The Triton

Chapter 13: Vivien

I pulled away from the hug, eyes suddenly full. I pushed back the tears, faltering.

"I––I want to be alone." It fell from my lips, before I'd even processed it. It was true. I needed time to process, to think, to understand even the tiniest bit of the last day.

Rosann and Eleanora exchanged a glance, a moment of wordless communication seemingly enough, as the Princess––my mother––nodded. "I will take my leave," she said. "I trust Rosann can stay. He is the only other warrior the beast fears."

I opened my mouth, but paused–– there would be some safety in his protection, surely. "Thank you," I said. I meant every bit of it.

"I will return by day's end," she said, stepping forward. There was a sadness to her movement, as if leaving was painful. "There is much to do––and I am excited to show you your home, my dear. Until then, rest, and heal." She cupped my cheek in her hand, an entirely new sensation, every fiber so intensely alighted by her touch.

The merfolk form was so sensitive, so powerful. It was nearly overwhelming––especially when she leaned forward, kissing my head, lips pressed tight. It felt so soft, so warm, so right.

"Until the evening," she murmured. She locked eyes with Rosann, gaze suddenly sharper than a blade. "Attend to your duties with the diligence befitting your station."

He nods. The warrior held himself so casually, but my mother trusted him, at least. Specter had retreated from him, too.

And with a final glance, she slid out the door, dress trailing behind, before gently closing it with a final click.

When he didn't move, I managed a quiet, "I'm going to bathe, I think." I'd seen the corner of a bathtub from the bed, and it sounded like heaven.

"Of course, Princess," he said, words unguarded and light.

"What?" I asked, incredulous.

He dipped his chin slightly. "Enjoy."

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm not going to like you, am I?"

"Like is not required, Your Highness. I am here to protect."

I blinked twice. His words were dedicated and devoted, but he shared them as if they were an inside joke, banter between old friends. I heard every bit of his words, every inflection of his voice––every touch of richness, of strength and confidence that laced them––all parts of the new body.

My new body.

I turned for the bathroom. I was suddenly an infant––each step was powerful, too powerful, and I found balance nearly impossible. I took one step, but I had horribly misjudged, and twisted as I began to fall.

In a moment, he was there. His arm wrapped around my core, an effortless catch, breaking my fall like the surf breaks on the shore.

"Your Highness?"

His voice, it was so close, too close, and my stomach turned, the sensation of his scales against mine, my midsection. Warm. Hot. Too hot. Panic pooled deep in me. Thoughts and memories clawed at the back of my mind. Bad memories. Old memories.

My fingers dug into his arm, desperate. I took hold, mustering whatever strength I had into throwing him back, away from me, off of me, anywhere but next to me.

"Don't touch me," I snapped.

He went flying through the air, literally airborne, eyes wide . He landed gracefully, skidding across the carpet.

My chest tightened, constricting as if invisible hands were squeezing the breath from me. The frantic rhythm of my heart slowed, each beat heavy with the weight of realization. Shame crept in like a shadow, suffusing my body with cold. My shoulders sagged, and my head bowed, unable to meet anyone's gaze. The frantic energy that had fueled my panic dissipated, leaving behind an echoing emptiness. Shame replaced panic, anchoring me in place with heavy chains.