Authors: Tera Lynn Childs
“Mom and I knew we needed something extra special,” Peri explains, “for your last gown as a royal princess.” If my eyes hadn’t already been glittering with tears, they would be now. Not because I’m sad, but because my life is about to change. Permanently. In a few short hours I wil no longer be Princess Waterlily. I’l be plain old Lily Sanderson, insignificant daughter of the king.
It’s a choice I’ve happily made, but that doesn’t mean the change is easy to accept.
“Come on,” Peri says, fussing with the green ruffles of my hem, “let’s get down to that party. I’ve heard the birthday girl is a total diva.”
We’re stil giggling as we swim up to the private entrance to the royal bal room. Mangrove, Daddy’s trusted secretary, is guarding the door. Ready to announce my arrival.
“You look beautiful, Princess,” he says, bending low over his fin.
“Thank you, Mangrove,” I reply dutiful y.
His hand on the door, he asks, “Shal I announce your arrival?”
After a quick shared look with Peri, I nod.
He pul s the door open wide, swims into the room, and using his most ceremonial voice, bel ows, “Princess Waterlily.”
A hush fal s across the bal room.
I force myself not to think about the last time I entered the royal bal room on a wave of silent anticipation—Quince-related memories wil only make me cry more at this point.
Instead, I focus on the crowd, on hundreds of merfolk dressed in their finest apparel, and on the bal room. The ceiling covered in gold and green seaweed streamers, six different buffet tables of the most mouthwatering delicacies in the ocean, a school of lightning-bug fish—a uniquely Thalassinian species—swimming amid the streamers, making the ceiling twinkle with their flashing lights. It’s every mergirl’s dream. The only thing that could have made it more perfect would be if—
No, I can’t think about him right now. For the next few hours I need to be Princess Waterlily, not Princess Waterpot. I want my last moments as a royal princess to be proud ones. They’l have to last me a lifetime.
“Happy birthday, daughter,” Daddy says, sweeping me into a massive hug and—thankful y—saving me from a Quince-related thought.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I say, hugging him back. “It’s beautiful.”
A mergirl’s eighteenth birthday is supposed to be the most magical day of her life. She is official y an adult, as far as the mer world is concerned, and al of her family and friends join in the celebration.
A
royal
mergirl’s eighteenth birthday is even more special. There is a huge buffet feast, which makes the one at Dosinia’s sixteenth birthday look like an after-school snack. In the far corner of the room, an eighteen-piece orchestra is playing a program of fun-yet-classical compositions. Women in gem- and pearl-encrusted gowns dance with men in sharp tuxedo jackets with gem- and pearl-encrusted cummerbunds. It’s like a fantasy world.
Everything around me is glittery and sparkly and ful of laughter and fun.
Everything except me.
If I were a bonded princess, this is the day I would go from royal to crowned. Accepting my future role as queen. When I made the decision to stay on land a few weeks ago, I knew exactly what I was getting into. I knew what I would be giving up, that I would be letting my kingdom and my ancestors down. I knew it, and I didn’t care. With so many of the things I care about most tied to land, I would make a miserable queen. And a miserable queen can hardly be a good leader.
Stil , despite al my thinking and rationalizing and accepting, I didn’t know it would be this hard, that my feelings would be this painful, when the moment came.
Instead of sparkling gowns and formal jackets, I see my future subjects. These are the people, along with the thousands beyond the palace wal s, I’l be leaving heirless.
Are my selfish wants worth what it wil cost
them
?
“Good evening, Princess Waterlily.”
I turn and find a trio of girls my age bowing into the water.
They look like coordinating Oceanista dol s. One has pale skin, red hair, and a mint green tail fin. One has a fake tan, bright blond hair, and an orange-gold tail fin. And one has natural y dark skin, long flowing black curls, and a glinting mahogany tail fin.
The terrible trio. Though I haven’t seen them in years, I recognize them from my early tutoring sessions in the palace.
