Part of Your World (Twisted Tales)(39)

Why did he know that those two who hurried by him now, the ones in red jackets from Eseron, were there to discuss a potential alliance, allowing Tirulia to trade up through the northwest in case their land grab directly north failed?

For how many years had he been under the spell? Five? Six?

Air. He needed air. Sweet sea air.

The prince stumbled through the halls, desperately trying to undo his buttons, trying not to knock into anyone. Everyone. He ripped off the jacket and threw himself onto the first balcony he could find.

The sunshine and brisk, stinging breeze from the ocean had an immediately salutary effect. He took big gulps, leaning against the railing. When he closed his eyes he could imagine he was on a ship, surrounded by the water and gulls and a sail snapping in the wind.

When he opened his eyes he could see the gulls and the sea…but all that snapped were the banners flying above his castle.

And these banners no longer sported the beautiful Tirulian sailing ship that Eric had loved since infancy; now they were imprinted with a terrible, grasping octopus thing.

While his wi—the princess had been ordering munitions and seizing land and preparing invasions and changing their flag and who knows what else, he had done…what? Nothing. He hadn’t put up a fight at all when Vanessa took over the day-to-day tasks of ruling. He had merely…grown bored, hanging around the castle with no responsibilities. And his ocean jaunts were strictly limited now; Vanessa didn’t like him risking his life at sea. Or, perhaps, venturing out of the radius of the spell or hypnosis or whatever it was.

So he had begun to try his hand at real composition. Little movements, tiny concertos, even a ballad here and there. And all of Tirulia loved it—all of Tirulia encouraged him, even Vanessa. And thus he found a role and a purpose again: the Mad Prince, glamoured and dreamy, who wrote music while his wife ruled.

He found himself looking at funny spots in the sea, brown and black just under the water. Seals? Or mermaids?

He thought about Ariel. Really thought about her, for the first time in years. With the added insight of clear memory: the old ocean god hurling lightning, Vanessa hurling insults and waving a contract. The polyp. The sad, voiceless mermaid swimming away.

If Eric had just listened to his heart and not someone else’s singing, none of this would have happened.

He had fallen in love with the voiceless red-haired girl. He was just too stupid and obstinate to recognize it. He loved everything about her. Her smile, the way she moved, the way she took delight in everything around her. She was impulsive, unmannered, willing to get dirty, a little strange, and extremely hands-on. And beautiful. So different from all the princesses and ladies his parents had introduced him to.

If he had just married her, he would be…married to that girl. Who was a mermaid.

He blinked at the thought. Imagine that! He, Eric, who always loved the sea, could have married a child of the sea.

Would she have stayed human? Would she have eventually returned to the water, leaving him heartbroken? That happened in a lot of fairy tales. Sometimes after having a child.

Would their children have tails?

And what about his father-in-law? Imagine having him in the family, a mighty king of the sea!

He could have had all the adventure a prince could ever want just by staying home….

His thoughts slowly turned course, souring a little.

But if Ariel was a mermaid, what was Vanessa? Pretty and ostensibly human…But then again, Ariel had looked just like a human, too.

Eric couldn’t remember Vanessa looking any different. His princess had just appeared, walking on the beach. And then she met Eric…and sang…and married him…and then…all was grey.

He was like a fairy tale creature come out of a long sleep to find everything changed, moved on without him—despite being awake the whole time.

The door to the balcony opened but Eric didn’t bother looking around: he knew from the way it was carefully, precisely manipulated that it was Grimsby.

“Master Eric, are you feeling all right?” he asked, his tone absolutely neutral.

“Grimsby, what is that ship they are building there?” Eric asked, pointing toward town. The dry docks, which he often liked to watch from his spyglass if he couldn’t get down there himself, were a strange mass of activity, like ants where you don’t expect them. It was the peak of summer fishing; all energies should have been bent on catching summer flounder. Only after they been dried and salted properly, only after the autumnal equinox and harvest festival, should the town go back to the business of repairing nets and building ships…before the winter flounder and cod fishing seasons began.

“That is the Octoria, the first of three warships commissioned for the glory of Tirulia.” Grimsby said it delicately, as if he had wished to clear his throat before answering but didn’t get the chance. He busied himself with pulling out his pipe and preparing the bowl, possibly to give his hands something to do.

“I approved this?”

“You signed the order, Prince Eric, but I believe it was Princess Vanessa and her advisers who originated the plan and wrote up the decree.” The butler frowned at his pipe, then went to tap it on the balcony and empty the old ash out into the water.

“Don’t,” Eric said distractedly, putting a hand out to stop him. “People live down there, you know.”

Grimsby’s eyes widened in concern, but he decanted the pipe onto the balcony floor instead, sweeping the ash into a corner with his foot.