Page 27 of Drown Me Gently

Atlantis never needed him. Never wanted him. And Ulric left him broken.

But Elias…

Elias made him feel whole.

Auren swam for home with the gold silk clutched tight in his palm. And this time, he didn’t feel alone. This time… he felt loved.

Ulric sank deeper than he’d ever dared before. Past the darkest trenches. Past the ancient bones of long-fallen leviathans. Into the chasms where even the sea itself grew quiet. It should have brought peace. The pressure, the cold, the blessed silence. But nothing eased the ache in his chest or the fire in his veins.

He had run.

The runes inked into his skin pulsed with quiet rage. What began as a whisper turned into a burn. A flare of warning beneath his flesh. As if the sea itself was screaming—You are not finished.

And he wasn’t.

He wished for the god of time to play his tricks again. That days, weeks, months, would flow like the tide, leaving a chasm of years between him and Auren. That when he returned, Auren would have taken a mate, grown bored of the surface, found a future that didn’t involve Ulric at all. That he’d forget Ulric ever existed.

But of course, the games of time never worked in his favor. When the burning magic forced him upward, he found that only a season had passed. The winter months had come and gone, and spring bloomed.

The reef outside Atlantis bustled with new life. Bright swaths of coral stretched like paint across the rock. Tiny fish darted in spirals, their scales fresh and jewel-bright. Seaweed unfurled in slow, lazy coils, kissed by sun-warmed currents. Everywhere he looked, there was color, motion, life.

And still… his chest ached. It ached like a slow, expanding void was growing where his heart should’ve been.

Ulric hesitated outside the city gates. Shame wound tight in his gut. He had nothing to say. No apology good enough. And yet the pull of the court, of his duty, left no choice. Ulric returned. When he entered the Hall of Currents, it was like nothing had changed. The queen offered him the barest welcome, then it was back to business as usual.

Now he floated to the right of Queen Tritheya’s throne, where a Court Sorcerer belonged—arms clasped behind his back, tentacles swaying loosely to keep him in place, his hair pulled back and fastened with whalebone.

As though nothing had changed.

He’d just finished assisting the Council of Agricultural Tithes with a proposed tonic to accelerate the growth of reef-grain. Ulric gave his final recommendation, which seemed to appease the council; their thanks were genuine as they left the courtroom.

The Queen did not look at him. But her voice carried the authority of one who saw more than she said. “Thank you, Court Sorcerer. Your absence was noted this winter. I am glad to see you back.”

He inclined his head, a spark of pride lighting his face at the formal recognition.

This is my duty. To help the people of Atlantis. To serve Her Majesty.

As the Council filed out, Ulric turned his focus toward the next matter on the docket. Something about noblewomen requesting stronger sleeping draughts—likely another passing court trend. He adjusted his stance, ready to receive them.

And then the doors opened.

And flame swam inside. Red hair blazed like the magma of underwater eruptions and with just as much destructive power.

Auren.

Ulric’s breath caught. He straightened without meaning to, bracing like a wave had struck him. And Auren—gods, Auren—looked like he’d been struck too. Shock froze his features, his body rigid. But the shock was fleeting. It turned to ice. Rage sharpened every beautiful angle of his face. Auren barely remembered to bow to the Queen, rushing to kneel on the marble floors. His movements were stiff, brittle. Then he turned toward her, voice sharp. “What is he doing here?”

The Queen arched a brow. “He is the Court Sorcerer. Does he not belong?”

A muscle twitched in Auren’s jaw. “I thought he would be away longer.”

The words landed like knives. Ulric kept his gaze forward, unmoving. But his chest bled with each syllable. Auren didn’t even look at him. As if he weren’t there. As if Ulric had become another shadow in the hall. It should’ve been easier that way.

But it wasn’t.

“Auren,” the Queen said, firm. “I summoned you to commend your recent conduct. Your renewed dedication to council matters has not gone unnoticed.” Auren shifted on the floor, clearly uncomfortable. “Your presence in court has been more frequent. More engaged,” she added. “It speaks well of your maturity. And your future.”

Auren gave a tight nod, but remained silent.