Finn chews me out the entirety of our swim home. Just when I think I've assured him that there's no way my father found out, one of our guards approaches us.

"Princess, your father is looking for you." His tone is just as sharp as the sword strapped to his back. It's also as disapproving as it always is. All the guards dislike me.

Or rather, they don't like the way I disregard their rules. It doesn't help that Papa has named me as his successor, despite the fact that I'm constantly pushing the boundaries he's so carefully laid out for me.

Then again, maybe that's exactly why he chose me.

"What does he need?" I ask, trying to paint a picture of innocence on my face.

"He didn't go into details, Your Highness. Something about a ship?" His eyes flash dangerously, glinting like the silver armor crossing his shoulders.

He knows. They both do.

Blessed Divine.

Finn whimpers behind me as the guard swims ahead. "We're going to be in so much trouble..."

"It'll be fine," I breathe, a reassurance to myself as much as to him.

"That's what you said last time, and I was the one stuck cleaning out the crab nests for a week. I was covered in bite marks and smelled like death! I'm still having nightmares about those little red demons." Finn wraps his arms around himself as we swim toward the glistening blue buildings of my home city—Hygge.

"I won't let him put your back on crab duty," I say with a laugh.

"Promise?"

"I promise, flounder."

He groans. "I said stop—"

The noise of the city cuts off the rest of his sentence. As soon as I breathe in the sight, the anger in my chest dissipates.

I'm home.

Hygge is the center of our empire, the heart of a kingdom that stretches across hundreds of miles of ocean—an amount that used to be triple that before the War. The city itself is laid out in a circle with curling, sandy streets nestled between low, open buildings. Most merfolk don't live in Hygge itself, preferring to scatter themselves across the small stretch of sand we've been allotted instead, but they always come back, day in and day out, to gather in the glittering shadows of Hygge palace.

Light filters through the water and casts a magical pattern on all the hand-carved, white stone. It dances in the waves camouflaging the hundreds of different species of fish that dart through windows and doorways. Tall stalks of sea-plants—mostly seaweed and kelp—stretch their green leafy fingers up for a drink of the precious sunlight. Algae grows on the corners of buildings; sea anemones and coral occupy the windowsills.

It's a rainbow of life, the flora and fauna blending interchangeably.

Everywhere you look, merfolk can be seen. They stand under dyed-seaweed awnings and argue over the price of textiles and produce. Children swim in circles, chasing one another and a sun-bleached rubber ball. Nearby, a man I know as Guisep plays a traditional song on his gleaming harp, and the noise carries through the bustle of Hygge's streets.

Nowhere in the world could match the comfort and energy that Hygge brings. Not even the knowledge that my father waits somewhere in the palace, ready to scold me, can dampen my mood now.

But he does wait. Unfortunately. So, I swim on.

As we pass by a merchant selling sea grapes, he waves happily at me. If I wasn't in such a hurry, I'd stop and see what secret human fruits he has stashed under his stand for me. If he has any. It's hard enough to magic land-fruits into preservation when we live in saltwater, but Papa's restrictions on human trade make them even more taboo. This particular merchant bends the rules for me occasionally, knowing sweets are my weakness.

"Not stopping, princess?" the merchant calls. My guard shoots him a dark look before I can answer, and he cackles deviously. He shouts after us, "I'll just save you some for when you're not in trouble, little berry! If that ever happens!"

Finn tsks angrily and grabs my arm when I start to turn around. "No. You're not going to disobey your father and ignore him all in the same day. Keep moving."

Now it's my turn to pout at him. "You never let me have any fun."

"Fun?" Finn balks. "Is this your idea of fun? You could have been killed."

I roll my eyes and swim on. Why would I want to be scolded by him? Papa will do a good enough job of that in a few minutes.

Pushing past a group of children who are mid-game, I look up at the approaching palace. Compared to the simple architecture of the city itself, Hygge palace is lavish. Its roofs glitter with hand-polished gold inlaid into the spotless marble walls and archways. Open windows allow fish to pass through, and solid windows smile down at us with magnificently made stained glass in a variety of oceanic colors. Set atop a massive stone so it can overlook the city, the palace reminds me of a glamorous, doting mother.

