Page 3 of Drown Me Gently

It was beautiful.

And it made Auren want to grind his teeth into pearl dust.

He sat near the far end of the long, crescent table, one of thirteen royal heirs draped in ceremonial sashes and surrounded by floating scrolls. His sash itched. The golden shoulder pin—Poseidon’s trident—dug into his collarbone every time he shifted. His siblings sat upright, poised, and polished like the statues lining the hall.

Auren clenched and unclenched his fists under the table.

The nobles spoke in circles, their words as slimy as eels, winding through the ever-present concerns about territory, border strains, and the recent rise in surface pollution. They bickered politely, all sharp teeth behind gilded smiles.

They’re like scavenging wolf eels looking for scraps of power. They don’t give a damn about Atlantis.

In all fairness, Auren never applied himself enough to seem devoted to Atlantis. But at least he didn’t come before the Queen and lie about it. Listening to those nobles made him want to press a trident’s tip to their throats and watch the color drain from their faces.

His bored gaze drifted along the table until it locked with Ulric’s. The Kraken floated near the dais, arms folded, still as carved stone. Watching him. Judging him. Probably counting the number of eye-rolls Auren had made so far. Auren made a show of yawning widely just to watch the Kraken’s eyes narrow.

Auren didn’t care what the court thought of him.

He was the youngest. The thirteenth. The unimportant one. A prince by blood, but too brash and temperamental to be seen as anything more than a figurehead. His siblings were scholars, diplomats, and generals.

Auren?

He spent his time in the training yards, splitting spears on sandbag dummies. He preferred steel to politics. Salt to syrupy formalities.

No one expected anything of him.

And he liked it that way.

Well, nobody besides his mentor. Ulric refused to go along with everyone else’s dismissal, still hounding him like Auren’s involvement was the last thread keeping Atlantis from falling apart—old nag.

The meeting dragged on for another hour, filled with more titles than substance. The Lord of Drift spoke for fifteen minutes straight. Rambling on and on about trade currents between reef colonies. Auren stared at his clenched knuckles to keep them from spontaneously punching something.

Queen Tritheya sat unmoving, her face a mask of polished stone. If the nobles’ bull-shit irritated her, it didn’t show. Not once did her silver gaze glance in Auren’s direction.

Just when Auren was beginning to think he’d perish from scale rot, the court dispersed. Auren cast a quick glance around the room. Ulric was locked in conversation with the Lord of Drift—whose mouth moved at such a relentless pace it was a wonder his gills kept up to supply him breath. Auren smirked.

Serves you right.

And with that, he slipped from the courtroom unnoticed.

Auren didn’t flee the palace—he slipped from it like a serpent through the reeds. This wasn’t rebellion. It was routine. A well-practiced escape, executed with the ease of someone who’d done it many times before and fully intended to do it again.

The outer walls of Atlantis loomed above him—vast slopes of coral and volcanic stone carved with ancient runes. Glowing wards shimmered faintly along the perimeter, pulsing with a dull blue hue meant to keep intruders out and royalty in.

He swam fast, slipping past patrol routes and darting through blind spots between columns. The city guards were too predictable. Too loud. Auren could hear the steady beat of their Orca mounts long before they ever turned the corner.

The Deepguard was the elite force assigned to patrol and protect the borders of Atlantis. Warriors clung to the dorsal fins of black-and-white giants—Orcas who served not as enslaved beasts, but as willing partners. Proud and intelligent, no Orca would suffer reins or harnesses. They swam with the Deepguard by choice, bound by honor and instinct. The Deepguard operated on a bite-and-subdue basis. They didn’t ask questions. Not until you were bleeding.

Auren respected them.

Which was why he wasn’t about to risk tasting the full power of those teeth.

He angled down, swimming toward the lowest section of the wall, where old rock met tangled seaweed and the current pulled strongest. A forgotten seam in the foundation. A crack no wider than a conch shell.

Most Merfolk steered clear of the wall, afraid of the current’s strength. But Auren met it head-on, his powerful body slicing through the drag, muscles straining and winning with ease.

Auren shoved his shoulder into the opening and wedged through with a grunt.

It wasn’t as easy as it had been in his youth. Sand scraped his ribs. A jagged bit of shell scratched his bicep. He cursed softly under his breath and flailed his tail harder.