The Sea Witch: A Little Mermaid Retelling (Beloved Villains, #1)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

What are words but vehicles for emotion, anyway?

“Are you ready?” “Am I ready for legs, right now?” I gasp a laugh. “Gods, no. And fuck yes.” He laughs, sharply and loudly, with a surprised look, as if I startled the sound out of him. He clears his throat, reining in his smile, then mutters a long string of words.

She’s sipping the soup now, her inner voice making all the delighted sounds she can’t voice in person. Her soft moans send a tingling arousal through my entire body, from fingertips to tentacles. How does she do this to me? I hate it. “Stop focusing on the soup,” I snap. “Pay attention to the prince. Men like women who focus solely on them.” But I want to eat, she whines. It’s so delicious. Have you tasted soup before? “Of course. Many kinds.” There are many kinds? Oh my gods. I want to try them all. The corner of my mouth twitches up. Furious, I slap my own face, hard.

“Excellent,” says the prince. “I’d play you tonight, but you should go to bed right after dinner, and get some rest. Perhaps tomorrow we can have a game.” There’s a power in the way he speaks to her—an ownership. He expects to be obeyed. Of course he does—he’s a rutting prince, heir to Perindal’s throne. He’s very forceful. Averil’s inner voice is admiring, yet a little unsure. He wants what’s best for me. That’s so kind of him. Very thoughtful. Just how a true mate should act. If she mentions the “true mate” nonsense one more time…

He lacks patience, Averil says inwardly. Finally she is slightly displeased with him. But everyone has faults. I’m not particularly patient myself— I interrupt her. “Now I have to teach you two things—gambling and dancing. Once they put you to bed and things become quiet, slip out the back door of the inn. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll go somewhere I can teach you without being interrupted or suspected.” Will there be more soup? “No. Stop thinking about your stomach. And pace yourself—you don’t want to become ill from all the rich food. Another thing—don’t yield your body to the prince yet. It’s his heart you want to secure first, not his cock.”

Mates don’t have to be perfect. But I do want mine to be kind.

Looking up, he lifts his arms. But his eyes flare wide as he takes me in—my soaked nightdress, completely transparent now. I don’t much care; it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. He made this body, after all. I jump down, and his huge hands catch me just above the waist. His thumbs graze the underside of my breasts. Our bodies are pressed together, my rain-melted scrap of fabric against his wet shirt and pants. Pants that are once again stiffly, annoyingly prominent. “Whatever weapon you’re hiding under your pants, you should take it out,” I tell him. “It’s poking me.”

His face freezes in an expression akin to horror. “I really don’t think you want me to take it out.”

When Averil wins the first trace, she frowns at me, but she only says, “Another game.” Once more I restrain myself from showing my full skill, and when she gains the trace, she slams both palms on the table and stands up, glaring. “Stop letting me win,” she hisses. “I’m teaching you.” “You don’t teach someone by handing them success. They have to earn it. They have to work hard and lose and lose until they gain it.” A roaring flush runs through my body, because she’s beautiful like this, stormy and indignant, and despite her human form she has never looked more like a princess of the sea. “I agree,” I say. “I agree completely. I wasn’t sure someone of your father’s line would have that philosophy. He always believed in the easy way. Taking what he wanted with as little work as possible.”

I tip my head back and look up at him. He’s looking down at me, darkness and want and latent anger swirling in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “You don’t have to touch me, I can find someone else to dance with.” “My reaction is not your fault or your responsibility,” he growls. “And no one else is going to touch you tonight, do you understand?”

