by Megan Derr
all of your time on work and duty. The only time you linger on anything is when you are on land."
"I don't dawdle—"
"I said linger, not dawdle," Meris said, levity turning into sternness. "There's a difference, Seree. You always linger. You say it is to be thorough, but you linger—savor. I'm not sure why you deny it to yourself, but you're drawn to the land."
Seree shook his head, unable to say anything. "I'm not. I'm a warrior of the Deep, I protect—"
"You've done enough protecting, Seree. When your mother admonished you to always take care of your family, she did not mean for you to sacrifice yourself. She would not want that."
"Father—"
"You called me up for advice, Ser, and I am giving it: whatever you tell yourself, you are not happy as you are. Content, maybe, but that is not the same thing. Your mother was the first to teach me the difference. Stop telling yourself what you think the rest of us want to hear and be honest." He patted Seree's cheek. "Amusing that I have so many children who think they want to be on land and must be fetched back, and the one child I have who would be happy up here tries to deny it. Your curse is easy to break, Seree." He nodded at something past Seree's shoulder. "Go talk to your pretty young man there."
Seree whipped around, heard his father laugh, and felt him depart, but nearly all his attention was on Aimé. He stood far enough away not to have overheard; his expression was a tangle of curiosity, wistfulness, and resignation. His gold hair was loose around his shoulders, the morning breeze tugging at his loose shirt and flashing teasing bits of skin.
Aimé tensed as Seree waded out of the water and walked up the beach to him. "I'm sorry—I didn't know—I just wanted to talk to you and then … was that the King of the Deep? He looks just like my grandmother described."
"Yes, that was him," Seree said. "My father."
"Oh!" Aimé said. "I didn't realize you were a prince, too." He laughed. "So why do you keep calling me Highness?"
Seree's mouth quirked. "Deep royalty hardly has any meaning on land, Highness, and I prefer to pass unremarked."
"I don’t think you're very good at being unremarkable," Aimé said quietly.
"No, I suppose not," Seree said, lightly touching the scars on his cheeks.
Aimé flushed. "I didn't mean those. I just mean—you're you. Beautiful."
Seree startled at the word, that Aimé would pay him any compliment. He dropped his hands and stared at Aimé in confusion. "I didn't think you wanted to see me anymore, Highness."
"I felt like a fool," Aimé said. "There you were deliberating on whether or not to kill me, and I thought we were flirting the whole time. And then the beach… and I was convinced… but then you were dismissive about the possibility of, well, breaking the curse …" he drifted off, looking everywhere but at Seree.
Well, didn't that make Seree feel like bottom-refuse all over again.
Seree replayed his father's words over again in his mind. Thought of all the times he so quickly volunteered or agreed to go to the surface, despite the pain involved in the transformation. All the different cultures he had learned under guise of wanting to be the best at what he did.
How tired he was of traveling ten seas to fix everyone else's problem.
And then he thought of Aimé's smiles and how easy it was to return them. How easy it was to forget everything, but Aimé whenever he was in the room. The way just thinking about Aimé made everything better. How sweet he'd tasted, how well he'd fit in Seree's arms.
He tilted Aimé's chin up, kissed him, and felt the curse break and fade away.
Fin
Megan is a long time resident of m/m fiction, and keeps herself busy reading, writing, and publishing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. She loves to hear from readers, and can be found all around the internet.
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