Prince of Song & Sea

It wasn’t Eric’s fault, the curse. His mother had stressed that so often that he had circled back around to “definitely my fault” a few times growing up. Eleanora had told him little of the curse but that if he felt the need to blame anyone, to blame her. It had been laid upon him before he was even born.

“If you kiss anyone or they kiss you, and they are not your true love,” she had repeated whenever he asked about the curse, “then you will die.”

The vagueness of it haunted him. If his mother had known more details, she hadn’t shared them before she died. Eleanora had told the story of the curse’s origins only once, and that was when Eric was old enough to comprehend the seriousness of it. The curse was cast the winter a bad fever swept through the kingdom, right after Marcello, Eric’s father, died. Five months pregnant with Eric, the queen had treated her grief with a journey up the coast, stopping in the smaller towns to see how they had fared once the sickness had passed. In one of them, she had run afoul of a witch.

“Hair as white as bone, lips red as dawn, and as beautiful as the sea can be terrible,” Eleanora had said one night when her son was asking about it again. “She cursed my child to die if they ever kissed someone who wasn’t their true love, and I could never even learn the witch’s name. I’m sorry, Eric.”

The only people now who knew that Vellona’s leadership was so precarious—another reason Eric should marry as soon as possible—were Grimsby; Carlotta, his maid; Gabriella; and Vanni.

“Prince Eric!” someone called in a familiar disapproving voice the moment Eric stepped onto the castle’s grounds.

Eric skidded to a stop and rubbed the stitch in his side. “Eric,” he corrected.

“The heat is getting to you, Your Highness.” A tall, pale man with the face of a jagged cliffside and more patience than the sea had salt, Grimsby had been an adviser for Vellona longer than Eric could remember. He had fought under Eleanora during the war with Sait twenty-five years ago and lived in Cloud Break ever since, keeping his cravat tightly knotted on even the hottest of days. Sweat beaded above his smirk. “You are Prince Eric of Vellona, not I.”

“I know who you are, you—”

A hairy white blur slammed into Eric’s chest, sending him sprawling across the dirt, and a slobbering tongue lapped at his face.

“Whoa, boy!” Eric wrapped his arms around the dog atop him and pressed a quick kiss to Max’s head. “Glad to see you, too.”

At least Eric could kiss Max without dying. His mother had been fairly sure the curse only counted people, but she had still shrieked the first time she saw Eric kiss Max. It had been the only time he had forgotten about the curse.

“You would have seen him earlier if you were preparing for your luncheon with Lord Brackenridge with me as you should have been,” said Grimsby. “You also neglected to make note of what you thought of my plans for your birthday celebrations.”

Eric groaned. His eighteenth birthday was only two weeks away, and his coronation would be one week after his birthday. The court had ruled for the last two years as regents with Eric’s input, a necessity while Eric was too grief-stricken to lead and still on the young side of sixteen. Now several of the nobles were loath to give up that power.

Eric opened his mouth to argue, and Grimsby rolled his eyes skyward.

“Come,” he said. “You smell like a week-old fish, and Brackenridge was a friend of your mother’s. He is not above mocking you for it.”

“It’s hard to cheerfully plan a coronation when it’s only happening because my mother died, Grim.” Eric rose and rested one hand on Max’s head, letting the familiar warmth calm him. “It’s barely two hours after dawn. The entire day is left to work.”

“Don’t speak to me of work.” He took Eric by the shoulders. “First of all, it’s nearly noon. Second, you are privileged beyond belief, and suffering through the boring aspects of statehood is not true suffering.”

“Fine.” Eric took a deep breath and rolled his shoulder back. “What do I need to do?”

“Good lad,” said Grimsby. They both ignored Max’s answering bark. “Lord Brackenridge is here to discuss the pirate attacks up north and the assistance”—he arched both brows at Eric—“he is prepared to offer.”

It was another marriage proposal, then.

“Is he offering, or is his daughter?” asked Eric.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Grimsby sniffed and took off toward Eric’s quarters. “Let’s get you changed, and I’ll have Louis serve something more fragrant than you.”

“Anyone who can’t stand the smell of the sea is hardly suited for a life here,” said Eric, jogging after Grimsby. “My partner should be able to live in the bay, at least. I want romance and trust and intimacy. I want to know my partner.”

“Kissing isn’t—”

“I’m not talking about that,” said Eric. “Stop assuming I mean physical intimacy when I say intimacy. I mean closeness. Knowing your partner. A relationship built on a business transaction is a rocky start for fully trusting a spouse. We would begin on uneven footing.”

