★ The Prince and The Mermaid [Giant/Tiny]★

XXIII - Callista

"Cove, wake up, hey" a sweet voice cut through the air, a delicate hand spreading across his cheek as he slowly open his eyes. The glaze slowly fading as he focused on her. It was only her. His world. A name that couldn't be spoken by the human tongue, but it was similar to Callista-Ginessa. She was beautiful, her ethereal white hair trailing behind her like an endless waterfall, a gateway to a snowy star range. Her soft icy eyes that seemed to focus on him, only him.

He was young, but not stupid. He knew what love was. And boy had he fallen deep into it. Callista was his, but how did they get to this point?

Well it started long ago. When the king of the sea, Thalassios, son of Posideon and more, had a son. They were the sea gods, more like the guardians with powers. Their domain, as stated, was everything within the ocean. The castle was big, not a typical castle, a temple. A huge temple, with multiple areas. With maids, eunuchs, and concubines. Lots of concubines. You see, Thalassios wanted an heir, a son. He was the son of the sea god after all. And only a concubine who provided the king with a son could ascend to queen.

Thalassios was a patient god, but not a gentle one. The sea had moods, and so did he. And while waves could be coaxed, they could not be controlled. The same was true for his court.

He wanted a son—not for vanity, but legacy. A true heir to rule the depths when his own tides ebbed for good. So he filled the temple with concubines, the halls glimmering with beauty and political intent. Queenship was not inherited—it was earned, paid for in blood and birthright.

Years passed. Daughters came. Strong, fierce, clever. But none could inherit the sea's throne.

Until Lysara.

She was not the most favored. Not the most gilded or praised. But she was steady. Quiet as the undertow, with eyes that watched everything, and a presence like a harbor in a storm. She was chosen not by the king, but by fate, but the king had much to do with why...

She bore a son.

Cove.

He was born during a convergence of tides, when three oceanic stars aligned—an omen said to mark gods reborn in mortal flesh. When Cove let out his first breath, the sea grew still, reverent. And when he cried, whales answered in distant echoes.

Lysara didn't die. She thrived.

Motherhood changed her station. She rose not only to queen, but to power. She was no puppet queen, and she never bowed. With her son in her arms and wisdom in her spine, she guided the palace in silence. No one crossed her. Not even Thalassios. Not after what he did to her.

She taught Cove diplomacy. She taught him stillness. She taught him that strength was not in crashing waves, but in the pressure of the deep—the quiet force that shaped everything without being seen.

But the court was a dangerous place for Cove, beyond just politics and rivalry. Being the only male heir in a sea of powerful women made him vulnerable in ways he could never have prepared for.

Some women—concubines and queens alike—saw him less as a son of the king and more as a prize to possess, a tool to wield power. Their advances were not always subtle or consensual.

Cove's earliest memory of fear was when he was barely more than a child, wandering a corridor late at night, seeking the comforting presence of his mother. Instead, he was cornered by a favored concubine, a woman known for her beauty and ruthless ambition. She was cold and insistent, her hands rough and unforgiving as she forced herself upon him.

He froze, the weight of her hands crushing more than his body—the weight of powerlessness and shame. He could not scream. The temple was silent, and the walls had ears that promised no safety.