Page 55 of Drown Me Gently

Just that morning, Ulric found him wandering the beach, crouched in the sand with his head tilted, marveling at a rusted, two-pronged cultivator. The curved tines, twisted from time and salt, glinted in the sun like the bones of some strange creature. Auren ran his fingers along the wooden handle, his brow furrowed in thought. “Is it a weapon?” he asked, half in awe. “Or… for combing the earth?”

“The latter. For loosening soil to help things grow.”

Auren hummed, visibly turning over the idea. “So even humans make tools for coaxing life from the ground. Interesting.”

Auren twisted the metal prong in his hands without really seeing it. His mind was elsewhere, and by the haunted look in his eyes, Ulric could guess where it had gone.

“What happened?” Auren asked.

Ulric tilted his head, brows knitting together.

Auren took a shuddering breath. “To him. To Elias. I... I don’t remember much.”

Of course, he didn’t. He’d been so tightly wrapped in death’s embrace that Ulric had to pry those cold, dead fingers from his skin. He barely got Auren back.

“Do you want to know the answer?” Ulric asked, his voice low.

Auren flinched. “I guess I just want to know… if he… if I’m…”

“You’re safe,” Ulric said with certainty. “He is gone, my prince. But again, I ask you not to force me to reveal the manner in which he departed this world.”

Auren nodded, understanding. And even though he was still visibly shaken, some of the tension in his shoulders eased. He didn’t have to worry about that monster touching him ever again.

He resumed his exploration of the beach, a lightness returning to his steps.

Auren was still Auren. Still hungry for knowledge and full of wonder. Still made of mischief and magic, held together by sheer stubbornness. The horrors he’d endured hadn’t broken him. And Ulric, who had stood witness to every battle in the sea, every storm, every sacred rite, felt small in the face of it.

So Ulric answered him without hesitation. Every question Auren asked, he met with truth. He would hide nothing anymore. Not what he’d seen. Not what he knew. For what little time he had left in this realm… he would give Auren everything.

A pit sank in his stomach, but Ulric brushed it away—not when this beautiful man stood before him with shining eyes and red hair whipping in the wind.

For all the time I have left… I am yours.

Ulric dressed Auren in a simple tunic and soft, worn trousers. Plain but dignified, the kind of thing a man might wear on a festival day. Auren looked oddly princely in it, even with the hem rolled up at the ankles and his hair still messy from the wind.

“You’re taller than most humans,” Ulric noted as he adjusted the collar.

Auren smirked. “I suppose then that must make you a giant.”

“Maybe that is why I’ve never been mugged before,” Ulric said, lips quirked. He was a good head taller than Auren, who wasn’t a small man by any measure.

No—Auren was anything but small.

Even in his human form, his body bore the unmistakable marks of excellence. The grace of a swimmer combined with the strength of a fighter. Not the bulky build of a warrior, but something more fluid, sleek, and agile. Auren’s shoulders rolled with quiet command, his torso tapering to a narrow waist. His thighs, powerful from a lifetime of pushing through the ocean’s weight, now filled out his pants in a way that drove Ulric mad.

The tunic Auren wore clung in places where he was more defined. It outlined the planes of his chest, clinging to each curve of sinew and skin. When he moved, the fabric shifted with him, revealing flashes of hip bone, the contours of his abdomen, and the hollow where neck met shoulder.

And Ulric, damn him, saw it all.

He was painfully aware of how the sun painted gold into Auren’s red hair, how it caught in the delicate curve of his jaw, the proud line of his throat. His lips—always expressive, always ready with a cutting remark—seemed perpetually kiss-bruised.

The prince walked at Ulric’s side with a kind of ease that came from knowing someone as long as they had. Laughing. Pointing. Looking up at the world with bright, curious eyes as though he hadn’t been caged and broken only days before. There was still light in him. And Ulric wanted to press it to his chest and keep it there, safe, even as desire twisted molten through his veins.

He tried to be decent. Tried not to stare too long at the way Auren’s shirt dipped at the collar, revealing the slope of collarbones he ached to kiss. He tried not to let his gaze drag down the lines of Auren’s back or linger on the faint dip of his spine when he bent to examine something.

But it was impossible.

Because Auren—flushed from excitement, sunlight glossing his skin, breathless with joy—was the most beautiful thing Ulric had ever seen.