Kingdom of the Merpeople. The Coral Court.
1014.
The Fourteenth Year of the Golden Age.
Asura.
The music had long since faded, the lilting sea-horns and haunting choral songs swallowed by the quiet hush of the deep. Glowing kelp lanterns lit the long winding corridors as they were escorted through the palace, their silken light casting rippling shadows across the sculpted marble and living coral that adorned the walls.
Asura kept pace beside Arianna, her body gliding through the water, though her jaw was tight with unease. The flower she'd eaten earlier still clung to her mind like a fog, though its warmth was quickly fading.
They are not like us, she reminded herself. None of them are like us.
The chamber they were brought to was opulent, carved from shimmering mother-of-pearl and open to the sea on one side, where transparent curtains of sea-thread waved lazily in the current. Coral furniture, upholstered in swaths of woven seaweed and kelp-silk, lined the room, and a slow swirl of tiny bioluminescent fish drifted overhead like stars.
Their guide – a merwoman named Reefsong with a narrow face and fins down her arms like lace – bowed shallowly and gestured with a long, elegant hand. "Your quarters. Should you need anything, I am to assist you."
Reefsong moved with a grace that was almost unnerving – each flick of her tail smooth and controlled, as though she were part of the current itself rather than subject to it. Her hair, a cascade of deep violet curls, floated around her like drifting ink in still water, coiling and unfurling with every motion. Tiny beads and pieces of polished coral had been delicately threaded through her locks, catching the soft light from the lanternfish that orbited above them.
Her eyes were a sharp sea-blue, bright and discerning, set beneath elegantly arched brows. They missed nothing. Though her expression remained polite – neutral, even – there was an edge to her stillness, a readiness in her poised limbs that told Asura she was no mere servant.
Reefsong might have played the part of a ladies' maid, but she moved like a soldier trained in silence.
She wore a mantle of woven kelp and pale shell-fronds over a fitted top of scale-glass, etched with wave-like sigils that shimmered with every turn of her body. Her arms, long and sinewy, bore thin silver lines – tide-marks, the merfolk called them.
Tattoos of status or story.
Tattoos that seemed familiar in a way that Asura could not place.
"Should you require anything," Reefsong said again, her voice low and musical, "I am never far."
She offered a short, elegant bow and retreated, but not before her eyes locked with Asura's one last time – measured, curious… and quietly assessing.
"She means she's to watch us," Arianna muttered, brushing a coil of her long hair from her shoulder. "To keep an eye on us, I'm sure."
Arianna floated toward the nearest coral seat and let herself settle there, arms loose, the tension in her shoulders far too controlled to be relaxed.
Asura hesitated in the doorway, her fingers brushing one of the carved shells that lined the entrance. The whole mission – negotiating peace, navigating the thin line between diplomacy and deceit – was hard enough.
But sharing a room with Arianna? Sleeping beside her? It was… not what she'd expected.
Not with the Queen of Narnia.
Not with her.
The chamber was beautiful – carved from pink marble and inlaid with pearl – but Asura couldn't shake the feeling that they were inside a cage gilded in opulence.
And she hated the fact that Arianna could be right.
Asura sighed. She longed for the rivers of Narnia – fresh and wild and pure. The sea was a world she did not belong to. And yet there she was. A naiad among salt.
Arianna stood by the window, her deep green eyes watching the currents swirl just beyond the glass. Her golden-brown skin glowed faintly in the filtered light, but her voice, when she finally spoke, was cool and even.
"You don't have to like me," she said, not turning around.
Asura stiffened but said nothing.
"But if we're going to get out of here alive – if we're going to get back to the surface – we have to pretend. Play the game. Smile and speak sweetly. Otherwise, they'll sense the dissonance between us, and they'll use it."
Asura met her gaze, jaw set. "You think I don't know that?"
"I think you're not used to having to hide how you feel," Arianna replied, her tone softening. "But this place… this court… They're not like the surface. Everything is ceremony and illusion. If they catch a whiff of weakness—"
"They'll drown us in it," Asura finished, nodding slowly. The silence between them stretched. Then, grudgingly, Asura said, "Fine. I'll play nice."
Arianna gave a small, tired smile. "So will I."
Asura lay back into the strange hammock-bed, its netted ropes woven from sea-silk and kelp fibres. It swayed gently with the currents, suspended between two coral posts. The bedding – soft and iridescent – was weighted, she noticed, to keep it from floating away while they slept. The sensation was odd: as though the ocean still held her, cradling her even there, deep within the walls of a royal palace.
She pulled the weighted blanket over herself, feeling the strange pressure settle over her chest like a firm hand. It wasn't uncomfortable – just unfamiliar.
How long does the kelp last?
