Chapter Text
Book I: Once upon a time at the bottom of the sea
Laboratory journal note 342:
Yesterday I went again to the ship wreckage I’d found around a month ago (note 312). That was my third visit there. Only today I got a chance to properly inspect the samples that I’d found inside it and transcribe the results.
The room that I visited inside the wreckage must have belonged to someone important. It was bigger than the others and decorated with carvings. There I found three new artifacts that I haven’t seen before: a locket like thing with a reflecting surface (img 24), a firm sharp stick, that looks like a tiny sword made from metal (img 25), and a metal hollow cylinder the size of my palm, with a solid bottom, and metal handle (img 26).
The locket looks like jewelry that a poor merperson, who can't afford beads, might wear. The only puzzle is a reflective surface inside it. It’s similar to our wall mirrors but much smaller. Do humans need small mirrors? Does it have religious meaning? Maybe in their more primitive culture, they think reflection is a deity? Or might it have a more sophisticated purpose?
The tiny sword confirms the books I read and the human skulls I found — if humans indeed don’t have fangs and claws they might use small swords to do everyday activities, or use it for hunting.
The third new object, the cylinder is a complete mystery for me. It doesn’t seem to do anything. It’s hollow inside, and they made it from a precious material like metal but softer.
Our poor understanding of humans upsets me deeply. How much more don’t we know about them? It could be a peculiar storage item, but it doesn't look practical. Or is it an offensive weapon? Magical artifact? Or a decoration?
Other than that I found a chest full of the same small soft metal discs, which I saw many times before (note 15, 36, 89, 105, 238). I am still under the assumption that humans use it as currency, instead of pearls, although I don’t have any proof.
Armitage put away his working journal and his writing stick. The scrapes needed to stick to the spongy surface before it’d be safe to hide it inside the walls. He knew that, but the time was running out. He would have hurry up and started preparing if he wanted to arrive at the ceremony looking his best. As his father had ordered.
Yet, after a short inner argument, he pulled the journal back to himself and started drawing the locket that he’d found. His hair would be fine without additional styling and jewelry. His research was more important. Who knew, maybe that was the last opportunity for the young prince to study in peace.
Armitage sat on the rock at his working desk in a small cave hidden in the belly of the Arkanis castle. The cave was lit with the dim blue light of a magical lamp that Armitage had brought from his royal bedchamber upstairs.
All the fascinating artifacts that he’d acquired over the years of the search were placed in the multiple natural notches in the cave walls. Strange, angular things made from rare materials like wood, metal, or even fabric, so different from the soft, and smooth world that had been surrounding Armitage all his life under the water. He had found them during the exploration of sunken ships, caves, and shallows near human settlements. All the places that merpeople were forbidden to go.
And he wasn’t a common merman. Armitage Hux, or just Armie as most merpeople around the castle called him, was the youngest and the last surviving child of Brendol the Fierce, the ruler of the Arkanis.
Truth be told he shouldn’t have been an heir to the throne. He was no prince when he was born. Back then his father had had two wives, Mirra and Flara, and two other children, the boy and the girl — a royal prince and a royal princess. The girl, only a couple of years older than Armie, had died while Armie had been sucking his mom’s tit. He didn’t even know her name. What he did know, that the same night Flara, her mother, had run away, righteously frightened of Brendol’s anger. Then Armitage’s mother, a mere concubine, or a slave as some said, was moved to Flara’s rooms with her little weak baby Armie.
That was what he'd heard from the servants and his brother Bran. Armitage didn’t remember any of that. He didn’t even remember his mom’s name. She’d disappeared too when he’d been no bigger than a zander fish. Armitage had asked his father Brendol about her once when he had been six or seven. The scar on his shoulder was a nice reminder not to ask stupid questions.
Brendol’s other wife Mirra never had any love for little Armie, but she hadn’t hurt him. Not once. When Armitage thought about her now, he thought that Mirra might have even liked him, or at least cared for him as one prisoner might care about another.
Her son Bran, Armitage’s older brother, had been the heir to the throne. As much as Armitage remembered Bran had always been nice to him. He’d been the closest thing to the normal family that Armitage had ever had. Bran had taught him to fight with the sword, he read books about history to little Armie, and they even played hide and seek when their royal father left the castle.
Armitage had cried for weeks when Bran hadn’t come back from the battle of the North Vulcano. In that battle Brendol the Fierce had lost his heir, his left eye, and the whole Northern province to the Selki Tribes.