As I said, they never seemed to like me very much.
“Hel o, Astria,” I say to the redhead, the leader; then to the other two, “Piper, Venus.”
Piper’s eyes widen. Probably surprised that I remembered their names after al these years.
“We are honored to be a part of your birthday celebration, Princess,” Astria says, al mocking respect.
I could tel her to cal me Lily, but since I’m pretty sure that’s what she wants, I don’t. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck are at attention, and I have a feeling this is going to end badly.
This is my last birthday as the royal princess of Thalassinia, and I’m not about to let three snobby clones ruin it for me.
“Of course,” I reply magnanimously, bowing my head slightly. “Now, if you’l excuse me—”
“It’s too bad,” Astria interrupts.
I freeze in my escape.
“Real y,” Venus agrees. “Too, too bad.”
“Too, too bad,” Piper parrots.
“If only… ,” Astria says.
She leaves it hanging, like a grub on a hook, waiting for me to bite. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. Astria, Piper, and Venus have been trouble since we were guppies. They’re the reason Daddy made me spend a week scraping the algae off the palace roof when I was nine, for something that wasn’t even my fault.
Stil , knowing al that, I can’t help but ask, “If only what?” Astria gives me an appal ingly sympathetic look. “If only you had found a boy wil ing to bond with you.”
“Such a shame,” Venus commiserates.
My mouth drops open. They have
no
idea. I’m on the verge of setting them straight when I feel a warm arm wrap around my waist.
“Has Lily been tel ing you how she rebuffed my advances?” Tel in asks, hugging me close to his side. “I’ve been begging her to bond with me for ages, but she just won’t relent.” He smiles at me. “Loves her human too much.”
My three tormentors suck in identical gasps. Since he’s dressed in Acropora’s finest royal uniform, they know exactly who he is. And
what
he is.
Take that, sea witches.
They are stil slack-jawed when Tel in says, “I believe this is my dance.”
As he tugs me away, I glance back over my shoulder. The look of utter shock on their faces is the best moment of the night.
Even though I’m stil mad at him for the whole Quince-revelation thing and the whole conspiring-with-Doe thing, the saving-me-from-the-terrible-trio thing is enough to cool my anger a little.
“Thanks,” I say as he leads me into an open spot of the dance area in front of the orchestra. “Those three almost put Dosinia to shame.”
“You are quite welcome,” Tel in says, pul ing me into his arms for the dance.
Now that we’re out of range of the terrible trio, I refocus on why I’m mad at him. Social savior or not, he has a lot to answer for.
“Doe told me about your plan.”
He doesn’t miss a beat in the music. “Did she?”
“She did, and—” I’m not sure how to say exactly what I think of that, so I blurt, “I appreciate your faith in my abilities as a leader, but it was al kinds of ridiculous from the start, wasn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” he says with a gentle smile. Then, changing the subject, he says, “I must confess my motives for rescuing you from those girls were not entirely selfless.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I already know.
“I mean,” he says, whirling me into a spin, “that I wanted the opportunity to plead my case one last time.” I wish he wouldn’t. Not now. Not when I’m already plagued by doubts and guilt and stressed out about the situation with Quince and my chances of ever going to col ege. It would be almost too easy for him to succeed.
“You are what Thalassinia needs,” he says. “Look at the merfolk around us. Spoiled, privileged, and without direction. They have no idea what strife and hardship are.
They need
you
to guide them into the future.” As Tel in turns us in a slow circle, I say, “Not me.” I think about those times when I sat with Daddy in the throne room, listening to him preside over cases with the authority and magnanimity—woo-hoo, another SAT word usage in real life—that makes him the very best sort of ruler. I could never be as great as him.
“I’m not queen material.”
“Do you think I am king material?” he asks with surprising sharpness. “I was not prepared to lead my kingdom, but when my father fel il , I did not turn away from my duty.” I don’t miss the subtle accusation. That I
am
turning away from my duty.
