Francis looked over his shoulder. It wouldn't do to be caught now. Once confirming he was alone, he turned his attention back to what was in front of him. As he swam closer to it, it became easier to tell what exactly it was. It was a sunken ship, a beautiful ship, but broken down the middle, almost like a giant had picked it up and snapped it in half and set it down in the depths of the ocean.
It was an irresistible temptation to Francis; he had to explore it. Going up to the sunken vessel, he could slowly begin to tell that the wooden planks had been pitched and whitewashed, but now the saltwater was dissolving the paints, leading to the exterior being blotchy. Avoiding the jagged edges of the two halves of the ship was a bit of a challenge, but he was able to slip through the narrow opening. Inside the vessel was in disarray, a settled mess almost; boxes and trunks and crates were strewn about the ground every which way.
One in particular caught the explorers attention. It was a bright green trunk with brass hardware; it was a little dingy with algae and rust from being in the salt water, but it was still beautiful. Francis opened the trunk carefully and found an array of contents within. The lack of bubbles that came up from the trunk told him that the trunk has not been sealed and the contents had been exposed to the water for some time now.
No matter, Francis thought as he started pulling out the contents, thoroughly examining them.
Inside there were books (ruined from the seawater), a pair of spectacles, a few sets of beautiful china and silverware, a box of spices (the spices were still good as they were in individual glass bottles with corks), and a few other small things. The thing that he found the most interesting was the clothing.
There were both men's and women's clothing in the trunk. The women's clothes consisted of a beautiful gown of lilac purple with little golden flowers, a light blue overcoat, a corset, an ivory slip, and a pale pink pair of stockings. The men's clothes included a white shirt, a gray coat, a navy blue overcoat with long tails, and navy pants that had little golden buttons on either side of the hips. There were also likely shoes in the trunk.
Francis looked at the men's clothes in his hands, thinking about their owners' well-being, silently praying that the man either was saved or died painlessly. But there was another thing that invaded Francis' thoughts. He wished he could put on the clothes and pretend to be a man on a ship, with a lovely spouse, heading towards an unknown destination. But that was impossible. He couldn't help but look down at himself, where, from the waist down, his pale skin morphed into a teal blue-green scales. He gently flicked his tail, peering down at the fish-like fin at the end of his tail.
Francis was a merperson.
He gently tucked the clothes into a russack he carried with him. Francis didn't like to think about the fact that he couldn't ever fit into the beautiful clothes that he'd found. After gathering a few more things, he swam away from the shipwreck. It wasn't until he was halfway back that he realized it was getting dark, almost night. Now he panicked a little, knowing he was going to be late for his curfew. As he got closer to his home, he saw more merpeople, swimming with others and going about their lives. They paid little attention to Francis, which he didn't mind.
Then he came upon the cavern that he called his home. Francis sighed, but went in anyway. He quietly swam around the rooms, looking frantically over his shoulder all the time. Finally, he came upon his own room, which was small and cozy. There was a natural hole in the ceiling where he could see the sunlight slowly shifting into darkness. Francis tore his gaze away from the orange and red colors of the surface and turned his attention to the stuff in his russack. Quietly, he put the clothes into a trunk he'd salvaged.
Then his stomach growled, loudly.
Merde, he swore in his head, realizing he hadn't eaten anything since that morning.
But it was too late. He'd already heard.
"Francis?" a deep voice called.
Sighing, he called back: "Yes papa?"
When all he heard was silence, Francis knew he had been summoned, so he slowly swam to the throne room. It was by far the largest room in the whole castle cavern, and yet all it held was a few bookshelves and a pair of thrones. Only one was occupied, and it was his father that sat in it.
A large creature he was, with bright red hair and a long beard. Most of his mass was in pure muscle and said muscles were impossible to ignore. His face wore a scowl as Francis timidly entered.
"Where have you been?" his father growled. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Oui," Francis answered, his voice barely going above a whisper.
"So what do you have to say for yourself?" again his father snarled.
Francis took a moment to choose his words.
"I… I was exploring…" he finally admitted. "And it took me longer to get back than I thought it would."
This wasn't an entire lie; it had taken him longer than he thought to get home, but he knew full well that checking out that vessel would mean he would be late, he just didn't know how late.
His father sighed, visibly angry.
"Francis, you're the prince. When will you learn that you'll have to run this kingdom someday?"
"But Papa, I don't want to run the kingdom; I'm not cut out for it," Francis retorted.