Shortly after that Mirra had been sent to the Crying Siblings convent. Or so they said. Armitage chose to believe it was true. He hadn’t wished her ill, Mirra hadn’t harmed him even though she could. Some late-night nights he found himself thinking about her, her image, and the face of his own mother mixed together. Maybe one day , he thought, when I sit on the throne, I could get her out of that convent, if she is alive.
The year when Bran had died and Mirra had been sent away, twelve years old Armitage Hux had become the prince of Arkanis and the only heir of King Brendol.
In the following seven years his father had had one more husband. Derek. Even back then Armie had thought that his husband Derek had been young. Derek had been smaller than broad-shouldered Bran, and being fair-haired and blue-eyed he had looked comical near bearded and battled scared Brendon. He must have been around Armie’s current age - nineteen or maybe twenty, although Armitage had never found that out for sure. Poor Derek was constantly pregnant, constantly beaten if bruises had been any indication, and constantly had miscarriages. His head had decorated the pike, after the last failed attempt to give Brendol a more worthy successor than weak and pretty Armie.
After Derek, his father either had believed the court healer affirmations or found the solace in hallucinogenic spores to which he developed a passion for. But ‘til now he hadn’t remarried, and Armie hadn’t seen any bloated-belly merpeople around his father. So now Armitage was the exclusive contender for the throne.
Armitage pressed his writing stick into the soft sheet of seaweed, finishing the drawing. He was satisfied with the depiction and hid the locket into the pocket of his dark-green ceremonial skirting. It laid there hidden with other small necessary things like his comb. The skirting was made out of the intricate weaving of small shells. It didn’t serve any practical purpose and most of the common merpeople didn’t wear such things. Armie didn’t like it either, it impeded his movement and it was almost impossible not to get tangled in it, but, he must admit, it suited his long golden tail.
Armitage knew perfectly well that he was attractive. Merpeople started to give him not discreet looks a few years ago. He even overheard salacious whispers when he was floating near the castle guards and his father’s knights. Those comments and looks enraged Armitage — he was their prince, they should have respected him. Yet that attention gave him a strange warm ache in the bottom of his belly. They were just servants, they would never be allowed to even touch him. That didn’t stop him thinking about all the possible situations, about a brazen knight barging in his chamber in the middle of the night, or a rogue guard kissing him in the dark and empty hall. Armitage had been thinking about that — sliding his hands down his belly in his bed the solitude of his chamber.
He wasn’t naive, he was aware where merbabies came from — with his father's habits it was hard to pretend he believed tales of jelly-fishes and finding merbabies in corals. He knew that one day he would marry someone important and make merchildren of his own. And if he was lucky, even make love just for the fun of the process. Yes, he’d heard that with the right partner it was a pleasant experience no matter your role in it.
The knock on the stone wall spooked him. Hastily he shut his journal and put it in one of the holes in the wall near other books with history and myth about humans. Armitage had read them all. All six of them. Five that he’d found in the big library and sneaked back to his lair, and the one he’d got three years ago during the visiting of the ancient ruins of Coruscant with Snoke’s apprentice. There wasn’t much in those books but what was there had ignited Armie’s imagination like the stories about mythical heroes that his brother Bran had read for him in his childhood.
“I know you are in there, Armitage,” the stern voice said from the other side of the cave wall, “Open it immediately. Don’t make me blow a hole myself.”
“One moment,” Armitage shouted back, swimming up and covering all the holes and impromptu shelves in the wall with a huge drawing of the known ocean with all Ten Great Kingdoms. Small, but proud Arkanis was among them, right on the top, between Vulcano Land and the entrance to the Unknown Ocean.
Now his room looked clean and unsuspicious — just an abandoned cave hidden under the castle with an empty table, stone stool, and mirror. Nothing to see there. Although Armitage thought that she must have known that he was doing something forbidden here. She hadn’t told his father. Well, thanks for that. Maybe she thought he was just doing some silly things that any other young prince does like writing love poems or plotting to kill their royal parent.
Like most doors in the castle that one was magic. Armie wasn’t sure about that but he’s heard that it was very expensive and old magic, and peasants either didn’t have doors at all or used hanging seaweed instead of a door.
Armitage swam to the wall and pushed the enchanted symbol, opening a new hole in it. The unhappy gaze of Rae Sloane, his father’s second in command, the hand of the King, the Lady of the West, and the High Commander of the Royal Arkanisian Army, met him.
