Eero's quarters are a short distance from the mainmast, under the helm. I knock once, and a dry voice calls, "Come in." All too familiar nerves rock in my stomach.

We're friends.

Nothing more.

But as I push the door open and see the king sitting at his desk, back bent in concentration, my magic swells in my chest. It's so hot that it hurts. The surge of power makes my fingers twitch, my cheeks burn. I don't know why She does this, but since that day at the beach, the one where I nearly kissed Eero, She's been out of control.

His back is to me as he reads one of the many scrolls stacked on the top of his desk. Yellow warm lights washes over his face from the candles around him, highlighting the stress and worry lines on his eyes and mouth. He chews absentmindedly on the end of a quill as he reads.

Beside his correspondences, his crown sits. The blue gems wink in the candlelight. He's supposed to be wearing it, but he whispered to me once that it pinched his head. I smile at the memory and close the door behind me.

"Pretty late, isn't it, Magnus?" Eero asks, not looking up.

"I mean, he might think so, but—" Eero spins around at the sound of my voice, scattering his papers in shock. "But I'm not him," I finish, biting back a laugh.

"Ari." It comes out on a wisp of breath. A relief. It makes me shudder with elation. "What are you doing here?"

I smirk. "Well, I think you're taking me home."

At that, Eero's shock fades into mild annoyance. He scoffs and turns back to his work. "You know what I meant."

"Sorry, your majesty." He huffs again, but from here, I can see the puff of his cheek as he grins. "I—What are you working on?"

I should tell him that Papa's men are here, that we're to be escorted to him immediately, but... I don't want to. The way those guards looked at me, like I was an intruder in my own homeland... I'd rather stay here, be looked at like I'm whole and like I belong, than be gawked at.

The guards can wait.

Eero scoots sideways on his bench and pats the wood. "Answering letters from Espjerg. Come. Sit."

I cross the room and slide onto the seat beside him. He cringes as water drips onto his paper.

"Raining out there?" he asks, striking that painfully handsome, one-sided smirk that makes his single dimple come out.

"Just a little," I say.

"You're going to smear the ink. At least use a towel, you drowned rotte." Eero blindly reaches into the cupboard beside him and retrieves a roll of plush material. I take it from his hand and wrap it around my shoulders.

"How are things in Epsjerg?" I ask, patting the water out of my hair.

In response, Eero hands me one of the letters. It's written in Anjordian, which I can read sufficiently, thank the Divine, but the handwriting is messy and smeared from the horrid weather. I catch words like "uneven" and "severe losses" and "low spirits." This isn't a good update, that much is clear.

"They're all the same," he muses, shuffling through the rest of the stack. "The men are tired of fighting; they're not making any gains against the Snejorians. Supplies are running low, and spirits are starting to drop."

"Have you gotten through to the queen?" I ask, voice quiet.

Eero sighs. "Yes, but all she said was that she could grant me an audience. It's not like Maeja. She's always been an advocate for peace. I assumed that would continue after Father died."

"I know." My voice is soft, reassuring. I hand the letter back to him and let my hand fall on the bench. He faces the desk; I face away. Our hips touch, and heat sears through the point of contact. "That's why we're sailing to Snejorn instead of joining the front lines in Epsjerg. If Queen Maeja's acting out of character, it's probably Zula's doing. Maybe that's where he's hiding."

"Maybe," Eero muses, rubbing his scruff-covered jaw. "Or she just changed her mind. It's been a while since we've gotten to catch up. Something could have... happened." He groans. "I don't know."

I turn my head towards him and study his expression. The once thoughtful, young face is wrinkled from stress. His eyes are shadowed by dark bags. The whites of them are bloodshot and tired. His hair has lost most of its bounce and now lies flat on his shoulders.

"It's going to be fine," I remind him, reaching around to put my hand on top of his. As soon as I make contact, he flips his hand around and intertwines our fingers. I stare at our hands for a minute, trying to ignore the little shocks that shoot thought where our skin touches. Mine looks so small, so feminine compared to his.

"We'll figure it out," I remind him. "Together, right?"

He nods once, eyes glued to our interlocked hands, and hums distractedly. The ship tilts dangerously, and I cling to the bench with my free hand. A crack of lightning splits the room. Its thunder trail rattles the window in front of us. Eero's grip tightens, and then, he releases—like he suddenly remembered where he was.

We haven't talked much, but this kind of moment—the stolen touches, the quick glances, the soft smiles—they're frequent. I can't complain; he's busy doing royal things, running a kingdom during a time of war.

But I miss the boy who read with me in the garden.

"Are you okay, Ari?" he asks suddenly, catching my eye. His gaze bores into me, water being tossed in a wave. Blue tangs darting through a coral bed. A Linckia starfish lazing in the shallows. The submerged portion of an iceberg.

Cold. Dangerous. Deep.

And somehow warm—just for me.

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"Because we've been on this ship for... two days now? And not once have you come to talk to me." His tone isn't guilt-inspiring. It's just matter-of-fact. I still feel bad, though.

"I assumed you were busy."

"Oh, I am," he says with a short laugh. "But I would have made time to talk to you."

Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I look away before he can see me blushing. That would be embarrassing on an entirely different level.

Eero either doesn't notice or doesn't want to call me out because he presses on. "If nothing's wrong, then to what do I owe this visit?"

His formal tone makes me smile. I needed that after the rude welcome Papa's guards extended to me. "Can't a maid just check on her charge?"