“I will grant you that marriages of convenience have fallen out of fashion, but they are currently Vellona’s best hope.” Grimsby herded Eric into his quarters and shoved him behind the changing screen. “You need an heir—a well-positioned spouse or a child. Marrying would provide someone to rule in the event of your death or the promise of an heir in the future. The old nobles like security and tradition. If there is no clear line of succession when you are crowned, then any of your distant relatives with a clearer line can and will challenge your claim to the throne.”

Eric stripped off his damp shirt and sighed. “I wish you lived up to your name less.”

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but one of us must live up to theirs.”

“That is a low blow, Grim.” Eric washed his face, letting the chilled water calm him down. “You know my feelings on this. Not telling my potential spouse I’m cursed is a matter of life and death, but marrying purely for business? Glowerhaven may have offered the most, but she would’ve killed Max and me within the first week.”

Eric’s curse might not have told him how to identify his true love, but he had known it wasn’t her the moment the princess of Glowerhaven turned up her nose at Max and the scent of the bay. He wanted to be struck by true love—a meeting of eyes, a touch of hands, a breathless gasp—as quickly and surely as he had been cursed, not trapped in a marriage no one wanted.

Grimsby threw a clean shirt over the screen separating them. “Frankly, I would leap for joy if you married anyone at this point. Lady Angelina is one of the last eligible potential partners in Vellona or the surrounding small kingdoms. If tonight goes poorly, I fear you’ll be out luck and unable to marry before your coronation.”

“Don’t tempt me,” said Eric. “Vanni and Gabriella are free if you’re that desperate.”

He came out from behind in the screen once he was done dressing and held up his arms.

“You’re not Gabriella’s type, and Vanni isn’t yours,” Grimsby said, frowning. He held open Eric’s coat and nodded for him to put it on. “You have done well with what was left to you, you know.”

Eric slipped into the coat, putting on Prince Eric like an ill-fitting skin. He traced the symbol of Vellona—a sparrow clutching a sword and scepter in its beak—sewn onto the chest.

“I’ll have Carlotta note the day,” muttered Eric. “‘Grimsby finally admits Prince Eric not useless.’ There’ll be parades.”

“Hilarious,” said Grimsby. “Come along.”

They made for the hall, Max at their heels. The castle was bare these days, and Eric spent the quiet walk preparing himself. He slowed to a stop near an open window outside the dining hall, shook out his shoulders, and ignored Grimsby’s tapping foot. It was time to be Prince Eric again.

“All right,” Eric said, and raised his chin, lungs full of Cloud Break’s clean, salted scent. “Anything else?”

“There is a perfectly nice girl here today, and you will behave. And you,” Grimsby said, rounding on Max. He wagged his finger at the dog. “No eating any shoes this time.”

Max whined, and Grimsby narrowed his eyes.

“No. Shoes.”

Grimsby swept into the dining hall ahead of them, and Eric knelt down next to Max.

“Grim can’t help finding problems everywhere.” Eric kissed Max’s nose and stood. “No shoes, though. He’s right about that.”

The dining hall was one of Eric’s favorite rooms, the ceiling-high windows catching the sunlight in glittery bursts. The glass was so clear he felt as if he could reach out and touch the sea, pluck the white smear of a distant ship from the waves and hold it up to the noonday sun. Grimsby introduced Lord Brackenridge and his two daughters, Angelina and Luna, to Eric, and made sure that Eric sat across from Lady Angelina. The bright light filtering through the cherry trees behind her warmed her black skin and brought out the brown in her eyes. The branches outside curled above her black braids like a blushing crown.

“Lady Angelina,” Eric said once they had all settled down and quenched their thirsts, “are you enjoying the bay?”

“According to my father, I love it here,” she said, and glanced at her father. He was speaking with Grimsby and not paying attention. She adjusted her dress, the deep red fabric rustling. “And he would say I would love even more to live here.”

Eric hid a laugh behind his cup. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

The meal began with the usual niceties—Eric asking how the travel was, Brackenridge updating Eric on his holdings and the quality of the roads he used, several unprompted explanations as to why his daughter was an excellent and unmarried leader, and Eric nodding and smiling whenever Grimsby kicked him under the table. It was a blessing and a curse that Grimsby sat in on all these meals.

To Brackenridge’s credit, he kept pulling Angelina into the conversation instead of speaking for her like a few other parents had done. The small talk gave Eric time to nibble on a swordfish roll and consider her. As tall and plump as her father, she cut a striking figure against bright blue sky. She was a far better conversationalist than Brackenridge, though.

“Do you play an instrument, Your Highness?” Angelina asked, shifting so that she could meet his gaze.