“You are not ready,” she said instead of a greeting, “Do you think, I’m your wet nanny, Armitage?”
Among all the merpeople she was the only one who always called him his full name — Armitage, and he liked it greatly.
“No, Admiral.”
“Then you must think I’m your personal handmaiden who lives to assist you?”
“No, I—”
“Your father is the King, and if he deems that sending me to find his delayed, forgetful son is the right relocation of resources — well, I have no right to argue with the King. Yet, you are no King, your Royal Highness, and I won’t tolerate your disobedience or you disrespect, to me and to the Crown.”
“I’m sorry High Commander. I lost track of time. I didn’t mean—”
“Armitage, if I thought that you did what you did deliberately I’d deal with you in a very drastic way,” she said, scowling, narrowing her yellow, almost orange eyes at him “Now get prepared and move your fins.”
The prince looked around searching for his bag. He’d prepared everything he needed for the ceremony before swimming downstairs hours ago. Yet, now the stupid bag with his brushes, corals, and his crown was nowhere to be seen.
“Boy, are you lost?”
With that, she threw his bag, that she was hiding behind her back, “Found it in your bedroom, where I was supposed to find a certain young prince, ready and flawless.”
“Thank you,” he said, suppressing the urge to hug her. She rarely allowed such gestures of affection, ”You are my savior indeed.”
During all of Armie’s life, High Commander Sloane was the only merperson he respected completely without a doubt. She hadn’t had Brendol’s wrath or cunning backstabbing skills of his other lords and ladies. No, this dark-skinned merwoman with a beautiful black tail had something much more valuable — a mind sharp like fangs complemented with cold sobriety and chest full of determination. Armie remembered her the weeks after their historical defeat when his father had been trashing the throne hall, grieving his son’s death, when the high ranking officers had been moving their families away from the city, afraid of the siege, and the servants were spreading the rumors about their demise, and little Armie had been crying in his room, scared and lonely, sure that he’d die on the claws of their enemies. Lady Sloane had been the one who remained composed and prepared. Very probably, her actions during those days were the reason why they still had a country nowadays.
In his memory, Armitage saw her floating in their courtyard in front of the scared leftovers of their troops, like he’d seen her almost a decade ago from the small window of his old bedchamber. She’d worn the same white uniform made of cuirass and seaweed with all her medals, as she wore it now, only she’d had fewer medals, her hair was much shorter, braided, and she had had neither grey scales nor grey hair. She had been screaming a speech, not about honor and loyalty but had reminded the warriors that they’d been protecting their own families and their own homes. The Savage Selkies hadn’t captured the castle. Young Armie hadn’t died. The northerners had retreated. Brendol had celebrated the victory. Anyone with substance in their head—and Armitage definitely had enough grey matter—knew that Rae Sloane was the real hero of that day.
Armitage put the dozen colored pearl chains on, not losing any more time. They were green and orange, matching with his skirting, covering his chest almost completely, They jewelry weighed much more than he liked. His neck would hurt before the half of the ceremony was over, that was the reason why he’d decided not to wear the stupid thing earlier today. He also wore multiple bracelets along his arms and rings on his hands.
“Ready,” he proclaims, after placing the small coral crown on his head. Now he was decorated more than a stall of the market square during the winter holidays.
“And your hair?” she asked, not taking her gaze away from the coverup map.
“I thought I’d go like this. I don’t want to overdo it. Aren’t I pretty already?”
He playfully shook his head. His bright red, scapula-long hair created a sun-like halo around him.
“Don’t fish for a compliment, Armitage. Everyone, including you, knows you are beautiful, but right now you look like a merperson who exchanges their love for coins. And not so many coins I’ll tell you.”
She didn’t even finish her phrase, when Armie intertwined the most modest strings of embroidered seaweed in his hair, making it stay on his shoulders. He knew better than to argue with her, even playfully.
Rae glanced briefly at him, and nodded, swimming past him to the door. She stopped there and pointedly looked with her eyes to the map.
“Your father finds out about your little hobby, he’ll scale you alive,” she said, as one might have said about the plans for today, “I won’t be able, and won’t even try to stop him.”
Lying to her was futile. Pretending he didn’t understand her was stupid. He thought about trying to explain that all he was doing, all his research was for their future prosperity, but they didn’t have time for that. She didn’t tell on him to Brendol, that already meant that she didn’t disprove it. At least in general. At least he hoped so.
