Chapter Text
Siren barely remembers anything from that night.
The words attempted murder feel slack on his tongue, and Skiff’s brow is dark with worry when he explains the situation. Siren doesn’t usually sleep with guards outside his door, but he can’t help but be thankful for them tonight.
They’re all shaken by the day’s events—horrifyingly public. A crowd gathered to watch; Susca’s imposing, heartbroken presence as she raised the spear, Kappa watching in blank horror, Siren’s desperate scream.
Siren doesn’t even register the pain on his back at first. All he can feel is Kappa clutching his shoulders, trembling but safe, and a momentary rush of relief courses through him.
He looks away from the queen, gut twisting with grief and hurt as he listens to his mother cry out, begging for his salvation. Distantly, he thinks of Jenga blocks, a precarious tower, collapsing under its own weight.
Kappa is curled small in his grip, clutching at his arm in shock, little wisps of his blood coming off in the water. They’re both frozen, uncertain in the sudden absence of absolute catastrophe, and looking below to the mass of confused, agitated people, Siren realizes that he’s the only one here on Kappa’s side, the only familiar face the Beacon knows on this side of the sea.
“Let’s go,” he says, gritting his teeth against the pain. Kappa scooches closer to him, anxious breaths coming quick and shallow.
“Siren, you need—your back…”
“Keep calm,” Siren murmurs, squeezing him tighter to his chest, unsure if the gesture is meant to comfort Kappa or himself.
“Trying,” Kappa whispers, shivery and panicked on his behalf.
They're escorted to the den for first-aid, a throng of people following them nervously. Siren’s really been here before, never had a serious injury. Kappa sits with him in silence, hands kept close to his body, half-paralyzed. He doesn’t move until the healers wrap Siren’s injury and help stabilize him as he sits.
“Prince,” one of them starts, concerned, “you should probably rest here for the night.”
Siren shakes his head kindly. “Thank you—both of you—so much, but I’d prefer the privacy of my own quarters tonight.”
They give him a large swath of extra bandages and salve, but they don’t stop him like Siren had feared. The water feels heavy, colder than the usual drafts of the castle, and he brings Kappa to his room, because he doesn’t think either of them will be able to sleep without the other within sight, within reach.
They had climbed onto Siren’s bed without a word, crowding together even though there’s plenty of space. Siren, per doctor’s instruction, rests on his stomach, head turned to one side as he watches Kappa, who stares at the ceiling.
“I’m scared,” Kappa says, quiet but unwavering, as if he can feel Siren’ eyes on him.
Siren bites his lip. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Kappa cuts his gaze over, face cast in shadowy blues. “It’s not you.”
Siren doesn’t have anything to say to that, not in this private space with just a few inches between them, so he links their pinkies and hopes that it’s enough. After a moment, Kappa settles his head sideways on Siren’s shoulder, hair drifting under his chin. Their tails brush gently.
In the morning, responsibility will come to collect them and things will be real, but right now they just lay beside each other in this untethered in-between time. Even with Kappa tucked against his side, Siren drifts off slowly, wishing he could forget the way his mother’s face fell apart when he faltered under her spear.
Siren wakes, not to the usual morning knock on his door or his mother’s greeting, but to a flailing hand that lands just shy of his nose. He jolts awake, blinking wildly, only to see Kappa twitching next to him, clearly asleep.
Oh, he thinks, taking note of the way Kappa fully lists into him, his fin pressed between them, fluttering and translucent. Siren’s own arm is thrown lightly over his waist, and he thinks fuzzily that he hasn’t felt this warm in ages.
“Kappa?”
He’s not exactly sure what to do. He hasn’t slept alongside someone since childhood, when he still curled into the edge of his parents’ bed. This is different though, and Siren isn’t sure if it’s because it’s unfamiliar or because it’s Kappa that his heart is fluttering nervously beneath his ribcage.
His rambling thoughts are interrupted by Skiff, who bursts into the room, urgency stitched in his words and resolve tightening his spine.
“Prince!” Skiff stops short when he sees them, tangled up in each other like teenagers. He looks away quickly and Siren feels his face go hot as he ducks his head. “Oh, um. Sorry, I can come back.”
“No,” Siren says awkwardly, carefully extracting himself from Kappa, who stirs slightly. He has to be gracious. He has to be an adult. “What is it?”
Skiff turns to face him, face set, and Siren feels something settle in his stomach, the embarrassment going cold in the weight of Skiff’s gaze. “You need to address the people. Siren, you’re our leader now.”
The guards had given them some space, apparently trusting Kappa to contain Siren’s inevitable panic.
“An hour. I’m supposed to give a speech in an hour,” Siren drags a hand down his face. “What am I going to say?”
“I didn’t know you were this dramatic,” Kappa says, perched on a nearby ledge.
“I think I’m entitled to some theatrics,” Siren mutters, pacing. “I’m supposed to be the head of our entire castle now, and I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Yeah,” Kappa gets up, stretching easily. “But they don’t know that.”
