Part of Your World (Twisted Tales)(52)

But the mood was wrong, weird. It was upbeat and positive: she had a direction and an ally. He had a quest. Two members of royalty had agreed to right past wrongs.

None of this was romantic.

None of this fell in line with the smell of the briny wind, or the tumult of the clouds, or the breathy, eternal sound of the waves coming in against solid ground.

She took his hand in hers and squeezed.

“Agreed,” she said gently.

Hopefully, there would be time for other things later.





How epic! He was going to help rescue the King of the Sea!

His heart exploded a little each time his thoughts came close to the idea. All his life he wanted to set sail for adventure, and here it was—right here! And it was greater than anything he could dream of, greater than discovering a golden city in the deepest jungles of the lands in the west. The king of the merfolk, cousin to gods, in Eric’s castle…hidden as a polyp in jar.

All right, that part was a little strange.

But mysterious!

And then of course there was the king’s daughter, Ariel.

Who, now that she could speak, said things Eric could not have imagined the old Ariel would have. Yet at the same time she was far more reserved now than she had been on those happy days long ago. She held herself in: proud, stoic, still. There was something both wonderful and sad about that—not unlike the reduced state of the sea king. And…

She was beautiful.

Before, she had been pretty and gorgeous, lively and smiley, all red hair and perfect skin and quick movements. Now her eyes were deeper. He could fall into her face forever and happily drown there, pulled into her depths. There were worlds in her mind that were only just forming before.

“What a damn fool I was,” he muttered, entering the castle. All of this…all of this…could have been averted if he had just gone with his heart instead of his—what? Ears? Ironic, really, when you think about it. A good composer could summon human emotions and transform them into music. A true love would have been able to resist the witch’s spell somehow. He hadn’t listened—to his heart—at all.

“Good evening, My Lord. A perfect night for a walk. One couldn’t ask for better. Can I…” A footman approached him, hands out to take the prince’s jacket.

Eric pushed past him. The smarmy young man wasn’t one of Vanessa’s two despicable manservants, but he wasn’t one of the original staff, either. The prince had no idea when he had turned up. Depressing, since he used to pride himself on personally knowing all the people who worked for him—how their parents were doing, how many children they had…Even if he didn’t know their name days, he made sure that someone did and passed along a little present or extra silver in their wages.

Grimsby appeared like a shadow at his side.

“Yes, we met, we’ll talk later—” Eric began.

“It’s not that,” Grimsby said, keeping pace and not looking at the prince, as if the two were just speaking casually. “The emissary from Ibria was found while you were out…dead. On the unused balcony on the third floor. Causes unclear.”

Eric cursed under his breath.

“Poor fellow. Not the worst sort, for a known spy.”

“Absolutely regrettable. But it’s a dangerous occupation, sir.”

Then the prince considered the situation more deeply, and the possibilities it presented him.

“Er, it’s in rather poor taste, I know, but I could use the distraction right now to follow up on something…privately. If you would make sure Princess Vanessa directs the inquiry until I officially take part, that would be extremely helpful.”

“Princess Vanessa direct…?” Grimsby said, eyes widening.

“I need her attention elsewhere,” Eric said, giving him a look.

“Ah. Very good, sir. At once.”

Like a well-trained military horse, Grimsby peeled away, intent upon his mission.

Eric felt his shoulders relax. He could depend on the butler with his life. And now he could devote himself to his own task without worry. For tonight, at least.

Now, where would Vanessa hide the King of the Sea?

Eric wondered for a crazy moment if he could somehow get Max to help him, to sniff out the merman. Or if he could convince one of Ariel’s seagull friends to help. He glanced out a window, but there were far fewer birds in the sky now that it was dark, and those gliding were utterly uninterested in the castle and its inhabitants. He redoubled his steps to Vanessa’s room, urged to speed by the ending of the day.

He did pause for a moment at her doorway, readying himself as if for a plunge into cold water.

Dear God, what a tacky mess.

First he went to her shelf of trinkets, picking up goblets and statues and what looked very much like reliquaries but really couldn’t be, because that would be too much, even for her, right? In his zeal he forgot to be careful; suddenly he realized in a panic that he hadn’t remembered exactly where each thing sat or how it was turned. He was behaving like a reckless idiot.

He made himself stop, took a deep breath, and began again. If worst came to worst, he could claim he lost a medal or recognized one of her treasures from a book and wanted to see it close up. It never even occurred to him to blame his mess on a maid.

But he found nothing.

“Gewgaws and gimmicks aplenty,” he swore. “Devices and doodads galore—what the heck is she doing with all this?”