“I know,” he said instead and they left his laboratory.
They swam shoulder to shoulder along the narrow corridor. It was dark, lit only by a thin layer of luminous plankton base substance, with a low ceiling and rough walls.
Those caves were natural. The legend said they were there long before the castle was built and the House of Hux set, long before the first mers appeared in these lands. The caves were as old and as deep as the ocean itself. Armitage didn’t much believe it. Truth be told he didn’t care much — the past of the rocks and lands wasn’t for him. He’d learned what the prince must learn, yet it hadn’t caught his interest. His sight was set to the future. He wanted to explore new things, new seas, and new lands.
They ascended to the brightly illuminated hall guarded by the row of mers, all in their formal armor. The honored guests were arriving today, and Brendol was showing off his domain. Not that there was much to show.
Decades ago, when Armitage’s great grandmother Queen Alicandra had sat on the Arkasinian throne, all Ten Great Kingdoms had known that castle as the most beautiful of all. When she’d reigned, Arkanis was prosperous and peaceful. Everything changed when she died, and her oldest son Brendol the Drunk inherited the throne. There was no money for renovation during Armitage’s granduncle’s reign. After Brendol the Drunk ruled his brother and Armitage’s grandfather — Triton the White Beard. Triton had lived a long life and had sold most of the castle’s decorations, and what wasn’t sold was destroyed during the civil war with his sisters. One war after the other, with the help of a short plague, most of Triton’s children had died. Except for Brendol, Armitage’s father.
Brendol had got the castle, not in its prime condition, and he seemingly had done his best to cripple it and the capital city even more. As long as Armitage remembered, their family’s stronghold was the dilapidated ghost of its former glory: the west wing was closed, and the upper levels of the south tower were dangerous to visit, mosaics crumbled, and coral gardens, that Arkanis had been famous for, had died almost completely.
Meanwhile, their king spent fortunes on valueless and endless wars. With little to no success. Brendol the Fierce was a bad king, bad husband, and bad father, but more than anything he was a bad military leader and strategic mind — hot-headed, a strong warrior in his youth, he rushed into the battle without a plan and had more enemies than were absolutely necessary. It was expected that few of the other rulers of Great Kingdoms and tribes would hate you, but Brendol managed to piss off all but three. And even those three didn’t have a love for him and only supported him because of the Arkasinian commerce. His father had Rae Sloane, true. Armitage didn’t quite understand why she was loyal to Brendol. With any other king she would conquer the world, with him she was constantly dealing with his mess.
And little prince Armie hated his father. With all his heart, soul, and mind. With every fiber in his body. And no doubt the feeling was mutual.
Armitage lacked the potential to get rid of his father and save the country from all the hostile neighbors at the same time. Brendol lacked other children to sit on the throne after himself, and even Brendol agreed that it was better for his weak and soft offspring to rule the country after him then it’d do someone else's son or daughter. They stuck with each other: Brendol, making his son’s life miserable, and Armie, searching for the magical source of power to protect Arkanis, after his father’s unfortunate and unexpected death.
Through the side door behind the dais, Armitage and High Commander Sloane entered the crowded throne room. It was the biggest and most well-cared space in the whole castle.
The wall and ceiling were glowing with soft blue and pink light. The place was oval with five asymmetric and intricate chandeliers hanging from the domed ceiling. There were small luminescent fish captured in each chandelier dozens of cages. Two side walls had full-length windows in them. The windows were guarded by a pair of giant naked mermen and merwomen. The stone behind his father’s high seat was adorned with mosaics depicting scenes from the family history, very old and very highly-colored family history. That was the last fully intact mosaic. The masters from the Eastern province had redecorated it the same year when the Western province was suffering from famine and coffers had claimed not to have enough money.
Of all the rooms in the castle, it was Armitage’s least favorite. It was saturated with lies and vanity. Merpeople from all over Arkanis and out of its borders came there to act like they respect his father. Peasants and merchants sang shallow praises to him. Former enemies swore their loyalties. And the House of Hux pretended to be a real family under that dome. Armitage knew he wouldn't be able to destroy it, but he’d promised himself that when he became the king he’d spent as little time as possible there. It shouldn’t be a problem, he didn’t like fancy banquets and celebrations and thought that they were a waste of time.