"You refuse to learn!" His father shouted.
"You refuse to teach me!"
"What your tongue, boy, or God help me I will throw you down the drop off and make you stay the night there."
Francis shivered. The drop off was no place for a merperson. He had once wandered too far away from home and ended up descending into the drop off. He remembered the darkness that had smothered him, and the strange creatures that had barred their teeth at him. His father had found him before he descended too far, but that memory was still one that haunted him to that day.
Francis backed down. He shook his head to his father, admitting defeat. His father calmed.
"Go to your room and stay there."
"I'm a full grown adult Papa," Francis muttered, but didn't get a chance to finish.
"And you are my son and bound by the laws of being a prince under my rule. Now go!"
So Francis moved away, trying not to cry. It wouldn't do for his father to have another reason to ridicule him. Back in his room, he closed the door behind him with a bit of a slam. His stupid father had no sympathy for him and his lack of enthusiasm for being a prince. Yes, it was nice being in the castle/cavern, yes he didn't have to worry about most of the stuff the other merpeople did, but he couldn't stand his father. His father was a fair but ruthless king, basically no nonsense to the next level, whereas Francis would be much more lenient with such matters and was not afraid to say so to his father. This had led to his father refusing to train him or include him in royal matters.
Francis didn't want to think about this. He didn't want to think about how his father likely hated him, how he had no respect for his son, and how they couldn't even talk to each other without ending the conversation with yelling. So he began to look at the stuff he'd collected over the years, all of the pottery, china, silverware, tin and silver tableware, sealed books that hadn't been ruined by the water, and everything else he had collected, including the clothes. He pulled out the sailor pants, the long coats, the petticoats, the dresses, everything. How he longed to be able to put on the clothes, to feel beautiful, to feel the fabric on him.
But as a merman, it just wasn't feasible. Sure, he could get into the dresses, which were beautiful, but being male, he wanted to wear the suits and the pants, to feel masculine. Maybe that had to do with the fact that his mother was gone and he had to be the person that cooked and cleaned, that acted like a female. But he knew that deep down, it mostly had to do with his father's constant disappointment in him.
Francis looked nothing like his father; whereas his father was as strong as a bear and had muscles that could make anyone jealous, Francis was thin and lean. He wouldn't say skinny, but he simply didn't have muscles like his father. The other big thing was his hair. His father had long fire-red hair and a beard; Francis had beautiful golden hair that only reached to his shoulders and almost no facial hair to speak of. The only thing he shared with his father was his bright blue eyes. Well, that and his family name, but other than that, nothing.
Francis looked up at the hole in the ceiling and swam up to it. He sat on a little ledge and stared up. The moon was out and shining a silver light, which illuminated the waves on the surface of the water.
The surface, he thought sadly.
That's when an old thought worked a way into his head, for the third time this week. He wished to see the surface, to see the land, to read books, to play instruments that didn't work under the water, to… to...
… to be human.
Francis sighed. It was a thought that his mind had been shoving into his face for a long time. He couldn't help but let himself daydream about what it would be like to have legs instead of a tail, to walk on a beach, to run through a town filled with other people, to wear all the clothes he could ever have.
But he was stuck there, under the salty waves, where he was forced to be in a royal family of him and his father. Francis hadn't been happy for a long time, but he hadn't noticed it until a few years before. That's when the daydreams of being human began.
As the sad thought of never being human washed over him, he did the one thing he could in his room to cheer him up.
He began to sing.
Francis lifted his voice and sang a melody that he had learned years ago. The song itself was pretty, but his voice made it utterly beautiful. Francis never totally disliked himself, he only hated himself because of what his father said about him. But the one thing he always loved no matter what was his voice. He had gotten it from his mother, who had taught him to sing before she died. Even as a child he had a pretty voice, but once he hit puberty his voice changed from a lovely child's voice to something that was envied by even the most eloquent opera singer.
Everyone who heard him sing was utterly entranced by Francis' voice; it was known throughout the kingdom. A few times a year, especially around Yuletide, he would sing at ceremonies for all to hear. But other than that, his father had forbidden him to sing in front of him. Francis knew that it reminded him of his mother, and it just made him grieve his mother all over again. So he didn't sing too much, except when he was alone, then he sang his heart out.
As was the case now, as he shifted from a beautiful melody to a sea shanty to a folk song and back to a pretty melody again.
Little did he know that someone was listening, plotting.