Several of the windows were open, letting a gull perch on the narrow sill. It ruffled its feathers when her chair squeaked, and Max growled from under the table. Eric nudged him with a foot.

“I play several,” he said, “but I can’t say anything about the quality.”

She smiled at him, and lightning didn’t strike. His heart didn’t skip. Much. Eric had asked himself how he was supposed to know that someone was his true love each time he sat down to one of Grimsby’s setups. He’d never figured out the answer. Angelina, at least, felt more like a confidante than an offering.

“Ah,” said Angelina delicately. “I prefer the quiet. Plays I quite like, though.”

“I’m more of an opera person,” Eric said, and turned to Angelina’s younger sister. “What about you, Lady Luna?”

“Me?” The nine-year-old’s fork slipped through her fingers, clattered against the table, and tumbled over the edge.

Angelina sighed.

“Percussion is a lovely area of study,” Eric said, and winked. “Do you have a favorite song?”

“No.” Luna looked to Angelina, who nodded. “Angelina says I’m a danger to ears everywhere.”

That sounded like something Vanni would say, and Eric couldn’t imagine not getting along with someone like Vanni.

“So was I as a boy,” said Eric. “It’s why practice is important.”

Luna beamed at him

“She plays well but tends to think louder means better,” Angelina said, grinning at Luna’s thrilled look. “Her mathematics, though, is exceptional.”

Luna puffed up her chest. “I’m better at playing than Angelina is singing.”

“Luna,” Brackenridge said, but not unkindly. “Now, my Angelina has taken up navigation of late, which has proved more useful than any song.”

Angelina shrugged slightly, and Eric smiled into his cup. In addition to attempting to arrange a marriage between his daughter and the crown prince, Brackenridge was supposed to be stopping in Cloud Break to speak to Eric about the recent damage to his holdings. The coastal area up north had been hit badly by a storm last month, and now they were traveling south to check on his late wife’s land, which had suffered the same fate recently. Surely Eric could make some deal with him that didn’t involve matrimony. Maybe then any relationship he had with Angelina could grow normally, unburdened by financial entanglements.

“Have the storms been worse than usual?” Eric asked. “I’m sure we could assist with repairing the damage.”

“Well,” Brackenridge said and leaned back. “I wouldn’t call them worse, and as for what we can do—”

“They’re odd,” said Angelina quickly, gesturing with a soup spoon. “Most storms bloom, but these don’t. My telescopes are designed for astronomy, but they let me observe the storms well enough.”

Luna, who had been trying to slip oysters from her plate to Max with no one noticing, said, “She saw the pirates first.”

“Pirates?” Eric asked.

Even Grimsby perked up at that.

“Two pirate ships,” Angelina said with a glance at her father. “They were spotted three weeks apart. The first raided a town and razed the fields. They destroyed the stores instead of taking from them.”

“Odd behavior for pirates,” said Eric, and he set his utensils aside. It wasn’t odd at all if they were following Sait’s orders to weaken Vellona. “And the second?”

“Captain Sauer from Altfeld,” she said.

Grimsby startled. “Sauer? You’re sure?”

“They’ve got this hat,” said Brackenridge, gesturing to his head. “Big red thing. Can’t miss it. They robbed one of our smaller towns and made off with fresh water and some food.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Angelina raised one shoulder. “No one was hurt, and they didn’t damage more than a door or two. It certainly was a contrast to the other attack.”

Eric leaned back in his chair. Sauer had been around since Grimsby’s days, their ship adored by every child who had ever dreamed of being a dashing rogue. They weren’t known for viciousness, but they weren’t renowned for their mercy, either. Sauer had never been seen as far south as Vellona, though.

“Better than the other pirates. That lot was carrying Sait steel and powder, and I’d bet my life on that.” Brackenridge sat up straighter, lacing his fingers beneath his chin. He pointed at Eric. “Angelina, tell him about the other ship.”

“What other ship?” Eric asked, and looked at her.

Angelina dabbed at her lips and gathered herself. Her fingers shook. “Every morning before the storms hit, a ship comes near shore. It flies no flags, bears no crew, and never stays long after dawn. The sails are rotted through, but it sails nonetheless. I thought it was a hallucination at first—one of those false ships on the horizon.”

“Ships lost in the storms, surely,” said Grimsby, finishing off the last bites of his meal.

Eric pushed his plate away, anxiety writhing in his gut. “Is it the same ship every time?”

“I’m sure it is. Others have seen it, too,” said Angelina. “I’m not mistaken.”