Today, as many times before, Armitage, his father, their court and their guests put on their best attire, painted their fake smiles and gathered to eat delicacies, sniff light hallucinogenic spores, lie and pretend not to hate each other's guts. The current celebration of the Perfection of Summer was just another ruse. Brendol was preparing for the next war, to take back what was ours, as he loved to say. And for that war he searched for allies and supporters, and what can be more innocent reason to mean with fellow rulers and influential subjects than to celebrate the end of summer together.
“Armie, my dear son,” said King Brendol gesturing to them with his famous trident, after Armitage and Rae Sloane took their places on his left and right hand respectively, “I started to worry when my usually well-behaved son seemed to forget about his responsibilities as the prince. But now, after seeing you shining with beauty and grace I understand what delayed you, my dear.”
It was obvious that to whomever his father intended to sell Armitage was already there and was listening.
“I’m deeply sorry, my King,” Armitage said, bowing his head humbly. The ceremony hadn't started yet, guests were mingling and talking, music wasn’t playing. He had nothing to be apologizing for. Deciding to play along was the most reasonable option. If Brendol wanted him to be a shallow, pretty decoration of a princeling, that was his role until Armitage figured what exactly was going on.
Armitage gave his polite greetings and excuses to all the Arkasinian noblemers and all high-born guests and moved to a small group of his peers. The sons and daughters of the most important mers were staying together near the high table, discussing safe topics like gossip, the menu for the feast, and what entertainments had been prepared during it. They kept it simple, giggling in the right places, and making judgmental grimaces when it was appropriate. No one wanted to show themselves as the dumb one by saying something stupid in front of their prince, no one wanted to show themselves as too smart in front of their rivals.
“I really hope that for dessert we’ll get mashed sardines with Umibudo,” chirped Aniko, a petite and curvy merboy, with greenish long hair, which almost touched the scales of his azure tail. “Phasma, sweetheart, what do you think?”
That was not the most subtle probe—everyone knew that the House of Orcamer, to which Phasma belonged, had interests in Western farms, and if they allied with the House of Unamo they’d become the sole provider of Umibudo—the most costly algae and indisputably Armitage’s most beloved dessert. But the current favorite of the king wasn’t known to be the smartest fish in a pond, so Armitage wasn’t shocked by his straightforwardness. Aniko was one year younger than Armie, and Armie felt the wave of nausea every time he saw Brendol’s hand running down his plump body.
“Oh, darling, you know me I’m cold for desserts,” Phasma Orcamer flashed him a sharp toothed smile, “I’m saving my waistline, following the latest fashion. They say it’s important for marriage perspectives.”
Everyone around made a semi-honest attempt to laugh. Phasma was easily the most stunning mermaiden that Armitage had ever seen — with an endless tail colored in rare silver, a strong torso, and face that belonged to ancient statues. Even if, in regard to her appearance, she was a less than average grey mergirl, there’d be a line of suitors. The House of Orcamer was the richest noble House of this side on the Fire Line. Their wealth was larger than the royal treasury and Armitage’s dear friend Phasma was their only heiress.
They chatted idly until the drums indicated the start of the feast. The prince swam to his father's side and listened to his speech. Brendol loved to give speeches, attention, and applause and tried to address the nation as often as was utterly possible.
During his time as crown prince, Armitage had heard a great deal of them. Between the typical ‘The great year. The best year of all’ and ‘I will bring the former glory back to Arkanis’.
In his current speech, Armitage was able to recognize the thinly veiled promise of war, and union with one of their neighbors. Brendol didn’t say it openly before, but he emphasizes the role of ‘our children’ and ‘family ties’. He wanted to marry off Armitage, which was as clear as Brendol’s love for young, dumb, and chubby merboys. The only question was who was supposed to be Armitage’s future spouse.
Examining the crowd, Armitage was guessing whom of them he was supposed to wed. He moved his gaze from one face to another. He knew them all: some were frequent guests, while others only recently had been their enemies. Like Prince Rhones, the oldest son of King Lucius the old and very ill ruler of Tyrrhenia, the big and aggressive Kingdom to the West of Arkanis. Arkanis had tension with them for years, with a few open conflicts at the border. As recently as this spring Brendol was promising to put that impudent prince Rhones’s head on the spike. And now he was sitting two seats away from Lady Sloane.
Between them seated Enric Pryde the King of Exagon, but Armitage didn’t consider him as a potential husband. King Pryde’s wife had died recently, but he had too many heirs already and was too old to be interested in making new ones. Even Brendol wasn’t that stupid to give Armie to such useless union.