Especially when Papa is hovering at the major archway, arms crossed over his bare chest.

"Hi, Papa," I coo as Finn and I approach.

King Triton, in all his broad-shouldered glory, with golden curls of hair piled around his head and shoulders like a lion's mane, glares down at the two of us. "Don't 'hi, Papa' me. Where have you been?"

"For a swim." I reach for Finn's arm, but he edges out of my grasp. I'm not going to be able to lean on him for this one, I guess. "Finn and I went to check up on the fish farms by the southern border, like you asked us to."

"And after that?" he asks.

"We went for a swim." It's not a total lie.

My father's eyes snap to Finn... and immediately soften. "You're dismissed, Finnor. I'm sure you've no involvement in my daughter's continued delinquency."

Finn's cheeks burn red as he backpedals away from us, his eyes darting between me and the king. If I look hard enough, I can see his inner battle playing out—run for his life or help out a friend?

I decide to make his decision a touch easier. "Go, Finn," I whisper. "I'll catch you later."

He nods once before bowing to the king. "Sorry, King Triton. Bye, Ari." With that, he bolts, leaving me to my own mess.

That little flounder.

I grin at my father, but Stern King is back and glaring at me.

"Inside, Arielle," he barks.

Ducking my head, I hurry into the palace, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

Once we're past the archway, Papa takes the lead. We weave in and out of the open hallways, not once stopping to appreciate the art that clutters the paths. Statues of ancient kings and queens and paintings imprisoned behind heavily sealed layers of glass have been strategically placed here and there throughout the palace. Other than the occasional guard, the space is empty and quiet. The silence is almost sacred.

Papa leads me down into the hold beneath the palace's exterior and to the sea tunnels that serve as a home for our royal family. It's much darker here, but tiny sconces light the pathways. They're powered by bioluminescent dinoflagellates. The almost-invisible creatures shed a spooky sort of light, adding to the fear building in my stomach. Is he about to send me to my room?

Suddenly, the tunnel splits. We turn left.

So, not my room. Good.

A few more seconds of tense silence pass before Papa stops at a stone door. He pushes it open and leads me into his "study." You can't really call it that, though. My father doesn't actually study. He does hold important meetings here, though, so maybe "meeting room" is a more apt name for it. The "study" is something humans have, because apparently they like to sit down and read books for long periods of time, even fictional ones.

Another thing that makes them crazy.

A younger version of Arielle might have understood the joy that comes with reading just for fun. But now? I don't get it.

I wrap my arms around myself and gaze out of the hole in Papa's stone room. Hygge lies beyond, far away but in full view. So it's a meeting room and a secret lookout room.

"What were you thinking, Arielle?"

Papa's cold tone catches me off guard, and I shift my eyes over to him. Worry is etched on his forehead in the form of massive folds of skin. As his hair floats lazily around his head, his eyebrows glue themselves in a scowling position. His arms hang at his side, and he looks tired.

"I..." My argument fizzles out like water dropped on a hot stone. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"An apology isn't enough this time. Not only did you approach a human ship, but you displayed our magic as well." He runs a hand over his face, and regret settles deeper in my stomach. "So many rules broken in one day."

"I know, I know." Swimming up to him, I grip his forearm. "Who told you?"

Papa shoots me a dangerous look. "The guards, of course. They watched your whole adventure from a safe distance."

I groan. Of course they were spying on me. It's their job. "The humans were going to cross the border, Papa. I had to do something."

"You could have called for help."

"What would they have done? I was right there. I stopped them!"

"Yes, but that's not your job."

"Does it really matter whose job it is? I took—"

"It's not your job!" he snaps, yanking his arm out of my grip. His dark blue eyes flash dangerously, their strands of gray reminding me of the storm clouds from earlier. I inch backwards.

Only a few things in life scare me.

Death.

Giant octopi.

And my father when he's angry.

I vividly remember being just a little fry when The Great War began and seeing Papa get ready for battle. All gilded in his regal armor, golden trident in hand, lightning dancing from his fingertips, the whole of the ocean in his hand.

Breathtaking and awesome.

But also, incredibly terrifying.

