Carl said nothing. His eyebrow, however, spoke volumes.
She shot past the palace’s lush kelp gardens, where electric-blue gobies darted between fronds, blissfully unaware that they were being watched by snarly kelp dragonettes.
“Nice stripes,” one dragonette heckled. “Did you lose a bet with a zebra fish?”
Up ahead, the bioluminescent coral towers stood proudly, inviting merfolk and sea creatures alike.
Say what you would about maternal expectations and unending royal pressure, but the palace? The palace was magic.
Coral spires, glowing towers, water that hummed with music—this was home.
As she glided through the halls, she ignored the pitying looks from those she passed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Iris sang as soon as she swam into the throne room, breathless and trying for repentant but likely landing somewhere more along the lines of ‘guilty puppy.’
Queen Tatiana didn’t even blink. Her icy-blue gaze swept over Iris like a glacier.
“I do not have time to be kept waiting, Daughter.”
Translation: you’re insomuch trouble.
Her pink hair danced in the water around her as her cool blue eyes took in her daughter. “But, indeed, your dedication to shirking your royal responsibilities ends today.”
Great.
Crab pinches were definitely in her future.
Or maybe a squid-ink graffiti cleaning detail.
“It is time for you to marry.”
Well, then.
Iris blinked.
“I’d rather take the eels.”
Her mother didn’t flinch. Not even a twitch. Which made itso muchworse.
As a princess, Iris understood that marriage was a non-negotiable. And likely heavily influenced by her mother. That said, she was young; she had time. Hopefully, by then, all the obnoxious mermen who thought it was appropriate to comment on her seashell bra would be married off to others.
“It’s going to be Osiren, isn’t it?” Iris asked. Her mind conjured up images of the last time she’d seen him—bench-pressing a defenseless manatee to show off his bulging biceps for a group of giggling mermaids. Iris loved her people, but she had to admit, they could at times be a tad superficial.
Unfortunately for Iris, that gene had skipped her. She didn’t particularly care about the size of her potential partner’s muscles.
That was probably why she spent so much time reading the pressed-kelp, shell-bound books in the royal library. Even if there was an extremely limited supply thanks to a general preference among the merfolk for socializing rather than reading.
But those books were full of complex men and women who had motivations outside of sensual escapades and decorating their hair.
That said, she’d known for many years that, politically, her marriage would be to someone important.
Like it or not, Osiren was the son of her mother’s closest confidant.
And, sure, Osiren had abs for days.
But he also had the personality of wet driftwood.
She’d rather marry the manatee.