To Armie’s right seated Queen Eia with her prince consort Tobias. Armitage had attended their wedding at the beginning of spring. He had hoped to marry Eia himself — she was young, her lands were rich, and she patronized the sciences. They could have been a good match if she hadn’t married her childhood friend and petty lord Tobias. Today the Queen and her husband both looked happy and very much pregnant, dressed in matching loose weaved dresses.
Armitage made a small sigh of relief when he was sure that Sea Warlock Snoke wasn’t in the throne room. For the last five years, Armie had feared that Brendol would give him to that ancient merman. Every time Snoke had come to the castle and the prince had seated near his father’s side, that wrinkled and eerie warlock made Armie shiver and want to cover. Armitage got used to older merpeople looking at him lustfully, but Snoke...Snoke had looked at him carnivorously as if he’d wanted to soak his croaked fangs in Armitage’s flesh and pull it from his bones.
The masked octo-creature that always had accompanied Snoke hadn’t added to his charm. Octo People by themselves hadn’t bothered Armitage. Yes, they were rare and rumors had it they were cursed, but Armitage had seen them in the stalls in the fairs and read about them. There was nothing special other than that they mainly lived far away in much colder and deeper waters. That wasn’t what unnerved Armitage about octoman Kylo Ren, Snoke’s guard, and servant. During the first visits, the octoman had worn a full-face mask all the time, but somehow Armitage had known that Ren’s eyes hadn’t left him. That concern hadn’t improved when Armie had seen him without the mask for the first time. Kylo Ren’s face had been surprisingly young and open, and he had been studying Armie, with much intensity.
No one at the castle had seen or heard about Snoke for more than a year now. Brendol asked Kylo Ren the indirect question when he’d summoned octoman to the court. Ren had dodged it, and Brendol dropped the topic. All kinds of rumors had been circulated.
Whatever merpeople said Armitage was happy not to see Snoke there today. Kylo Ren also wasn’t there, although Armie wasn’t sure if he was invited. In Snoke’s absence, everyone started to call Kylo Ren the Sea Warlock, and it was customary to invite the warlocks to the official feasts.
After Brendol’s speech, the celebration was boring. The food was good, but Armie was way too much concerned about his future to properly enjoy it.
During the singing competition between the changing of meals, Armitage intercepted Rae’s gaze, begging her to say something. She seemingly didn’t see it, acting like there was nothing more important than a middle-aged merwoman wailing ‘Fury and Glory’, a popular ballad about Armitage’s great grandmother Alicandra and her triumph over her evil husband. Armitage almost turned away when Lady Sloane glared to her left and pointed to the merman two seats away.
There sat blond, handsome, and proud Prince Rhones.
That is fine, Armitage thought, I could have done worse, I could have done much, much worse. Rhones was one good cough away from the throne of Tyrrhenia. He was older than Armie for almost ten years, but that wasn’t unmanageable. Granted they said that Rhones already had an illegitimate child somewhere in the villages. Who hadn’t had? King Brendol had him, others had more, even Rae joked that she looked suspiciously at all black-tailed merchildren in the Western province.
Rhones was conventionally attractive, with broad shoulders, thin waist, pale skin, and silver long hair, currently braided with red corals. He looked just like a proper mer prince must look as if he was born to be depicted on the mosaics in heroic poses.
The evening boringly changed into night. The light spores changed into heavy stuff that goes through your nose right to your head, making you smile and giggle. The noble guests told vulgar jokes to everyone to hear. Brendol laughed loudly each time. The countess of Eastern province, an elderly lady named Voda, slapped some servant's asses and made weird faces, while her husband frowned but pretended to be interested only in food.
The music became louder. The guests started dancing. Armie danced with everyone else, changing partners and giggling. He sniffed only a couple of portions, but he felt weightless. That was a fine night, not the best one possible, but his life was going to change for the better very soon. Marriage was a scary prospect, but after the wedding, he'd be far from Brendol’s reach and he'd be able to live his life without constant taunts and threats.
Armitage was on his way to the balcony, craving to breathe freshwater when Rhones emerged from the shadow.
“Your highness,” he said, blocking Armie’s way, “You look exceptionally lovely today.”
“Thank you, sir,” Armie answered, looking down, “You look well too.”
“Only well? A very bland start for our future relationship.”
Armitage didn’t know what to say. Rhones’s voice sounded sprung. They were alone in that narrow hall. The sound of the celebration was muffled there. Armie was too aware of how close Rhones was to him.