For a moment, standing with him in his study, I'm a child again. I close my hand on empty air, bite back hot tears, and try to bring back the spark of anger I felt earlier.

"The humans are pushing our limits, Papa," I continue, my voice quieter this time, gentler. "It has to stop."

He meets my eyes, his rolling storm clouds blending near seamlessly with my ocean waves. In his, the years of fighting, the scars of one too many lost battles, and the soul of a warrior who's almost given up are visible. It breaks my heart.

When he speaks again, his voice is miniscule. Weak. It isn't the formidable, Divine-Blessed King Triton; it's just my father. "You could have been killed, Arielle."

"I know," I reply softly. "I'm sorry, Papa. I wasn't thinking."

"You can't keep doing this. I know you're angry at the humans; we all are." He takes a deep breath. "But this ongoing conflict between us and them—it isn't about winning anymore. It's about survival. If they decide to attack again, we won't be able to withstand it."

That's not true. It can't be. I refuse to believe we've fallen so far from grace that we wouldn't be able to win a second war. Now's not the time to argue that, though. It'd be like beating a dead seahorse—useless.

"You cannot keep picking fights with every human you see," he continues, "because one day, they are going to kill you. And then what will I do? Appoint one of your sisters as heir? Your brother? They don't know as much about the war; they don't remember it. We cannot move forward if we don't—"

"Remember how we got here," I recite, cutting him off. "I know, Papa."

How has my mighty warrior of a father fallen so far from his glory? Has he lost so much hope that we've resorted to cowardice? I don't want to rule over a group of merfolk who are complacent and resigned. We should fight the humans. We can win! Surely, with the Divine's blessing and magic, backed by veteran warriors and the creatures of the sea, we stand a chance.

Surely.

There's a doubt, though—a tiny mustard seed of nagging doubt.

No one would follow me into that battle. Not when my father has given up. Not when he's decided to take this stance. I can't start a revolution against the greatest king our nation has ever known.

For a moment, my resolution wavers. I've hated humans all my life. Long ago, I vowed to bring us back to our former stance of power in the world, to show everyone that we are superior. My father used to be my biggest supporter, but now...

Now, he's given up, too.

If I'm being honest with myself, he gave up thirty years ago, when we lost my mother.

If he won't stand with me, then who will?

Am I going to have to do this all on my own?

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," Papa says, pulling me out of my wallowing, "but you have to understand the severity of what you're doing. I couldn't stand to lose you, too."

The "too" is the final nail in my coffin, the last knot in my noose.

"You won't, Papa."

When he grabs for me, I don't stop him from wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in for a hug. Then he lifts my hand to his mouth and places a feather-light kiss on my knuckles. I swallow back tears.

Of course he's given up. This life has taken everything from him. First, the humans took his land and his people, and then fate took his wife, my mother. Now, our position has stolen his spirit.

While I gaze at my father, the spark ignites in my chest again. It's so unfair that I can't help but be angry.

It's the humans' fault. Everything is their fault.

A moment of silence passes between us. Papa disappears into his mourning, and I sink into my rage. I let him hold my hand because I'm afraid he'll see right through me if I drop it. Disappointing my father would be the end of me, especially after everything we've been through. Whatever I decide to do, it'll have to be done carefully and perfectly.

He can't lose anything else. Not when he deserves the world.

"I'll be more careful," I whisper, breaking the reverie.

He smiles softly. "I trust you, Arielle. Always have."

What he trusts me with is a mystery. The kingdom? His sanity? My own well-being? Whatever it is, I will not let him regret that trust. Never.

"You can go now," he says. After placing another kiss on my knuckles, he lets my hand go. "I'm sure Finnor is pacing the hallways with worry. Wouldn't want to give the boy a heart attack."

I laugh. "Maybe I'll take my time going back now."

"Don't be so unkind," he scolds but laughs anyway. The light is back in his eyes. Good. "Go on now."

Nodding, I back towards the doorway, eyes never leaving him. He smiles one last time and then turns towards the window. I slip out, only to hover in the tunnel outside.

Something has to change.

We cannot continue to let them crush our spirits.

We are merfolk—made by the goddess herself, spirits of the mighty sea.

If my father won't do something about it, then I will.