Brackenridge nodded. “It’s a ghost ship. An ill omen for terrible times. My Angelina can pick out those sorts of things. She would be an asset to a bay like this.”

“It’s a real ship,” said Angelina, hands clenched. “I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t normal.”

“Of course,” Eric said quickly. “Does it have a figurehead? Is it a Vellonian ship?”

“It’s an old galleon, but the figurehead has been worn down,” she said, and shook her head. “It might have been a merfolk once.”

“Every town has stories like that one.” Grimsby shared a look with Lord Brackenridge. “Perhaps it is time we retire and give you two time to speak and the ladies a chance to rest?”

“Can’t wait, lad,” said Brackenridge. “Though I’m happy to leave you and Angelina to talk more if you would like.”

He made a slight gesture toward Angelina, as if sweeping her toward the prince, and Eric pretended not to have noticed. Angelina smiled, but it looked forced.

“You came to discuss business, so let’s get that out of the way first,” said Eric. They had been dining for over an hour, and the family was staying only until dawn. “You must be exhausted from traveling.”

“Of course,” Angelina said, mouth tense.

“I’ll look into what you said about the ships,” said Eric, rising to help Angelina up. As he leaned down, he whispered, “Before I’m trapped in a study with your father—what do you want?”

“To not marry someone I just met,” she whispered back. “Maybe slow him down?”

“Can do.” Eric nodded to the windows. “We have fairly clear skies, and the northern tower is the highest. I can’t say it will inspire poetry, but it’s there if you want to stargaze when it gets dark.”

“Thank you,” she said.

If Eric had never been cursed, he would have held on to Angelina’s hand for maybe a second longer than necessary. Perhaps he would have kissed it, but the familiar fear, cold and creeping, took hold of him. He did neither.

Angelina moved away from him, looking disappointed, and he opened his mouth to explain. A hand tugged at his coat.

“Can I say goodbye to Max?” Luna asked.

A warm, bubbling sort of joy burst to life in Eric, and he knelt down before her.

“Forgive my youngest daughter,” said Brackenridge. His dark eyes glittered with a grief Eric recognized from his mirror. “I haven’t had the heart to cull her more childish qualities since their mother passed.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Eric said. “Max has been with me for years, and I fear any family I hope to gain must meet with his approval first.”

Brackenridge smiled at that, and Grimsby looked far too pleased with himself.

“Now, I think a proper goodbye is in order.” Eric lured Max out from under the table with a piece of pasta, held out one hand, and winked at Luna. “Goodbye, Max.”

At the word, Max lifted one paw and shook Eric’s hand with all the solemnity a dog with oyster on his face could summon. Eric mimed kissing Max’s paw, and Max licked his hand. Luna gasped.

“Max, say goodbye to Luna.” Eric shifted Max until he was facing the small girl and gestured for her to hold out her hand. “You’ll have to say goodbye first.”

“Goodbye, Max,” Luna said.

Max stuck his paw below her hand and licked it as if giving it a kiss goodbye. Even Grimsby and Brackenridge broke into smiles at her wide-eyed look up at Eric.

“I’ll teach you his other tricks if you paint me a picture before you return,” he said, and smiled. “Do we have a deal, Lady Luna Brackenridge?”

She glanced at his offered hand and then at Angelina, who nodded.

“Of course, Your Highness,” said Luna.

Eric bowed over her hand. She drew up her narrow nine-year-old shoulders and mimicked his bow. She moved to kiss his hand just as Max had pretended to kiss hers. Panic gripped Eric, and he ripped his hand away, throwing himself back. He slammed into the table and toppled it. The dishes clattered to the floor.

Max leapt to Eric’s defense, hackles raised and a growl low in his throat, and Luna stumbled back. She tripped over the upturned table and landed hard on her back. Cold soup splashed across her face. She yelped.

“Max, down!” Eric yelled, struggling to his feet. He moved to help Luna.

Brackenridge shoved him away. He dunked the corner of his coat into a puddle of water and wiped Luna’s eyes clean. She sat up, burying her face in her hands. An onion sprig and fork had tangled in her hair. Angelina gathered up Luna in her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” Eric said, and twisted his hands together, scraping the ghost of the touch from his skin. One kiss, a single touch of a person’s lips to his skin, and he would die. “Grimsby, please—”

But Grimsby was next to Brackenridge and not listening. The gull in the window squawked and flapped along the edge of the room. Max lurched toward it, and Eric yanked him back. He looked to Angelina, hoping that she might listen, but she only stared at him with narrowed eyes. Even the blasted gull glared at him.

A rushing filled his ears, and panic trembled down his hands. Tugging Max with him, he hurried toward the door.