In Deeper Waters

by F.T. Lukens

To those who feel lost at sea, may you find a safe harbor

I need that

Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

He didn’t need to cry over odd boys who made him smile, then disappeared.

“I’m glad it was you because you’re still sniffling over that boy two days later.”

At least in Garrett’s stories Tal would be the hero, and not the villain he was so scared of becoming.

Who was this boy who valued sea glass the same as pearls and gold? Who was he to smile slyly and tease Tal and touch him casually and make his heart race?

Tal gasped. A merman! Athlen was a merman! Mermaids were myths and legends—women who sang beautiful songs and led sailors to their death or fortune, depending on the tale. Tal rubbed his eyes, but Athlen remained. He wasn’t a hallucination from the honey wine Tal had drunk—he was as real as the shell digging into the bottom of Tal’s foot.

Shifters weren’t as rare as the type of magic that pulsed through Tal’s veins, but they weren’t commonplace, either. The ability traveled through bloodlines. Sought after during the time of Tal’s ancestors, shifters were revered for their power by some and kept as pets by others. Many were married into noble families, and now, of the few who remained, most were of the ruling houses. Though in his lessons on the other royal families, he didn’t remember learning of anyone who could turn into a big cat.

She’d known about Tal even before he told her that he was attracted to the athletic squires and the beautiful ladies of the court and those who identified somewhere between.

That was before the magic, before his life changed irrevocably and his dreams disappeared in a puff of smoke. Thoughts of a future had vanished when he set a tablecloth on fire while arguing with Corrie at the dinner table. From then on he was confined to the castle, hidden away from staff and nobles alike. The whispers spread as fast as the wind barreling through the corridors—sickly, shy, melancholic, magic.

It all seemed ridiculous and farfetched and contrived. But he understood now—that moment of awakening, the heady rush of realization, and the beautiful ridiculousness of it.

“Can I touch you?” Tal asked, stepping closer. “Yes.”

Tal wrapped his arms around Athlen’s shaking body and held on. “I’ve got you.” “I know.” His breath was cool on Tal’s neck. “For how long?” “Until you tell me to let go.”

“The world isn’t kind,” Tal said as Garrett held him at arm’s length, the flames of the torch flickering from the ground, casting them both in eerie shadows. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be.”

“You promised once”—Athlen’s lips grazed Tal’s cheek—“that you’d show me what the bed of a prince was like.” “I didn’t mean it like that.” Athlen smiled, coy yet fond, while he played with strands of Tal’s hair. “I did.”

Athlen laughed and kissed him again. Tal sank into it—happy, loved, and unafraid.

The alliance with Mysten through marriage had dissolved when the bastard daughter gave a resounding no to Garrett’s proposal and eloped with her handmaiden and her fencing instructor.