was raised to be, or the one I might become.

What I do know? Sarah might just be the reason I step out from my father’s shadow.

Before I can sort through any more of my thoughts, sleep takes me hostage. But it is not my father I dream of. Not of his past, or his legacy.

It is only Sarah who infects the darkest parts of my mind.

Flashes of her presence drift through me—the way the current plays with her hair, her sharp emerald eyes that could lure someone in just to strike them down without mercy.

She is breathtaking. Fierce. Beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with appearance and everything to do with spirit.

And when she finally sees that for herself, I hope I'm still beside her, watching it unfold and sharing it with her, if she will have me.

The usual sounds of the morning wake me. Pearlguards announce the morning shift as their voices echo through the outer walls of the palace, as they salute and report to their chain of command.

I lie still for a moment, eyes fixed on the carved ceiling above my bed, listening as duty hums back to life around me. It is familiar, comforting in a way, reminding me of my childhood years. But today, it grates against the fatigue that still clings to me like salt.