Wedding Night
When he woke up later that night (technically, the next morning), to her arms and her hair and her beautiful body, at first he thought all was right with the world. The princess had thick, curly black hair that spiralled away from her head like the spots of light from a firework, and creamy, smooth skin that had a faint scent of vanilla. Truth be told, he'd been woken up by her curls itching his face, but it was the kind of uncomfortable, rude awakening that he wanted for the rest of his life. As he lay there with his bride, on the morning after his wedding, he remembered his little friend, as he called the mute; how she had perfectly complemented his dark-haired beauty with her straight blonde locks, the tears of happiness brimming in her eyes, the energy with which she danced last night. He heard the door open slightly behind him, and not yet wanting to be recalled to royal duties, pretended to be asleep.
He was instantly able to recognise the light tread of his little friend as she padded across the room. He frowned, but didn't question it - if she wanted him, it would be for a good reason. She drew closer to his bed, and now he could hear that she was breathing heavily, as if she was trying not to cry. He peeked through his eyelashes, and beheld his little friend, tears pouring down her face like a river, still in her bridesmaids dress, a flash of silver grasped tightly in her trembling little hands, pointed above his heart.
In that moment, he really thought she was going to stab him. He could tell she didn't want to do it, that someone or something was forcing her to, and she felt she had no choice. But just then, the princess moved in her sleep, tightly hugging him around his waist. Almost involuntarily, he shifted his body so he was facing away from his little friend; if he was to die, he wanted to die holding to woman he loved close. He heard a sob rip from his little friends throat, and she raced out his room, not even shutting the door. Concerned for her, he dropped a kiss on his wife's brow and started up towards the deck in only his nightclothes - his little friend's cabin was on the other side of the ship.
When he eventually reached the top, he saw her swiftly slide over the railing so she faced the sea. He couldn't say why later, but something stopped him at that moment - a sense that he couldn't get in the way of what his little friend needed to do. The sea was calm, and the full moon had a shining silver pathway extending over the water, touching the part of the ship they were on, the surprisingly gentle sea breeze stirring her golden hair and skirt. All he could hear was the waves against the boat and his little friend's deep breaths. It was a solemn moment, he mused silently. Quietly he walked towards her, the fear she was going to jump always in the back of his mind.
He had made no sound, but evidently she had heard the padding of his bare feet on the deck, because she suddenly slumped over. He ran across the deck and caught her under her arms before she fell in the ocean, barely noticing that his hands were stained with blood. Unnoticed by both, the dagger dropped into the ocean.
"Little friend," he murmured, "my dear little friend, why would you do this? What happened to you?"
She looked up at him with her clear ocean eyes, and smiled gently. Her lower body quite suddenly jerked, and looking down, instead of the little white feet he was accustomed to, he saw a powerful tail, like a seal's. Shocked, the girl attempted to speak.
"I love you."
That was what he thought her lips had whispered, anyway. But he would never get a chance to ask her, for with another involuntary jerk she was ripped from his arms, and slipped into the water without as much as a splash. And as much as he tried to convince his servants the next day that she had fallen into the ocean, all they ever found of her was a bloodstained bridesmaids dress and some sea foam.