The Admission
The journey back to the palace was different from the journey out.
Rafayel moved more slowly this time, more carefully, hyper-aware of the precious cargo sleeping in his arms. Nana hadn't stirred when he'd lifted her from beneath the oak tree, hadn't woken when he'd launched them both into the air. She just curled against his chest with complete trust, her breathing soft and even, one hand fisted in his robes like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go.
Even in sleep, she reached for him.
The thought should have pleased him—evidence that his plan was working, that she was becoming attached. Instead, it made his chest ache with something that felt dangerously close to guilt.
Or maybe it was something worse than guilt.
Maybe it was the slowly dawning realization that he'd been lying to himself from the very beginning.
Lightning crackled beneath his feet as he leaped from rooftop to rooftop, the element responding to his call with eager enthusiasm. The city sprawled below them, already settling into its evening rhythms—lanterns being lit, shops closing, families gathering for their evening meals. Normal people living normal lives, blissfully unaware of the god and the princess passing overhead like a myth made manifest.
The palace loomed ahead, all stone and shadows and secrets. Rafayel landed silently on the roof adjacent to Nana's chambers, his feet finding purchase on tiles still warm from the day's sun. Her window was exactly where he'd left it—slightly ajar, an invitation he'd known she wouldn't resist using again.
He slipped through with practiced ease, his burden never shifting, never stirring.
Her chambers were exactly as he remembered from his brief materialization earlier. Silk and jade and luxury that felt more like a prison than a privilege. The bed dominated one wall—carved rosewood frame draped in layers of embroidered fabric that probably cost more than most families earned in a year.
A gilded cage lined with silk.
Rafayel approached the bed with something approaching reverence, then carefully—so carefully—laid her down among the cushions. She made a small sound of protest, her hand tightening in his robes, reluctant to release him even in unconsciousness.
*Don't*, he thought. *Don't make this harder.*
But he gently pried her fingers loose anyway, settling her hand at her side. She immediately curled onto her side, seeking the warmth he'd taken away, her face pressing into the pillow with a soft sigh.
Rafayel stood beside the bed, perfectly still, and simply looked at her.
*So beautiful*, he thought, and the bitterness that rose alongside the observation was directed entirely at himself. *So stupid. So naive.*
Beautiful—because she was. Even exhausted, even with her hair mussed from their adventures and a smudge of dirt on her cheek, she was lovely in a way that had nothing to do with symmetry or royal grooming. It was something deeper, something intrinsic. The kind of beauty that came from being genuinely, wholly *good*.
Stupid—because she trusted him. Because she'd fallen asleep against his shoulder without a single thought that he might be dangerous. Because she'd given him a beacon that would summon him to her side and never once considered that she might be inviting a monster into her sanctuary.
Naive—because she still believed in fairy tales. Still thought that the beautiful stranger who'd shown her the festival and taught her to catch gerbils was some kind of hero. Had no idea that heroes and villains often wore the same face, and the only difference between them was which choice they made when the moment of truth arrived.
Rafayel reached out, his hand hovering over her face for a long moment before he finally, gently, brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. His fingers lingered against her skin—warm, soft, alive.
*I should have killed her in the forest*, he thought. *I had the perfect opportunity. She was asleep, vulnerable, trusting. I could have made it painless. Could have taken her to the altar while she dreamed. Could have ended this before...*
Before what?
Before he fell for her all over again?
Too late for that. He'd fallen the moment she'd looked at him in that alley with gratitude and trust shining in her eyes. Maybe even before that—maybe he'd never stopped falling, had just convinced himself that the ache in his chest was bitterness rather than longing.
*By Lemurian custom, she's already your bride*, his mind whispered, and the thought was both comfort and condemnation. *The moment the mark appeared, the moment the bond formed, she became yours. Not in the way humans marry—that's just ceremony and law. But in the way that matters to your people. Heart to heart. Soul to soul. Until death and beyond it.*
Lemurians didn't fall in love easily. Their long lives made them cautious, selective, wary of binding themselves to something temporary when they themselves were nearly eternal. And humans were especially dangerous—fragile things that aged and died while mer stayed young, creating a guarantee of heartbreak.
But when they *did* fall...
When they did fall, they fell completely. Irrevocably. With a devotion that transcended reason or self-preservation. They would trade anything for their beloved—their power, their kingdom, their very lives. Would burn the world to ash if it meant keeping their mate safe.
*That's exactly what you're doing*, Rafayel realized with startling clarity. *And you didn't even notice.*
All his careful plans. All his strategic thinking. All his cold calculations about winning her heart and then taking it literally.
Lies. All of it lies he'd told himself because the truth was too terrifying to face.
He'd never planned to kill her.
Oh, he'd *thought* he was planning it. Had convinced himself that he was capable of it, that when the moment came he would be strong enough, ruthless enough, devoted enough to his people to make the sacrifice.
But every action he'd taken had been in the opposite direction.
The way he'd hidden her from the guards instead of leaving her to be caught. The way he'd shown her the festival, given her the beacon, taught her to catch gerbils—all of it designed not to make her vulnerable to him, but to make himself indispensable to her. To give her reasons to call for him. To need him.
To keep him close.
And in the forest, when he'd finally had the perfect opportunity, when everything had aligned and all he'd needed to do was strike...
He'd put the blade away.
Because he couldn't. Because the thought of hurting her was more unbearable than the thought of his kingdom falling. Because somewhere along the way—maybe a hundred years ago on a beach, maybe three days ago in an alley, maybe in every moment between—he'd made his choice.