He opens a door. Pushes me into a pitch-black room. A snap of his fingers, and a light flares to life, floating above our heads. It looks like a tiny octopus made of golden dust, moving steadily in place, tiny glittering tentacles dangling. By its light I can see that this small room is lined with shelves and supplies. “That’s beautiful,” I breathe, staring up at the glimmering golden light-creature. “How do you—” He presses a thick finger to my mouth. “An illusion of sorts. Don’t talk about my magic and my deals in the common room.” I shove his hand aside. “No one heard.” “But they could have. You and I are both unglamoured here. The tavern keeper and I arranged a long time ago to set a sigil on this building, one that removes glamours, so no one can magically disguise themselves. The precaution serves both his purposes and mine, usually. But in this case, though we are far from the town where you’re staying with your prince, it’s

still possible someone could recognize you if you draw too much attention to us.” “To you, you mean. Because you don’t want to be connected to me in any way. And you glamoured yourself in the village, which means you’re afraid someone will recognize you. Someone you were acquainted with back when you knew Perindal. Lord Brixeus, maybe?” The Sea Witch’s jaw clenches, and his irises began to leak inky purple-blue across the whites of his eyes again. I watch the effect, fascinated. “You,” he grits out, “are entirely too clever for your own good.” “Thank you.” “Not a compliment.” “Isn’t it, though?” I allow myself a pleased smirk.

Cautiously I turn my thoughts to the necklace I wear, calling in my mind. Sea Witch… are you busy? Of course I’m busy, he answers immediately. You think I’m floating aimlessly in my cave, waiting for a summons from a spoiled little mermaid princess? Not fucking likely. I hold back a smirk. I’m playing cards with the prince, and I’ve won three games of Chips-and-Daggers. But he’s not pleased at my intelligence or quickness. He seems upset. Of course he’s upset, growls the Witch. He’s a primped-up little poppet who believes himself superior to everyone else. He can’t stand being bested. Let him win. But I thought I should show him what I can do, I protest. The Sea Witch cuts me off. Let him win. Again and again. Watch his mood improve. After collecting the other cards, I pick up the prince’s discarded ones. Then I stay on the floor by Kerrin’s

chair, offering the stack to him with my most pleading and vulnerable expression. The prince looks at me, pursing his lips. “One more game. This time make sure you’re putting the cards in the proper spots. Think through your moves. Don’t rush.” I nod meekly, but a vague resentment heats my chest. I don’t like having to submit before him and beg him. I don’t like his attitude about losing. And I don’t like him trying to teach me what I already know, what I’m clearly doing better than him. If I had nothing else at stake, I might give up on him now. But I’m not ready to yield my legs yet. I’ve only just begun exploring the human world. And if I want to spend more time on land, in this form, I have to keep up my end of the bargain with the Sea Witch. I have to try to win the prince’s heart. And so I must believe that Kerrin’s heart is

worth winning, even if I’m already seeing parts of it I don’t like. Surely there’s more to Prince Kerrin than this. There must be nobility, tenderness, endurance, persistence, and kindness. I’ll have to dig deeper and get him to reveal those traits to me. It’s comical how much Kerrin perks up once I let him win a couple of games. But I grumble to the Sea Witch in my head the whole time, pointing out moves I could be making, while his mocking laughter rumbles through my brain. You really hate holding yourself back, don’t you, love? the Witch snickers. Who wouldn...

Are you alive, Witch? Averil asks me dryly. “Alive, and plotting your fiancé’s death,” I retort. “This idiot cannot be allowed to rule.” I might agree with you there. He has no respect for anyone or anything. How did I ever think he was a good or worthy mate? I was so stupid. “You didn’t know him yet.” Why do I feel compelled to defend her against her own censure? “You were charmed by a pretty face, easy manners, and a sunny smile.” I was naïve, she says. “You were open-hearted, sweet, and hopeful. I wish he’d proved himself worthy of your innocent affection. Instead I had to watch you become slowly disillusioned, and that wasn’t as amusing as I thought it would be.” I clamp my jaw shut, mentally rebuking myself. I’m giving voice to too many of my inner thoughts.

But I’m not the girl who saved Kerrin from the sea. I’ve learned the truth of his character since then, and I’ve learned more of mine as well. The sweet, handsome prince I rescued was never anything but a fantasy. He represented the hope of true love, yes—and he was also the excuse I needed, a powerful enough reason to take the biggest risk of my life. But I didn’t leave the sea behind for him. It was always for me. And what I feel for him now isn’t heartbreak or sorrow. It’s unquenchable rage.