“What?”
“I’ve always admired your confidence,” Kappa admits, a little shyly. “Even if you don’t know what you’re doing, you always try and do the right thing. You have so much faith in other people.” He’s close now, eyes shining as he looks up at Siren. “I think it’s fair to say that they have faith in you too.”
Siren stares at him dumbly. “Oh.”
Kappa reaches up, hands ghosting over Siren’s head as he fixes a stray strand of hair. “You need to look put together if you want to impress them, though.”
“Right,” Siren says abruptly, feeling his cheeks go pink. “Yes. Impressing them.”
“Yeah. Are you okay?”
“Of course.” Siren shakes himself, letting the cool water steal the blush from his face. His people are counting on him. “You’re right, I can do this. Now, let’s see, for a speech…”
Siren peeks miserably around the corner at the assemblage of sharks, a quiet murmur among them as they wait for answers. They look a mix of worried and apprehensive, and the water itches his skin, contagion catching. As soon as he swims out before them, they’ll be expecting something, probably hoping for good news, and… well. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can,” Kappa whispers, squeezing his hand.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve got this, Siren.” Kappa nudges him forward gently, and he yields to the light touch, drifting reluctantly towards the cavern.
“I’ll find you, after,” he promises, and waits to see Kappa nod before taking a deep breath and swimming out into open water.
He can feel the hundreds of eyes on him as he takes his place before them and raises a hand for silence, just as he’s seen his mother do time and time before. A hush falls over the crowd, and Siren feels a numb sort of regality as he pulls himself up to his full height, even with the bandage wrapped tightly over his back. Here we go.
“I know last night was upsetting, and confusing, for many of you. Recently, I have been made aware of some things that I think all of you deserve to know.”
“Firstly, Queen Susca, my mother, has been temporarily removed from her position by the Elders.” A murmur of dissent rolls through the sharks, and Siren clears his throat, trying to keep his authority from slipping out beneath him. His voice is holding steady, but his words have to be strong too.
“You all know the prophecy; that, one day, I would kill the Beacon and save our people. That prophecy is wrong.” Siren takes a breath, eyes darting around the crowd, gaging their reactions. Most have wide eyes, some with clasped hands, all of them waiting for him to speak.
“The Beacon is not destined to die, and anyone who wants to threaten him,” Siren narrows his eyes, gaze sweeping over the crowd, “needs to talk to me.”
“My mother, for her own selfish reasons, changed the prophecy. She lied for years, to me, and to all of you.” Siren shuts his mouth before he can say anything more. Exhales. It’s time to own up to everything. “The true prophecy states that I will die at the Beacon’s hands. I only learned this yesterday.”
This time, the crowd lets out a little gasp, shifting as a whole as they whisper to themselves, shocked. Siren watches them stoically. “That said—no one is being killed, because we are not murderers. I will be stepping up and doing my best to sort out the situation, with the help of our Council.”
The finality of that statement reverberates through the hall, and Siren is suddenly floundering, nothing left to say. He swishes his tail, head pulsing with nerves, and tries not to wince under their eyes. Even the rocks feel like they’re judging him. “Uh, are there any questions?”
A brave voice stirs in the back, hidden in the mass of blue. “What will happen to the Queen?”
“Don’t worry, everything is under control,” Siren responds stiffly. A non-answer. Selkie had stressed the importance of popular support and truth in a leader before she pushed him out here, instructions Siren had barely heard in his anxious daze, but he knows that their people need to feel safe. Despite Susca’s deceptive actions, she was masterful and tasteful in her confidence, a pillar of strength that their community came to rely on. Siren wishes he had that kind of charisma.
He bows awkwardly in the following bout of silence, taking his cue to exit. “Thank you.”
He tries not to swim off too fast, but he can’t help but flee when he hears a small, young voice start shouting after him: SI-REN! SI-REN! SI-REN! One of the pups, probably. It keeps going, a thin chant, and to his surprise more voices gradually join in, the sound growing deeper and bigger.
Siren’s skin prickles, uncertain. He’s heard praise before, of course, but this is different; it’s his actions, his own legacy that they’re cheering for. That more than anything else sends a small thrill up his spine as he draws his hands into fists and ducks into a gold-lit alcove at the back of the castle, torn between pride and guilt.
“They’re chanting your name.” Kappa smiles up at him.
“Yeah,” Siren swallows.
“That was a good speech.”
“Are you sure? What’s going to happen now?” Siren rakes a hand through his hair, coarse and spiky. “I don’t really have a plan.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Kappa says, without hesitation. “And I’ll help you.”
Kappa’s smile is hopeful dialed towards determined, and Siren can’t help the corners of his mouth turning up. He’s undeserving of this—this unwavering trust, this exuberant loyalty—and yet it comes freely, even from the most impossible places.
“Thanks, Kappa.”