The glow beneath my collarbone steadied—no longer wild.
Waiting.
The sea stilled around us, as if holding its breath.
Then the dark king shifted, turning his body just slightly—shielding me from the silver-haired one without conscious thought.
The gesture should not have mattered.
It did.
POV: The Abyss King
The moment her body accepted the mark, I knew.
Not because the sea told me.
Because the abyss answered.
Power rolled through the depths beneath us, ancient and territorial, stirring creatures that had not moved in centuries. The currents bowed inward, drawn toward the fragile human cradled against my chest as if she were a second heart.
A human.
And yet my arms did not burn holding her.
They should have.
Any unmarked surface-dweller would have scorched the moment abyssal magic touched their skin—bones shattered by pressure, lungs crushed by water they could not command.
Aerin breathed.
Her pulse fluttered against me—fast, frightened, alive. Warm in a way humans should not be at this depth.
I lowered my gaze.
Her hair drifted freely now, loosened from its tie, dark strands fading to a pale sun-kissed hue at the ends, as if the sea itself had brushed its fingers through her more than once. Her skin glowed faintly—not with magic alone, but with an inner warmth that defied the cold around us.
And her eyes—
I stiffened.
Gray-blue, yes. But threaded through with fine gold filaments that caught the light when she looked up at me, like sunlight fractured through deep water.
Recognition curled sharp and unwelcome in my gut.
Echo-blood.
Rare. Illegal. Forgotten by most.
I felt the Tide Prince move closer, felt the shift in the currents as his influence brushed against mine—cooler, smoother, infuriatingly controlled.
"She stabilizes the depth," he said quietly. Not accusation. Observation.
I bared my teeth. "She does not belong to you."
Aerin flinched at my tone, fingers curling into my chest as if instinctively seeking shelter. The motion sent a violent pulse through the bond—through me—sharp and possessive.
Mine.
The Tide Prince noticed. Of course he did. His gaze flicked to where her hand rested, then lifted to my face, something unreadable tightening in his eyes.
"You feel it too," he said. "The way her body responds."
I did not answer.
Because yes—I felt it.
Her pulse did not spike when abyssal pressure surged. Her bones did not strain. Instead, her body adapted—subtly, seamlessly—as if it had been waiting for the sea to finish shaping it.
I lowered my hand to her wrist without thinking.
Her skin was warm.
Warmer than before.
The bond flared.
Aerin gasped softly, her back arching just a fraction as the mark beneath her collarbone brightened, the crescent-shaped birthmark now fully illuminated—no longer a simple mark, but a seal.
An anchor.
The abyss recognized anchors.
"She carries it in her blood," I growled. "Generations diluted, hidden—just enough to pass unnoticed."
The Tide Prince nodded slowly. "Until the right convergence. The right moon. The right depth."
"And two kings," I snapped.
His gaze sharpened. "That was not my doing."
"Nor mine," I admitted, and the truth of it tasted like salt and iron.
The sea does not split bonds without reason.
Aerin stirred, lashes fluttering as awareness returned to her eyes. Confusion clouded her expression, fear tightening her mouth.
But beneath it—
Resolve.
It startled me more than the mark.
"I don't want to be fought over," she said hoarsely. "I'm not a thing."
The Tide Prince responded first.
He eased closer, careful, giving her space even as the currents bent willingly around him. His voice, when he spoke, was calm—measured, like the tide he ruled.
"You are not," he said. "You are a balance. And you will not be forced."
Her breathing slowed, shoulders easing despite herself.
I felt it.
The way her body relaxed toward him.
Something dark and furious twisted in my chest.
I stepped closer, placing myself fully between them, my presence heavy, unavoidable. Where his power soothed, mine claimed.
"The sea does not ask," I said, my voice rough as stone dragged across the ocean floor. "It takes. And it does not make mistakes."
Her gaze lifted to mine—steady now, unflinching.
"Neither do I," she said quietly.
The bond surged.
Not rejecting me.
Not choosing him.
Holding us both.
The sea trembled.
And for the first time in centuries, the abyss hesitated.
I did not want to believe it.
That was the most dangerous truth of all.
Aerin's fingers tightened against my chest, not in fear—but grounding. As if she were reminding herself that this was real. That she was not dreaming beneath crushing depths, held by kings who should not exist.
Her lips parted. Closed again.
"This isn't possible," she whispered, the words trembling with the effort it took to keep them steady. "I can't—my mother would have told me."
The bond pulsed faintly, not correcting her.
Waiting.
I felt the Tide Prince stiffen beside us. Not with surprise.
With pain.
I watched Aerin closely as disbelief took root in her eyes, as denial wrapped itself around her like a thin, fragile shield. Humans always did this first—reached for logic when the world cracked open beneath them.
"She hated the sea," Aerin went on, almost pleading now. "She barely let me swim. She said it was dangerous. That it took more than it gave."
The words struck something deep.
I felt it then—sharp and cold—like a blade sliding free from an old scar.
The Tide Prince exhaled slowly.
"She said that," he murmured, "because it took her."
Aerin turned toward him sharply. "What?"
The currents shifted with his movement as he stepped closer, careful not to crowd her, even now. His presence wrapped around her like a rising tide—gentle, persuasive, impossible to ignore.
"Your mother," he said, voice low, controlled with effort, "did not fear the sea."
"She feared what the sea would demand from you."
Aerin shook her head, a sharp, desperate motion. "No. You're wrong. She was human. She worked in archives. She—she got sick. She died on land."
The denial cracked at the edges.
I felt it fracture through the bond—her heart racing, her breath turning shallow as memory betrayed her.
"She used to sing," Aerin whispered suddenly, eyes unfocused. "At night. Songs I never recognized. They didn't sound… human."
Silence swallowed us.
The abyss stirred.
The Tide Prince closed his eyes for a moment, as if bracing himself.
"She was Tide-touched," he said. "Not bound. Not crowned. But marked."
I snarled softly. "She fled."
"She survived," he corrected. "For years longer than she should have."
Aerin pressed her hands over her ears. "Stop. Please."
The bond reacted instantly—flaring hot, protective, furious.
I moved without thinking, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her against me as the pressure around us surged. The sea obeyed my instinct, darkening, thickening, shielding her from the truth she was not ready to face.
"You are overwhelming her," I growled at him.
"And you are lying to her," the Tide Prince snapped back, his calm finally cracking. "You think ignorance would have spared her?"
Aerin gasped as another wave of sensation rolled through her—not pain, but recognition.
Memory.
Her mother's hands shaking as she braided her hair.
The way she always touched the crescent mark beneath Aerin's collarbone, thumb lingering as if counting heartbeats.
Promise me, she had whispered once. If the sea ever calls you—run.
Aerin sagged against me, tears floating free in the water like shattered stars.
"She knew," Aerin said brokenly. "She always knew."