I force myself to ignore the jab.
Tel in looks every bit the king right now. There is nothing left of the young boy I used to play what if with.
“How did you do it?” I ask quietly.
“How? I didn’t stop to think about how,” he says. “I just did it. Because it had to be done.”
“I—” I close my eyes. “I don’t have the strength to be the queen. I’m not… I wil never be enough.”
“Lily,” he says, pul ing me close, “there is no such thing as a perfect ruler. Every king or queen has a weakness. The key is recognizing yours and compensating with your strengths.”
“What strengths?” I ask. “What do I have to offer my kingdom?”
“Your compassion,” he says instantly. “Your kindness, your heart, your loyalty, your unique experience.” My experience. On land, he means.
He’s playing to al my doubts, tugging at my guilt. Could I be queen? Wel , I know I
could
be queen, but could I be a
good
queen? Am I what my kingdom needs? Daddy has always been opposed to coming out of the ocean, certain that humankind is rarely the most tolerant and understanding of anything different or other. But what if he’s wrong? Should I take up the mantle of my title and use my influence to pul the mer world out of the water?
My head is overflowing with thoughts. Too many things.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pushing out of his arms. “I need to—I’m sorry.”
I leave Tel in on the dance floor, floating in the middle of the swirling and whirling couples. I flee the room, slipping out the back entrance and winding my way through the service hal s to the one place where I’ve always felt safest.
Daddy’s office.
With everyone, including the palace staff, at the party downstairs, I’m not surprised to find the royal wing deserted. Daddy’s office is empty and dark. As soon as I swim through the door, the bioluminescent light in the ceiling comes to life, fil ing the room with a soft blue glow.
I absently drift to the right, to the wal of mosaic portraits depicting my ancestors. The many before me who ruled Thalassinia with varying degrees of effectiveness. They weren’t al perfect, I know, but they were better than me.
First on the wal is Daddy, our latest king. His portrait depicts him seated at his desk, the trident in his right hand and a clump of chenil e weed in his left, representing strength and integrity. He looks so young. He took the throne when he was not much older than Tel in, I suppose.
Maybe Daddy was just as uncertain, and just as determined to do his best.
Next on the wal is my grandfather. He passed long before I was born, so I have no memories of him beyond this portrait. He is standing on the balcony of the royal chamber, presumably looking out over his subjects gathered below.
The people cal ed him Pecten the Generous because he was quite free with the kingdom’s funds. Which is also why Daddy had to spend the first part of his reign restoring the treasury.
Before grandfather, there was Teredo the Just, the Golden Queen Alaria, Marianus the Cautious, and Quahog the Magnificent. He’s the one who got eaten by a giant squid because his guards couldn’t get down the royal aisle
—aka the Bimini Road—fast enough. Not so much common sense. Guess they meant magnificent in other ways. A dozen more faces grace the wal s, ancestors whose names I barely remember but whose blood—and duty—runs in my veins.
Such a legacy.
Am I crazy to give this up?
“Your portrait should be next.”
My entire body sighs.
“I didn’t ask you to fol ow me, Tel in.”
“I know,” he says, swimming up next to me.
I’m staring at the last portrait—which was the first one created. My great-many-times-over grandfather, Chiton, the first king of Thalassinia. The one whom Capheira, our mythological ancestor, first granted the gift of mer life. He doesn’t look that different from Daddy, a similar face with white hair and a short white beard. Same smiling blue eyes.
“Lily, you can’t just let this slip away,” he pleads. “There is too much riding on your future.”
“Thalassinia wil find another heir,” I reply, turning to face him.
“But when?” he demands. “And what sort? You’ve trained for this your entire life. You’ve been bred for this.” He braces his arms against the wal on either side of my shoulders.
“Tel in, I—”
I interrupt my own thought. Here in the utter privacy of Daddy’s office, with the dim lights and in the cage of Tel in’s arms, it almost feels… right. He’s so close and so passionate about making choices for the common good.