Page 9 of Taken By the Crab King of Atlantis

The curtain shifts, and a little girl comes out and walks towards us. Her head is down, and guilt is painted in every line of her posture. She’s about eight years old, with pale red hair that matches the markings on her skin, in a dark blue minidress.

Nerissa’s face is stern, but it melts when Marina reaches her. “You are not meant to be here, are you?”

Marina shakes her head but sneaks a look at me before pulling a wide-eyed face. “No, Nerissa.”

“Your grandfather will be very upset with you.”

“I wanted to see if she looked like her photo.” Marina looks openly at me now. Her hair is tangled in a messy ponytail, and she plays with the end. A mischievous awareness of her own charm plays behind her pale green eyes. She looks nothing like Aya, but reminds me of her anyway.

“I picked you, you know,” she says to me. “Grandpa Karkinos asked me to pick one from the photos, and I picked yours. You’re pretty, and you also look nice. Like you’d play shells with me… Will you play shells with me?”

I blink at her, my mind sticking on the information that Lord Karkinos is old enough to be a grandfather, and he let this child decide who he was going to have sex with.

Nerissa rolls her eyes, but there’s laughter in them too. “I’m sorry about this.” She puts a hand on Marina’s shoulder to steer her away.

“No, I…” I smile at Marina, and glance at the clock. “According to my schedule, I’ve got 30 minutes to kill. I can play shells.”

Marina grins up at me.

20 minutes later, I can confirm I’m bad at shells. The game consists of moving small shells around different bowls along a wooden frame. I’ve played something similar before with my young cousins, and it feels good sitting with Nerissa and forgetting about this whole surreal virginity contract thing. There’s a simplicity to a child’s world.

She’s happy and seems healthy, which speaks well for the character of her grandfather.

I’ve been blatantly fishing for information about Karkinos, but Marina hasn’t given away much, except that her grandfather is the King of Atlantis and is also considered a god. She says he spends a lot of time doing paperwork and meeting with people, which is reassuringly banal.

“So what’s Lord Karkinos really like?” I try again.

“Grandpa is nice, but he works all the time. He never has any fun, except with me. We eat ice-cream a lot.”

“What’s his favorite flavor?”

“Krill.”

Ew. I try something else. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, it’s just Grandpa and me. What about you?”

“I have a sister.”

“Do you like her?”

I smile at the frank question. “Sometimes. You remind me of her. She has pink hair, though.”

“How come your hair isn’t pink?”

“We’re a bit different. She would love this submarine ride, though. And Atlantis, I’m sure. She always wanted to travel.”

“Maybe you can bring her for a visit.”

“I’m only staying a few days,” I remind her.

“But you could stay longer if you wanted to. You’re nice. I think Grandpa would want you to stay.”

My stomach churns uncomfortably. My contract is clear on the terms of the arrangement, but how much can I trust the paperwork when there have already been so many surprises?

“He might not even like me,” I say lightly.

She shrugs. “He’ll like you. I chose you. He has to like you.” She wrinkles her forehead. “But he doesn’t like some of the dipp’mats. He says war was more honest. I don’t understand that, but maybe when you’re queen you can make them go away.”