He might never speak to me again. He might never beg my forgiveness, or change his mind. He might tear apart my father’s kingdom, end my father’s life, and leave me stranded on land, stuck in this form. All of that will hurt me, deeply. But I will love him anyway. Not because he deserves my

love any more than Kerrin does—gods know he doesn’t. I love him because I can’t help it. Because in the Sea Witch, I hear the deepest echo of my own soul. Like me he is a wanderer, a risk-taker, a wayfinder, a breaker of rules. He is curious about all things far away and forbidden. He is forever learning, forever exploring. Determined, like me. Proud, like me. Full of heart and humor that he keeps hidden away.

“How does this fucking thing work?” the prince screeches. “Shit!” “Such a broad and varied vocabulary you have,” Zoltan says dryly. “Did your father teach you nothing of merfolk and magic?” “Not much,” snarls the prince. “Perhaps he realized that the more you knew about sources of power, the more dangerous you would become,” says Zoltan. “You are neither intelligent nor persistent. You grasp at each new shiny thing, destructively, foolishly, selfishly.”

Teeth clenched, tears beading on my lashes, I crawl forward into his lap. He sets the bottle aside on the floor and wraps his massive arms around me while I bury my face against his neck. “I have a question for you, princess,” he murmurs into my hair. “Why do you love me? I’m a wicked wretch, and you know it.” Words swirl through my head—so many reasons, piling one atop another. But I give him just one, for now. “You listened, even when I couldn’t speak,” I whisper.

But in its current state, it is too powerful. It was a convenient way to store my magic and wield it without sacrifice, but it makes me vulnerable. I suppose that was the price I paid for the ease of using it. But now that I’m risking not only my safety, but yours as well—” He shakes his head. “No, I will let it diminish, and it shall be no more than a mildly magical tool. You and I shall hold equal shares of its former power. And I will teach you Godspeak, so you can use the magic you will possess.” The enormity of what he’s offering settles in my soul, a gentle weight, a wondrous, comforting assurance. “You’d trust me with so much?” I whisper. “After all you’ve been through? Zoltan, you haven’t known me very long at all.” “Long enough.” His gaze bores into mine. “I left you alone with the trident last night, and you didn’t run.” My eyebrows lift. “That was a test?” “One I already knew you’d pass.” “Perhaps I should test you.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You deserve it, for twisting our bargain, and for making me believe you didn’t care.” “You said you forgave me,” he counters. “A woman may forgive, but she remembers.” “Then is it truly forgiveness?” “Gods.” Aggravated, I push at his chest, and he laughs. “Go deal with the soldiers outside, Witch. And then you and I are going to have a long discussion.” “I do love a good discussion,” he purrs, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “No, not sex. A discussion. With words.”

This great room is full of familiar things, precious things. Items I’ve spent years accumulating. Heavy, ornate frames feathery with green growth. Shining cups and bowls. A chandelier with crystal pendants—I remember how long it took me to drag that back from the wreck where I found it. I was nearly lunch for a giant squid. My fiddle is there, bracketed to the rocky wall. It will never play again, of course, but I used to like looking at it and imagining the sounds it might make. Now I know what a fiddle sounds like. I never have to wonder again. “How did you know about all this?” I say quietly. “How did you find it?” “Ylaine is deeply invested in your happiness,” Zoltan says. “She told me.” “She used to go with me sometimes, to explore shipwrecks.” I drift forward to a piece of human furniture he has placed against the wall—a sideboard, I think it’s called. When I pull a drawer open, my collection of mismatched silverware winks back at me. Another drawer holds jewelry and baubles and trinkets I’ve gathered. “Zoltan,” I murmur. “This is—it’s beautiful. It’s more thoughtful than the soup thing.” “The soup thing?” “When you took me to the all-you-can-eat soup place. Flay’s Kitchen.” “Ah, yes. I should hope this is more meaningful. It certainly took longer.”