Youngest Son of the Water King. A bride for the water prince. Natalie Yacobson

had bothered with her. Her father had probably come to his senses.

      “You’re not one of our servants, are you?”

      “I’m on loan. I was sent from the palace,” he explained with a hitch.

      No, his hands are definitely not hands, but paws. Desdemona was wary, but she could not escape him.

      “Come on, there’s a gondola waiting on the canal. I’ll take you to your family,” the page held out a webbed hand to her.

      He was probably one of the king’s new servants, who had come from across the sea and looked very different from the local people. There was nothing to be done! She must either accept his proposal or wander the deserted streets in the shadows, where many dangers await.

      Desdemona nodded reluctantly.

      “Lead me to the gondola!”

      She hid the pearls she had collected from the rain in her clenched fist. Maybe she could get something for them, unless they melted like rain on the sidewalk at the end of the storm.

      Counselor Morgen

      Quo crawled from the sea to be his eyes and ears in the huge foreign palace. He had only been at court a few hours, and already people were wondering why the royal counselor had several humps at once and why he limped like a maimed man. His cloak, like a spacious hood, lay over his spiky aquatic body, hiding his tentacles, spikes, and gills. A face with greenish skin, as if covered with warts, could still be tolerated. Quo was not a handsome man. But an advisor is supposed to be wise, not handsome. If some of the courtiers guessed what kind of creature the new counselor was, they didn’t show it. Moran welcomed him into the throne room like an old friend. Quo was exactly a servant.

      “Do you want to turn this whole kingdom into a water kingdom?” Quo looked at the arches and columns of the palace with envious eyes. In his opinion, water was definitely lacking here.

      “It is not now!”

      The counselor was surprised. It seemed the intentions with which they had come to Aquilania had been clear from the start.

      “What had gone wrong?”

      It was an impertinence to ask the ruler so directly, but Moran condescended to answer.

      “The mother wanted to keep this country intact.”

      “It will be difficult. Your retinue is already scattered throughout the city.”

      “See to it that they behave humanely to the indigenous people of Aquilania for the time being.”

      “You mean humans!” Quo was taken aback.

      “It is exactly,” Moran nodded. The crown of earth was pressing on his forehead, so he took it off. Let only the crown of the sea remain. You can’t take it off. It’s a privilege to be born with it on your forehead. The wine of the blue fruits of the sea, mixed with the elixirs of the fairy Ariana, was running out. One must send someone trusted to fetch a second keg. Once on land, Moran felt extremely thirsty. What if that thirst proved unsatisfying? His cronies, whom he had brought with him, had already pounced on the court ladies to drink blood. But the blood did not save the thirst either. But the body of a certain Lady Elisandra, with her throat cut by sharp gills, now lay beneath his throne. He could throw the corpse into the sea, but the family would probably want to take the body to the family crypt. The most sensible thing to say in this case is that she was sacrificed to the sea god.

      “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Moran nodded at the corpse by the throne room. The dead girl resembled a broken lily for some reason, but she had certainly not begun to turn. There were no marks on her body: no scales, no growths, no pearls growing straight out of her skin.

      “Your father will be displeased that you didn’t flood the entire kingdom at once.”

      “My father pleases my mother in every way, and she is against it,” Moran drained the cup. He was thirsty, but he didn’t want to go back to the sea. It was because of someone or something that had flashed across the square recently. It had the same delicate scent as the earthly flower his mother had once brought underwater. It seemed to be called a rose and possessed sharp thorns. Could the same fragrance have come from a girl?

      “The brothers said that women always drown underwater, even those who reciprocated their passion.”

      Quo remained dutifully silent. His spiky tail peeked out from beneath the austere robe of the counselor.

      It was worth searching for the creature that gave off that scent if it was mortal and could not survive underwater. And was it possible to rule here without sending the entire palace underwater?

      Moran glanced at the cracks in the ceiling and walls where algae had sprouted. His servants were too fussy.

      “Darunon wants to see you, but the situation is delicate.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “This isn’t an underwater world, if he crawled into the palace, the building probably wouldn’t accommodate him. Not to mention the terror that would befall the courtiers.”

      “Aren’t they the ones who sacrifice their youngest daughters to him?”

      “But they themselves have never seen him, or they would have fled from this island where he is lodged like scalded men.”

      “So bloody sacrifices suit them, but the sight of someone demanding them might shock them? Funny creatures, people! At odds with themselves in everything they do.”

      “They have a weak nature, your naval majesty. They have to adapt to survive. Hence are all their fears, doubts, and inadequate behavior.

      Moran grinned crookedly.

      “It is a weak, cunning race,” he commented. “No match for us! Then their women are no match for us.”

      He should forget about the delicate creature.

      It is better to think of the sea monster. He pretended to be a god and began to speculate on people’s fears and ambitions. It was sacrificed to, asked for help and protection, and paid tribute. It was doing a fine job of running the country before Moran came along. You didn’t have to come here. Darunon had already taken control of the minds and feelings of the nobles of Aquilania. And the nobles depended on his will.

      The path to the half-sunken ancient temple was paved with the skulls of virgins, golden offerings, blood and bones. A scarlet path stretched to the coast between thorns and mass burial sites. The people of Aquilania were too morally weak to rally and fight back against the bloodthirsty god. They could have killed him with fire, but they took no chances, continuing to nurse the slacker who promised them protection from the floods. He can’t even give them that protection. It was up to the king of the sea, not the monster who not so long ago had dwelt in the pyramid of the underwater kingdom and fawned before its king. Now Darunon has gotten cocky. Soon he will demand that half the country be sacrificed to him. It’s time to nail him. But other matters come first. First he must assert our power in the eyes of a people intimidated by years of sacrifice.

      “Where have you been before?” Moran asked the former Viceroy in his thoughts. He was not to be blamed. He didn’t know Moran could read minds. And there was no point in telling him that the period of maturation in higher beings lasts much longer than in humans. Humans were already dying in their first century of life, while Morgens were only gaining strength. In the eyes of the people of Aquilania, an entire era had passed while one of the underwater princes had barely had time to grow up.

      “What does Darunon want?”

      “He only wishes to pay his respects to you as the long-awaited ruler of an underwater race close to his heart.”

      Very high-minded! Moran grinned again.

      “Let him wait.”

      “Shall I tell him so?” Quo even trembled. He was