“Ivan,” I say, nodding in acknowledgment. “I didn’t know you were here. I apologize, I didn’t give you a formal welcome.”
The words come out robotic. Distant. But that’s what my father expects. So that’s what I give him—for now.
Ivan’s smirk spreads slowly. His dark brown hair is slicked back perfectly, like he just stepped off a red carpet instead of out of a crime syndicate's late dinner. Or breakfast by now.
“I never wanted to marry an annoying minor like your sister…” he says, stepping forward, slow and deliberate, his eyes dragging down my frame as he closes the distance.
I stay still. Focus on my breathing. One inhale at a time.
“But look at this treasure,” he growls, eyes gleaming as he stops in front of me. His tall frame towers over mine. One hand reaches out—his fingers wrapping around my chin, tilting my face up like I’m a prize on display.
Maybe I am…
A line of curses races through my mind, but I hold my stare. His eyes are cold. Empty. There’s no humanity in them. Just the sick thrill of control.
This isn’t a man. This is a psychotic predator playing with his next meal.
“Looks like I’m going to have a new toy to enjoy,” he says with a grin, turning to my father mid-sentence, still gripping my chin like I’m property.
Fucking piece of shit.
My father smiles back at him. Pleased.
Of course he is. To him, I’m just the whore who manages his club. He has no idea what’s going to happen to his precious empire if he gives me away.
Let it fall.
I stay quiet. Just like I’m supposed to. I won’t tempt fate. Not yet.
“So…” Ivan draws out the word slowly. “When can I take her?”
His question slices the air like a knife.
Heavy. Final.
Or maybe it’s just me, feeling like I’ve been carved open and handed off.
Malec
Two days of endless currents blur together, though it feels like two hours as I ride the waves beneath us, guiding the water with Mom’s power. My tail slices through the depths, twisting and coiling, shaping the currents like they were only created to follow me.
Finally, the gates of Sur-El’s city appear, towering and gleaming even in the dim underwater light. Relief presses against my chest, a welcome weight after the unending push of the sea.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen it, and it looks nothing like I imagined.
The city is sealed behind towering icy walls, their surface a sheet of frost so pale it looks almost silver. But then—piercing through the ice at regular angles—are massive golden stars, embedded deep into the structure, supporting it like sacred bones. They don’t shine with gems or glamour like the other cities. Like Mal-El.
And yet, the gate itself…
A single star-shaped colossus, carved in gold, stands at the center of the wall—radiating light. Not reflected, but born from within. It pulses faintly, like something ancient and alive is breathing beneath it. The golden glow spills into the dark sea like it’s pushing back the cold, defying the silence.
This place feels like it was carved out of time. I can’t stop staring at it.
Most merfolk spend their lives swimming only between neighboring cities—hours, maybe a day, between one pod and the next. But not here. In the Arctic Ocean, there’s only this. No cities nearby. No outposts. No warm currents carrying gossip or trade. Just silence, ice, and dark things, the rest of the world has no reason—and no courage—to understand.
Only Sur-El remains.
Marked by the stars. Descendants of the fifth son—the youngest of the first royal bloodlines.
