"In recognition of the longstanding alliance between the Pendragons and the East and the memory of the late ConquererAlexander The great, it is proposal that when The Crown Prince Callisto Pendragon becomes of age, he is to be betrothed to the eldest daughter of King Iskander of the East, signed and approved by our late King Gilgamesh is now in effect." The measured voice of Lord Phoiane as he read from the scroll in his hand.
The room was filled with murmurs, sharp intakes of breath, and the shuffling of fine robes.
Callisto sat at his mother's right hand, his jaw tight, his white-gloved hands resting on the table like marble.
He had known this was coming. But hearing it aloud made it real.
Across from him, Artizea's lips were pressed into a thin line, her crimson eyes flickering with an unreadable expression. "there was also a comprimise, that it would his chocie, if he did not love her, it would not be."
Rhysand, seated at her side, gave a slow exhale, his fingers tapping against the wood."You're young, Cal. Here's still time."
Artizea murmured, her voice low and meant only for her son.
But Calisto shook his head, his voice clipped. "It's my duty, Mother."
Rhysand gave him a long look, his gaze filled with something between pride and pity, then to his wife." Love will find him—most likely when he least expects it, I'm sure of it," he said softly to Artizea.
She sighed and straightened her spine. "Lord Phoiane, extend the invitation to King Iskander and his family. We shall host them for dinner."
No one knew why Elizabeth Pendragon often visited the cliffs.
Not her cousins.
Not her mother.
Certainly not her father.
The excuse was always the same—fresh air, needed space, watching the horizon.
But what she never said aloud was this:
The sea called to her.
Not like a siren.
Like a memory.
And today, like so many days before, she left the cottage barefoot, climbing down the worn path carved into the cliffside, past thorn brush and pale moss, until she reached the shore—untouched, secluded, where the tide met black rock like a secret handshake.
She sat in the small reading alcove of her cliffside cottage, the light of the lantern catching on the gold trim of old Pendragon records.
She had stolen—borrowed—them from the palace archives last week.
Now they lay open, weighty with truth.
"During the retrieval of Excalibur, the Sea King bent the knee to Gilgamesh of Uruk. It was then by royal decree, all merman-kind were henceforth forbidden from trespassing into Pendragon waters…"
She exhaled.
She would know. She had been there, a child holding her father's hand, when the sea king had risen from his debts. Bowing before her grandfather, The Late great king Gilgamesh.
"I miss you, grandfather," she whispered, tracing the edge of the page.
The waves outside whispered, as if answering. And then—A splash echoed across the stone.
She turned, looking around once. Then slipped off her cloak and dove. Swimming past the reef, the barnacled stones and kelp beds, until she reached the hidden cave carved into the stone like a mouth. She surfaced inside, exhaling slowly, wiping the sea from her eyes.
This place—this cave—was hers.
And his.
The water rippled.
She turned toward the center of the pool… but nothing was there.
Silence.
Then—
Arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
She gasped, spinning—and met his eyes.
Her merman.
His dark hair clung to his sharp cheekbones, damp and gleaming.
His torso shimmered under the silver light filtering through cracks in the ceiling, and his tail—that luminous, opalescent tail—glistened beneath the surface like liquid moonstone.
" Princess," he purred.
"You're early," she whispered, and threw herself into his arms.
"You're overdressed," he countered.
She laughed—and then let him pull her in.
The water was cold at first, then perfect. She held tight to him as they dove, the sea folding around them like silk.
He twisted through the depths with ease, guiding her with strong arms as they passed reefs glowing with blue coral, schools of golden fish parting to let them through.
And then—
He stopped. Gestured to him.
He lifted her chin and kissed her; their lips pulsed faintly with blue light.
"Breathe," he mouthed.
She did.
The pressure in her chest vanished.
She gasped—no pain. No drowning. Just water and magic, and him.
He twirled her once, their laughter silent beneath the surface.
It was perfect. Completely Illegal. But perfect.
Back in the cave, they collapsed into each other—wet hair clinging, her legs dangling in the pool, his tail lazily shifting beside her.
In that moment, he transformed—magic rippling over his body like heat.
Fins folded into legs, scales faded into skin. He groaned slightly, stretching his limbs.
" I hate shifting on an empty stomach," he muttered, wincing playfully.
She kissed him before he could complain further—arms locking around his neck, the taste of sea salt and laughter between them.
It had been one year.
One year since they first met on this very shore, under a moon that watched them like it knew they were never meant to be, but didn't care.
"Happy anniversary," she breathed against his mouth.
"You remembered?"
"Of course, I remembered. I nearly drowned for it."
He chuckled low in his throat, pressing his forehead to hers.
"You make drowning sound like a love song."
" Might as well have been "
A necklace.
A Silver chain. Soft blue crystal. The kind of blue that shifted under the light, like water itself had been trapped inside.
He held it out to her.
"For you."
She blinked. "What is it?"
He lifted the crystal between his fingers. It pulsed faintly with a gentle warmth.
"It's part of a set," he said softly.
He pulled his necklace from beneath his collar. A twin crystal—slightly dimmer, but still glowing with the same quiet magic.
"This way," he continued, brushing her hair behind her ear, "I'll always know where to find you. And you and me. Even if the world tries to keep us apart."
Elizabeth stared at him, throat tight.
She whispered. "It's beautiful."
She looked down at the pendant resting in her hand, and then back up at him.
He smiled. "Happy anniversary, Lizzie."
Her smile bloomed like a dawnlit flower.
"Happy anniversary," she echoed.
And then—without a word—she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
The water around them shimmered as if the sea itself had sighed.
The cave echoed with the sound of laughter, of waves lapping the stone, and two hearts beating louder than tradition could silence.