"Kære røde fisk, if that's what you're doing, you've been neglecting your duties for a few days now."

I scrunch my nose at him. "Have not. I bring you food every morning."

"You leave it at my door, Ari. That's hardly bringing it."

"Beggars can't be choosy!"

"And now you're calling your king names."

"You're not my king," I point out, raising an eyebrow at him.

With a brief pause and a smile, he says, "Tell those legs of yours that, will you?" And then he puts one massive hand on the top of my knee. Even through the wet fabric, the heat of his palm sears my skin. It steals the breath right out of my lungs and the response right out of my mouth.

"I—I will," I stammer, swallowing the knot. "Speaking of my king... we have some visitors."

His face hardens. The hand retracts itself from my knee and moves towards the sword sheath that is propped against the wall nearby. "Visitors?"

I nod. "My father's guards. They've come to escort us to the Southern Isles."

Eero's shoulders relax a bit, but he still grabs the sword and stands up. He wraps the belt around himself, tugs the excess material, and nods. "And they're friendly?"

"Of course they are," I say, offended. "I am still their princess, after all."

He offers me a sympathetic smile before repeating, "Tell your legs that, min kære."

I start to scowl at him, but... he's right. They see me as more human than a mermaid right now. My face twists into a frown, and I knit my hands together in my lap. Eero hovers over me, the weight of every unspoken word hanging in the air between us.

"Talk to me, Arielle."

His voice is velvet, the softest of wind-tossed sand on the shoreline, warm as if heated by the sun. The way he says my name, the tenderness with which he attends every syllable. Magic explodes in my stomach, and that all too familiar voice that I'm beginning to recognize as the Divine's says, Tell him. Trust him. I glance up at Eero and gnaw on the inside of my lip.

"I'm nervous," I finally admit.

"About what?" Eero asks.

"Seeing my father. What if he hates me?"

Eero squats down in front of me, his knees coming to rest on my shins. He props his arms across my knees, leans into my space. "He could never."

"But what if he does? What if he never wants to see me again, and he's replaced me with one of my sisters?"

"He wouldn't—"

I cut him off roughly, unable to hold back the fears and worries that he's uncorked. "What if I'm not welcome back in Hygge and he exiles me like he did Zula? That was his own brother, Eero! Surely my chances aren't that much better."

The ship is still, the water beneath us seemingly calm for a moment. Orange daylight peaks through the bay window behind him, illuminating both of us in a fiery haze. Nature is listening, sympathizing. I feel Eero watching me, but I can't look at him. Instead, his eyes burn a hole into my cheek.

"What if I can't fix this?" I whisper. I will not cry, I repeat in my head. Not in front of Eero. Not twice in one day. Not at all. "What if I'm not enough?"

At that, Eero's crossed arms unfold and grip my knees. He jerks them apart and grabs me by the waist. In one swift yank, I'm kneeling on the floor in front of him, smashed against his front as his arms wrap around me. He's too big, too engulfing, too smothering, and for a moment, I stiffen in shock.

Then, the low thum-thum-thum of his heartbeat rides through the energy fizzling between us, and everything in me softens. My worry, my fear, my anticipation. Eero's arms feel like water—a pressure you can only feel in the deepest trenches. His body is warm against my damp cold; he smells like wood stain and Amaia's lye soap.

I inhale, wanting to take in as much as possible, and the faint scent of horses eases its way into my nose. His warmth seeps into me. It dries me from the inside out like a fire.

I lean my chin onto his shoulder and close my eyes. He buries his face into my hair. For a long—and somehow too short—moment, we kneel there, the ocean waking up around us, peals of thunder growling as the storm moves away.

"Du er nok. Tusind gange nok," he whispers into my hair. The meaning of the words is lost between us, but the sentiment comes across loud and clear. "To All Hells with anyone who ever made you feel like less."

"I'm scared, Eero," I admit. Just saying the words makes it feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest.

"So am I," he replies. I pull back and look up at him. His face is so close, so painfully close. "I have a lot riding on this too, Ari. I am terrified."

"What do we do?" It comes out as a breathless whisper, words carried on air.

He inhales them and inches even closer. I can feel the heat of his breathing.

"We pretend."

There's no stopping the laugh that erupts out of me. "Pretend?"

"Yes. Bravery isn't the absence of fear—"

Goosebumps slide across my skin. I finish with, "It's the act of persevering through it."

Now it's Eero's turn to laugh. "Quoting your mother?"

I nod, and he lowers his forehead onto mine. I make a mental note to visit his room more often as we make our way to Snejorn just so I can ask him just how close our mothers were.

"We will persevere through it," he says softly, forehead creased in sternness. "And we will come out the other side."

"I hope you're right," I whisper.

Eero laughs. "When am I ever wrong?"

Rolling my eyes, I pull away from him. Instantly, the connection dies. The warmth in my stomach quietens to a low hum. Eero sits back on his heels, and for the first time, we're eye level.

"Let's go be scared together, okay?"

A laugh erupts out of me, and all I can say is, "Okay."

He reaches out and runs a hand along my cheek. His fingertips are soft, just like his eyes, and for half a second, I think he might lean forward and kiss me. His gaze lowers to my lips, and I suck in a quiet breath, waiting, wanting.

But suddenly, there's a pounding on the deck, and Eero pulls back.

Magnificent timing, crew.

"Go wake Finn and change into the new uniform. I'll get the ship moving."

With one last smile, Eero stands and exits his room. 

A/N: *sits in a corner and hum "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?"*