"Near a week," came Arianna's voice from the other side of the room, half-muffled through the swaying gauze that divided their beds. "Edmund asked. You'll start to feel it fade – lungs tighter, limbs heavier. But you'll have time. They put it in almost all the meals here – for there are merfolk who are born without gills."
Asura blinked, startled.
She rolled onto her side, watching the other woman's silhouette shift beyond the veil. "I didn't realise I'd said that out loud."
"You didn't have to," Arianna replied with the faintest hint of amusement. "You have a very loud silence."
Asura huffed softly, but didn't reply. She let her eyes drift upward, to the flickering dance of light filtering through the bioluminescent ceiling. Faint blue trails of algae sparkled like distant stars. Somewhere nearby, she could still hear the low thrum of music, the fading laughter of the court.
Below them, she could feel it – the vast pressure of the ocean, the pulse of something ancient moving through the depths.
And within her chest, a coil of tension that refused to unwind.
Sleep crept over Asura like the tide – slow, inevitable, and vast.
Her mind, once sharp and tightly coiled, began to unravel into fragments. Thoughts drifted like silt through water, clouded and slow to settle. The faces of the Merfolk blurred with those of naiads she once knew. The flick of a mermaid's tail became a river trout's dart through reeds. The violet shimmer of the palace halls melted into memories of moonlight on northern rivers, cold and silver and pure.
She sank deeper.
Her breath, once a thing drawn from air, now came easy from water. Her body didn't fight the strangeness of it – only her thoughts did. And even those were fading now. The weight of the blanket tethered her gently, like an anchor, while her mind floated free. She was slipping between worlds, between the self that watched and the self that dreamed.
The dream-fog overtook her softly, silently – like mist curling across still water. It wrapped around her thoughts, dulled the edges of her discomfort, and smoothed the worry lines from her brow. She didn't notice the moment the weighted blanket gave way to moonlit waters, or when the netted hammock became a ballroom of swaying kelp and glittering shell-lanterns.
And then—
She was dancing.
Not in the palace of the Mer, but in some imagined place, half-formed and shimmering like a memory not her own. The water was warm, thick with golden light, and Peter drifted before her – his golden hair drifting around his face like a halo. His hands were at her waist, strong and steady, anchoring her in a world that felt spun of starlight.
His face was close.
Too close.
She couldn't breathe – not from lack of air, but from something heavier and more dangerous that rose between them. She couldn't look away from his eyes, the way they flickered with something tender… something forbidden.
He bent toward her, slowly, as if asking her a question.
And then he kissed her.
It was soft.
Reverent. As if touching her was a kind of worship.
His mouth moved over hers with growing urgency, and her hands found his shoulders, clung to him, pulled him closer. His fingers traced the curve of her back, the line of her jaw, as if memorizing her through touch. Every brush of skin was fire beneath the water.
They floated together in that suspended world, where there was no war, no courtly pressure, no watching eyes – just the pulse between them, the rhythm of breathless kisses. He touched her as if he could never get enough, as if he had been starving and she was the only thing that could fill the void.
She gasped into his mouth, her fingers tangled in his hair, and he murmured her name like a vow, like a secret he wasn't supposed to speak aloud.
"If dreams are the only place I can have you," he whispered again, voice rough and aching, "then I will take that. Over and over."
Her heart stuttered.
She should have pulled away. Should have said something. But in the dream, she only leaned in closer.
The dance continued, and the water carried them gently through the current of a moment that could never be real.
Asura's eyes shot open, the weight of the dream still lingering, her heart thundering in her chest. For a moment, she couldn't place where she was – her surroundings blurred and spun before she could focus. The netting of the hammock, the soft glow from the bioluminescent creatures beyond the window, the rhythmic lapping of the waves – all of it came back to her in a rush, grounding her, reminding her where she was.
She gasped, trying to steady her breath, and then Arianna's voice broke through the haze.
"Asura? Are you alright?"
Asura blinked rapidly, still trying to shake the lingering warmth of the dream, the sensation of Peter's hands on her body, his lips on hers. She could still taste him, still feel the press of his chest against hers.
The dream felt too real, too vivid.
"Just a dream," she murmured, her voice thick, as though the dream itself still clung to her throat, making it hard to speak. She blinked again, trying to push the haze of the dream away, to center herself in the reality of the room.
She glanced at Arianna, who was watching her with furrowed brows, concern evident on her face. It only took a moment to realize Arianna had likely heard her stir, perhaps even sensed her distress.
Arianna studied her for a long moment. "Dreams have a way of lingering longer than we'd like."
Asura didn't answer immediately, her gaze drifting to the heavy blankets weighted around them, the faint memory of the dream making her pulse flutter. She shook her head, pushing it away as best as she could.
"It's nothing. Just... a dream," she repeated, forcing a calm she didn't entirely feel.