These Gilded Seas

Chapter Thirty-Three: To Ameliorate Our Bonds

Eero takes a cautious step back, disbelief flashing across his face.

"I heard you wrong," he mutters, lifting a hand to his cheek and rubbing some of the blood away. "I had to."

I shake my head. "You didn't, Eero."

The prince blinks. Once. Then twice.

I thought he'd be angry. That he'd lash out at me, scream at me, have me arrested, but as I watch him, the only genuine reaction I get is confusion. He doesn't want to believe it. Neither do I, really. In hindsight, the deal I made with Zula was stupid. Straight up idiotic.

But I can't take back my impulsivity now. It's too late.

"You came to kill me?" he whispers. His voice is small, weak, sad. Something deep inside me cringes away in pain.

"Yes, but I had my reasons."

He laughs dryly. "Do tell, rød fisk. Do tell."

As I move away from him, the hum of magic that once linked our bodies falls cold. I shiver instinctively and start to mentally dig through the air for it again. That had been the strongest connection I'd had to the Divine in weeks, and I'd just lost it. What had brought it out in the first place, though?

You know why, Arielle. Don't be stupid.

Eero watches me stiffly as I right the barrels again. Our food is wasted, which is a shame because that fish was delicious, but the bag is dry. I lift it off the deck and hang it on a nearby hook. Then, after patting Eero's barrel, I sit on my own.

"Sit, and I'll tell you everything," I whisper.

Eero hesitates. I can't blame him. We hardly know each other, and I just revealed I came to his kingdom with ulterior motives. Why should he listen to me? Better yet, why should he trust anything I say?

If the roles were reversed, would I listen?

Probably not.

After a long minute of him analyzing me and chewing on the inside of his cheek, Eero sits down across from me. His shoulders remain straight and tight, and he crosses his arms over his chest. He clenches his jaw, stares at me directly, and waits.

"Where should I start?" I ask softly. My stomach tangles itself into knots.

"The beginning," he growls. His voice is laced with anger.

"Well—You—I think—" I hiss out a nervous breath and swallow. "You were there. At the beginning. It all started when I saw your ship in our waters."

With a deep breath, I launch into my story. I tell him what I heard, how panicked it made me feel, how sure I was that he was going to attack us, how lost my father is, how I felt like I was the only person who could do anything.

I lay everything out in front of him.

How terrifying my uncle was. How badly the transformation hurt. How alone I felt in the city when the mother yelled at me. How disgusted I was at Master Ursus's interview. How I researched him by asking around the palace.

Eero never interrupts. He listens and studies my face, my hands, my jittering leg. His face remains locked in that semi-angry position, but occasionally I'll see a twinge of surprise or sympathy. A whisper of understanding.

I've never felt so exposed. Recounting my story like this—it's as if I've been sliced down the middle. My skin's been pulled apart, and all of my insides are on display. Every emotion I've buried under hills of fear and regret, every realization that I've shoved under mountains of denial.