Page 37 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

Shit . . . I get brought into a magical undersea kingdom, and instead of properly processing everything happening, I am more focused on how the king looks when he is mad . . . What is wrong with me?

“Your majesty, my apologies, I didn’t—”

Orion holds up his hand, silencing the Captain. I can’t tell if he is more affected by what was in the bottle or by the actions of the creature standing before him.

“And how, exactly, do your apologies retrieve the scrolls, Captain?” Orion doesn’t raise his voice, but the challenge is unmistakable. The irritation threaded through his words hums against my senses. “Zevrin, please escort this Captain and his squad to Drekaris. I don't have time to discuss their blunders. I want them under Reef Review until further notice. Dismissed.”

Without a word, Zevrin nods at Orion and escorts the Deepwatch Captain out of the hall. A slight wave follows suit from the force of the doors closing shut behind them.

“At this time, there is nothing else that needs to be discussed. Given the events that just occurred before we were interrupted, I will oversee that Sarah is trained in her magical abilities, and Zevrin will assist in training her in physical combat. I'm not asking for you to accept her being here. That is not your choice.” His eyes glare in the Duke’s direction.

Shit. What was his name again?

“I do, however, ask that you respect your king and the decisions I make. My father’s magic has now become hers. The magic and Mother Ocean have chosen her, and so have I.”

He descends the dais, and I follow in his wake. All eyes settle on me, and I feel the familiar contradiction return, utterly out of place and yet exactly where I am meant to be.

I stand at the open window of my room, the magical crystals above keeping the water at bay, and watch the guards make their rounds across the kingdom’s grounds below. I’ve been standing here since Orion and I left the Trident Hall.

We didn’t speak as we swam to our quarters. There was just an awkward silence between us. I should’ve asked what was on his mind, but exhaustion wrapped around me like a cloak. My body still ached from the magic, the new, unfamiliar scales spreading across my skin serving as a constant reminder that I was changing. When we reached our rooms, I slipped inside without another word.

Granted, I had tons to think about too . . . a cup of coffee would be great right about now.

I’ve been pushed to my limits before—oxygen deprivation training, dive drills, endless exams, sleepless study sessions. However, I’ve never felt as tested or examined as closely as I was in that room. I approached the situation with the same confidence I would at a fundraiser, speaking with ease about the purpose of the funds. All it took was believing in the magic, and my confidence bloomed, spilling out of me without restraint. Still, I couldn’t shake the sensation of every eye examining me, weighing whether I was strong enough—or expendable.

It’s odd . . . how complete I feel. These powers have become an extension of myself. The magic used to hum quietly in the background, a whisper I could barely hear. But now, it pulses within, alive and waiting. Or maybe it’s been alive, waiting for me to grow with it.

Before, I fought to stay anchored beneath the waves, constantly battling my bodies instinct to drift toward the surface. Now, the magic beneath my skin holds me steady, keeping me perfectly poised in the water.

My entire body shifted after the magic became whole. Iridescent scales cover me from my chest all the way down to my hips, and my dress remains the same below my waist. The scales are uncomfortable against my dry skin, but I can’t help staring. Their colors shift from purple to blue to sea-glass green and light up my chamber like a soft aurora, making it incredibly hard to focus.

When I entered my room earlier, I didn’t know how to get rid of the scales. I've just been gently caressing the scales on my stomach as my body continues to dry.

As the moisture fades, a sharp briny scent rises from my skin, like I've spent hours tangled in kelp from the deepest, darkest areas in the ocean. The longer I stay out of the water—or stay attached to these scales—the more impossible it becomes to ignore.

My exhaustion clouds my thoughts, dragging me toward the bed. I shift my weight, turn, and lower myself—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I freeze, and with a groan, I stand, pull the heavy doors open, and find Orion waiting on the other side.

I stare at him, trying to understand what I'm seeing. This isn't the Orion who dragged me into the ocean. Not the king who spoke with absolute certainty, convinced there was no possibility he could be wrong.

That confidence is missing. His posture is rigid, his expression carefully composed, but something beneath it is fractured. A weight he's carrying that he hasn't allowed himself to put into words. Whatever brought him here has followed him all the way to my door.

I've seen Orion angry. I've seen him arrogant, demanding, and impossible to reason with. But this? This looks like doubt. I don't know what to do with that.

“I know it is late,” he says, voice low, “but may I come in?”

Without waiting for a response, he enters my room. Landing perfectly on his feet . . . not on his face. He's in his human body again, wearing the same pants from the first time we met.

I wonder if those appear with him every time? Or does he have to stash them somewhere whenever he plans on showing up like this?

“Do you do that a lot?” I ask before I can stop myself. The question comes out sharper than I mean—fatigue and his sudden appearance roughening my tone.

“I'm sorry, but you will need to elaborate.” He glances over his shoulder, eyes fixed on me, as I continue to stand at the entrance to the room.

“Do you just barge into a person’s room? Without allowing them a chance to say no? Or do you just expect doors to open for you because of your title?”