Her.
He'd chosen her.
Over his duty. Over his people. Over everything he was supposed to be.
*I'm a terrible king*, Rafayel thought, and felt the weight of that truth settle over him like a shroud. *I'm going to let my entire civilization die because I can't stop loving a girl who doesn't even remember saving me.*
The knowledge should have filled him with self-loathing. Should have driven him to make the hard choice, to be the ruler his people needed rather than the lovesick fool his heart demanded.
Instead, he felt something close to relief.
Because pretending had been exhausting. Lying to himself about his intentions, his feelings, his weakness. At least now he could be honest.
At least now he could stop pretending that there was ever any chance he would hurt her.
Rafayel pulled the blanket up over Nana's small frame, tucking it around her shoulders with more care than the gesture warranted. She made a small, contented sound and burrowed deeper into the warmth.
Safe.
She was safe.
From everyone except the one person who was supposed to be her greatest threat.
"Sweet dreams, beloved," Rafayel whispered, and the endearment slipped out before he could stop it. The word he would have used if they'd been married in the Lemurian way. If she'd known what the mark on his chest meant. If this was the life they were supposed to have instead of the tragedy they were living.
He allowed himself one more moment—just one—to memorize this scene. Her sleeping peacefully in her bed. Him standing guard beside her like the protector he'd been pretending not to be. The quiet intimacy of it, domestic and gentle and everything he'd never let himself want.
Then he turned and moved toward the window, because staying would only make everything more complicated.
But he paused at the threshold, his hand on the frame, and looked back one more time.
"I'll keep you safe," he promised quietly. "Even if it costs me everything."
*Especially* if it cost him everything.
Because that was what Lemurians did for their beloved.
They sacrificed.
Just not in the way the ritual demanded.
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🐚🐚🐚
The Revelation
The night air was cool against Rafayel's face as he left her chambers behind, but it did nothing to cool the fire burning in his chest where the bond mark pulsed with something that felt almost like approval.
*She's already your bride*, the mark seemed to say with each beat. *She's always been your bride. Why did you ever think you could hurt her?*
Because he was supposed to be stronger than this. Was supposed to be able to put duty before desire, kingdom before heart. That was what being a king meant. What being a *god* meant.
But gods weren't supposed to fall in love with mortals.
And kings weren't supposed to choose one person over thousands.
Yet here he was.
Rafayel landed on a rooftop several blocks from the palace and simply stood there for a moment, letting the reality of his situation wash over him.
He'd failed.
Not in the future, but in the past.
From the moment he'd set foot in this kingdom with the supposed intention of winning and sacrificing her heart, he'd already been compromised. Already been hers. The plan had been doomed from the start because the person making it was a lovesick fool who'd waited a hundred years for a promise.
Who was still waiting.
Who would always wait.
"So what now?" he asked himself.
"What happens when you've admitted you can't do what needs to be done? When you've chosen her over everything else?"
The answer came with perfect, terrible clarity.
*Then you protect her until the very end. Until the sea runs dry and your people turn to foam and your kingdom crumbles to dust. Until there's nothing left but you and her and the choice you made.*
*And you live with the consequences.*
But even as that thought formed, Rafayel knew it wasn't that simple. Because if he couldn't sacrifice her, if he couldn't complete the ritual that would awaken his full powers, then his people were already dead.
The timeline was set. Two years, maybe less. The water would continue to recede. The Lemurian Sea would become a desert.
And ten thousand souls would pay the price for his weakness.
*Unless you find another way*, a small voice whispered. *Unless the ritual isn't the only answer. Unless—*
But what other way was there? The High Priest had been clear. Every Sea God in history had faced the same trial, made the same sacrifice. It was the *way*. The only way. Written in stone and tradition and the very bones of Lemurian magic.
One heart to save many.
That was the bargain.
Unless...
Unless he could find a way to break it.
The thought was audacious. Impossible. The kind of arrogance that got lesser beings destroyed. You didn't just *rewrite* ancient magic because it was inconvenient. You didn't bargain with forces older than civilization itself.
But Rafayel was a Sea God, even if incomplete. He commanded elements. Bent reality to his will. Had spent a century becoming one of the most dangerous beings in five kingdoms.
If anyone could find a loophole in fate itself, maybe it was him.
*Or maybe you're just desperate*, his conscience observed. *Maybe you're grasping at straws because you can't face the choice you're really making.*
Maybe.
Probably.
But desperate men did impossible things. And he was nothing if not desperate.
Rafayel's thoughts were interrupted by a sound that didn't belong—the whisper of steel being drawn in the distance. His head snapped up, his senses suddenly hyperalert.
Someone was moving through the palace district. Multiple someones. And they were moving with the kind of purposeful stealth that could only mean one thing.
Assassins.
Rafayel's blood went cold.
He'd heard the rumors, of course. Known that his continued failure to complete his contract had made other killers take notice. The King's protective measures around his daughter were legendary, but they also meant that whoever could successfully eliminate her would earn a fortune beyond imagining.
And Rafayel had been... distracted.
Had spent days playing in markets and catching gerbils instead of doing what everyone thought he was here to do.
Other hunters had noticed his hesitation. Had decided to claim the prize for themselves.
"They're going after her", he realized, and the thought ignited something primal in his chest. Something possessive and violent and absolutely uncompromising.
*Mine*, the bond mark screamed. *She's MINE.*
Rafayel moved.
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🐚🐚🐚
To be continued __