Chapter 390:

Marina

I watch as he watches her swim in the waters below, leaning on the deck of The Bunny. His arms are crossed, his posture relaxed, his eyes soft.

The mermaid drifts through the waves like she was born there,sleek and graceful and otherworldly.

She was born there, I remind myself.

She’s not human.

"Your Highness, you should be careful," I warn him.

He turns. Blinks. As if he’d forgotten I existed.

"Oh, Marina?" He smiles that easy, charming smile that used to make my heart skip. "What are you talking about?"

"Do not forget." I step closer, lower my voice. "She’s not human."

"I may have noticed." He waves at the mermaid. She waves back, her dark hair floating on the water, her blue eyes bright.

I clench my jaw.

"One thing I’ve learned living on the water," I say, "is that every rumor, every myth, every tale—they all come from a basis of truth. The sea does not lie."

He doesn’t take me seriously.

"Remember," I press on. "Many speak of being dragged to the depths, never to be seen again."

He laughs.

"I don’t think you have anything to worry about." He turns back to the water, to the mermaid, to the danger he refuses to see.

"I am worried." My voice is sharper now. "Worried I won’t get the gold you promised me. If you’re at the bottom of the sea."

He looks at me. Raises an eyebrow.

"And here I thought you’d grown to care about me, Pirate King’s daughter."

Care.

I meet his gaze.

"I do."

His expression softens. His lips part. He thinks—I can see him thinking—that I’m about to confess something. That I’m about to declare my love, my devotion, my need.

Fool.

"But not more than I care for gold and the sea."

I turn away before he can respond.

It’s true.

I was fond of him, once. The novelty of a prince,a real prince in my bed, in my arms, wanting me. It was exciting. Flattering. A story I could tell my grandchildren.

But the novelty has settled.

He’s nothing but another man. Among the many men I will meet in my lifetime. Among the many men who will want me, use me, leave me.

Besides.

With gold, I can buy many pretty boys to warm my bed. Boys who won’t look at mermaids with stars in their eyes. Boys who won’t make me feel like second place.

I’m not looking where I’m going.

I bump into someone. Papers scatter—maps and charts and loose pages, fluttering in the wind like startled birds.

The little noble lady.

I freeze.

She stares at the papers. Then at me.

"Sorry," I mutter, bending down to help. "I wasn’t—"

"It’s fine." She kneels beside me, gathering her things. Her hands are steady. Her face is calm.

I watch her.

She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t scold. Doesn’t demand that I be more careful with her precious work. Just picks up each paper, each map and stacks them neatly.

"Thank you," she says.

I nod.

The prince is still watching the mermaid. The crew is scattered across the deck, cleaning, repairing, existing. No one needs me.

So I follow her.

She doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she doesn’t care. She spreads her maps on a crate, pulls out a compass, a ruler, a pencil—and works.

I watch.

She adds notes to the margins. Marks coordinates I can’t pronounce. Calculates distances, currents, stars.

She is engrossed.

The wind blows her hair. The sun catches her face. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t look away from her work. Doesn’t notice me standing there like a fool.

I watch for what feels like ages.

Minutes. Hours. I don’t know.

She adds. Writes. Calculates. Her pencil moves faster than I can read, faster than I can think.

I realize, watching her, that I may have misjudged her.

I thought she was nothing but a spoiled little noble lady. Soft hands. Soft heart. Soft life.

But when I look at her I see something else.

I see a woman who didn’t choose this life. A woman who was born into comfort and escaped. A woman who uses her mind because it’s the only thing no one can take from her.

I may be illiterate.

But even I know that a noble lady as smart as her, doing this work, would not be welcomed.

Just like me.

A female pirate.

We might be more similar than I thought.

***

Daphne

[Harem breakdown: 54.4% complete.]

I pause mid-brushstroke. The paint drips from the bristles, splattering onto the canvas,a streak of blue across the mermaid’s tail.

Oh?

What brought this on?

[From the character’s emotional fluctuations and resolution, it is concluded that Marina O’Malley will not be romantically involved with the male lead any further.]

I set down my paintbrush.

Well. That’s a surprise.

She’s done.

Good for her.

I stand. Stretch. My back cracks. My shoulders pop. The afternoon sun is warm through the cabin window, golden and soft.

I leave my cabin.

My eyes search the deck, and I find Marina seated next to Nancy, having a conversation.

Not the grudging tolerance of two people forced to share space. Not the awkward politeness of strangers.

An actual conversation. Marina is speaking—her hands moving, her expression animated. Nancy is listening,her head tilted, her lips curved in a small smile.

They’re sitting close. Shoulder to shoulder.

Is that why?

I lean against the railing, watching them.

Was she influenced by the fact that there’s more to life than a man?

Marina laughs at something Nancy says.Nancy ducks her head, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

What was that?

I lean against the railing. Cross my arms. Watch.

Marina says something else,too low for me to hear. Nancy’s blush deepens. She nudges Marina with her elbow, half-hearted, almost affectionate.

Interesting.

They’re sitting close. Shoulder to shoulder. Their knees are almost touching.

You know what?

Good for her.

Good for them.