Page 20 of Drown Me Gently

Not in great swells, but in small, insidious ways. The floating blue flames that lit Atlantis’s halls began to go out more often. Tonics he’d brewed for centuries started misfiring. Potions for healing, clarity, fertility… all flawed now.

A potion for dreamless sleep made the user speak in riddles for days. A tonic for clean skin had the user referring to everyone as “Uncle Sebastian” for hours. Finally, a draft intended to aid in a healthy birth led to the mother’s sneezing bioluminescent boogers.

Once it was determined this wouldn’t harm the baby, all was well—but Ulric was displeased.

These errors. This lapse in his magic was his fault.

He knew the rules.

He had carved them into his very flesh.

No mate. No desire. No love.

But Auren had never followed rules.

And Ulric—Ulric was starting to forget why he’d ever believed in them.

Their relationship had shifted. Grown too soft. Too easy. He found himself laughing more. Teasing, even. Relaxing.

It terrified him.

Now, Ulric lounged in the narrow cave, his tentacles lazily sprawled across the stone, twirling a tarnished pudding spoon between his fingers. It had come from a shipwreck Auren discovered a few days ago—one he’d begged Ulric to help lift from its half-buried state. They’d swum through the wreckage for hours and returned with so many trinkets that Ulric could hardly swim for how many of his tentacles were occupied holding the treasures.

Ulric couldn’t explain how he’d gone from chastising Auren for this behavior to helping him.

As long as he is staying in the water.

Across the chamber, Auren worked in focused silence. A new sculpture took shape beneath his hands—a seabird, immortalized in wire and gems. When Ulric recognized the creature’s form, his chest tightened, remembering the quiet grief in Auren’s voice as he’d cradled its broken body on the sand.

The wings were slight and graceful, mid-stretch as if caught in flight. The skeleton was fashioned from twisted brass and smooth, bleached shell, delicate yet sturdy. But it was the feathers that caught the eye. Each one carved from nacre and layered with colored sea glass, their edges tinted in soft gradients of pink, blue, and teal. They shimmered as if still wet with sky.

It was a tribute.

It was Auren’s way of giving the seabird the flight it had been denied.

And even half-finished, it was breathtaking.

So was the one making it.

Ulric watched Auren, brow furrowed in concentration, hair falling loose from its braid. His long green tail coiled beneath, fin unconsciously swaying side to side. The way his hands moved, the way his eyes lit with quiet purpose, it had Ulric enraptured, mind, body, and soul.

Ulric had seen nobles dressed in the finest gems and silks the sea had to offer. He had seen warriors wreathed in blood and salt and triumph.

But nothing—nothing—was more beautiful than Auren lost in his own creation.

And still, that damn silver scarf was braided into his hair. Always that scarf. High-quality human silk, tied in a delicate fishtail braid. Ulric tried to ignore it.

“There’s another Council session tomorrow,” he said at last. “Both of us have to attend.”

Auren groaned. “Why? Are they plotting another hour-long lecture about algae allocation?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them. But it’s a royal appearance, not a debate.”

Auren sighed, rubbing the side of his face. “It’s going to be hours, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Ulric said, then smirked. “But I’ll make you a deal. If you sit through it without glaring, groaning, or rolling your eyes, I’ll take you to see something afterward.”

Auren arched a brow. “What kind of ‘something’?”