“Did you swallow your tongue, little prince? Not the fortunate act for a merboy of marriageable age.”
“No, sir,” Armitage said, fetching for the right words. He wasn’t particularly good at compliments. He didn’t have anyone to practice them at, “You, sir, look striking tonight. All the eyes in the room were on you.”
“Were they? I’m pretty sure you must have noticed one or two old dodderers devouring you with their eyes. And I can’t blame them, my sweet little prince.”
Rhones moved his hand to him and Armitage floated back without thinking, bumping on the wall. Rhones ignored that, and took one of the beads on Armie’s chest between his fingers, his claw brushing Armie’s nipple, making him shiver.
“Are you afraid of me, little prince? Am I scary?” he asked. The claw from his other hand moving Armie’s chin up so their eyes met. The scent of spores attacked Armie’s nose.
Armitage wasn’t scared, not really. Whatever was going on, he was in his home, the guards were strokes away. Frankly, Armitage was curious to find out what Rhones was doing, and maybe, just maybe a little bit embarrassed.
“Yes,” Armie mumbled instead, averting prince Rhones’s gaze. This merman wanted a shy little prince — Armitage was smart enough to give him that. “We shouldn’t be here all alone.”
“Don’t be scared. Very soon you are going to be mine,” his hand slid from Armie’s chest to his belly, making small circles there, “And right after that, I’m going to put so many babies in you. Tell me Armie, do you know where babies come from?”
“Yes,” Armitage wasn’t going to pretend to be an idiot, even for his future husband.
“That’s good, little prince. Very good. I’m tasked to give an army to your father, I might test what I get for it,” he pressed Armitage to the wall with his body. On his hip, though the skirtings Armie felt his engorged member.
“My prince,” Armitage whispered, pressing his hands into Rhones’s chest, pushing him away, “Patience gives spores time to age. Haste destroys the most delicious meal. If you want to enjoy my company you should wait, the results won’t disappoint you.”
Armie’s heart was pounding. He felt his own arousal curling inside him, making it harder to think. Or maybe it was spores. Or fear of a bigger and stronger merman. It was hard to tell.
“They better not, little prince. You have a smart mouth. Smart pretty mouth. Maybe the prince will be so generous to give me advance with it?” He slurred in Armie’s ear, pawing his ass.
One kiss won’t hurt, reasoned Armitage with himself. He opened his mouth, closing his eyes. His lips were reaching out to meet with Rhones’s.
Nothing happened. Armitage heard his potential husband laughing and opened his eyes.
“Stupid, pure or teasing,” Rhones huffed, gazing at him, “What are you, darling?”
Armitage was embarrassed. Now it was easy to identify what he was feeling — it was anger.
“Rude, impertinent, or inebriated. What are you, prince Rhones?”
They stared at each other, breathing heavily.
“I’ll make you learn your manners,” Rhones hissed and smashed their lips together.
Armitage struggled against it for a show but submitted shortly. It was his first real kiss. Before that, he practiced with his childhood friends years ago. He wasn’t sure what to do, just licking his way. It wasn't like Rhones cared. He pushed his tongue inside Armie, and his hand grabbed the back of Armie’s neck, tangling in his hair. After a few moments, his other hand slides down to Armie’s ass going under his skirting.
Remembering himself, Armitage pushed him away, swimming up and to the side.
“My lord, the night is late, and we both sniffed too many spores,” he mumbled, when he found his voice, ”You must excuse me, I need to leave.”
Before Armie was able to get away Rhones’s claws locked on his wrist.
“I want you to know something — I’m going to fuck your teasing ass right after our marriage vows. I won’t wait even to drug you to the nearest dark corner,” he said, smirking, “my little prince.”
The claws unlocked, and Armie swam away, not looking back, and not understanding what exactly all of it was. It was nice to be wanted. It was for sure, but Rhones didn’t want to even pretend to be a romantic type.
Well, it wasn’t the best scenario. Wasn’t the worst one either. Their kiss wasn’t tender but it did something to Armie’s body, making him crave to put his fingers inside himself and ride on his bedding.
The marriage agreement gave Armitage a lot to think about. It could work if he played it right. With old King Lucis dead and with a future heir in him, Armitage could be a ruler of two kingdoms, after taking care of his own father. Maybe in years, he’d even develop warm feelings for Rhones. Or get rid of him too.