Madam Amaia forces me into her dark room, guiding my shoulders with both of her hands. We navigate around a bed and through a second door. As we enter the next room, I glance behind me to see an illuminated lump in the center of the bed. Josef must be there. It's a good thing Eero didn't wake him up. The man needs his rest.

And the last thing I needed was Josef storming naked into the hall.

The second room turns out to be a bathing room where a single tub and a warming area sit. There's a bucket filled with water over the kindling already. Madam Amaia lights the tinder quickly and turns back to me with a very dangerous expression.

"Undress," she hisses.

I swallow. Madam Amaia's not someone I want to argue with, but if I take off my uniform, she'll see my blade. I'm surprised Eero didn't feel it when he was carrying me.

When he was carrying me. Oh, Divine. Why did I let him do that?!

"Skatter, if you don't take that filthy dress off, I'm going to tear it off your unwilling limbs." She points a short finger at me in warning. "Now, Ari."

Grimacing, I untie the belt of my dress and loosen it from my shoulders. Once she's sure I'm listening, Madam Amaia turns around to tend the fire, giving me some privacy.

The dress falls to the floor with a breathy thump, taking layers of dirt with it. The front bodice was cut nearly through, but it's nothing the matron can't fix.

"Done," I whisper, covering myself with my hands and trying not to shuffle around on my feet. The bitter cold of the room causes goosebumps to erupt across my bare skin.

As she turns, Madam Amaia's eyes drop instantly to the dagger I've tied to my thigh. It's held on by some fabric that I cut from the skirt I wore when I arrived. Her eyebrows tilt forward in an unreadable expression. She opens her mouth, only to close it an instant later. The words seem to tumble through her mind for a minute, and all I can do is stand and wait patiently for them to settle.

"I assume that's for protection," she finally says. I nod. It's not a lie, really. "What a sad world we live in," she continues with an angry scoff, "that young girls can't even walk around without feeling like they need to carry weapons." She dumps the bucket of water in the tub with a violent flourish, and the steam curls towards the ceiling.

Leave it to Amaia not to ask questions. Why did I think she would when the woman has been nothing but kind and accepting?

Gently, like I'm made of sand and might crumble through her fingers, Madam Amaia inspects my body. Her papery fingertips crazy against my face and neck, lightening when I wince. She frowns and moves down further slowly. Soft clicks spill out of her lips as she finds bruise after bruise. Then, her hands reach my mother's dagger, and the old woman unties it and sets it on a table beside the tub.

Finally, looking a bit less angry, Madam Amaia stands upright and nods. I've apparently passed her inspection. An exhale of relief leaves my lungs.

"I'll need to fetch another bucket of water from the well," she says. "Will you be okay here by yourself?" I nod. "Good. Don't worry about Josef. The man could sleep through a hurricane and not budge." With a tender smile, she pats my cheek and leaves, taking her bucket with her.

I sag against the edge of the tub. I'm not used to this level of caretaking, to this sort of attention. Back in Hygge, the royal family gets treated like any other merfolk. I may have been coddled when I was younger, but no one else has since Mama. Why would they? I'm not a child anymore.

I don't need to be cared for like one.

But Amaia's gentle tendings bring tears to my eyes.

The woman barely knows me, has never asked where I'm from or why I ended up here, has fed me, clothed me, kept me company for nearly a week, and now she's awake in the middle of the night to make sure I'm okay. To personally check all of my wounds and make sure I'm not going to fall apart.

I don't deserve this level of care. Not when I'm here to kill the man she raised and loves like her own child. Not when I'm lying to her about my entire identity

Guilt knots with the dizziness in my stomach.

Above all else, I don't want to disappoint her. I don't want to upset or betray either Amaia or Josef.

But I have to. There's no other choice.

My deal with Zula was sealed in his hollow. If I don't kill Eero within the next three weeks, everyone back in Hygge will suffer. I'll lose my birthright; Finn will slowly drown in a glass cage. I may never get my fins back.

A war with the humans pales in comparison to the concept of Zula on the throne.

I have no other choice.

Still wrestling with my guilt—not the decision itself because that's obvious; Eero has to die—I slip into the tub and fill the water with the oils I've become accustomed to using. They soothe my aching muscles, ones I thought were in better shape than this. Did Zula steal some of my strength during the transformation? Is this another one of his tricks?

No, this is all me. I'm responsible for this.

I stretched myself too far, had too much confidence.

Plus, what did any of this have to do with killing Eero? I'm supposed to be focused on that, and instead I'm gallivanting around picking fights with grown men. Papa would be ashamed.

Worse yet, Mama would be.

That thought crushes me. If my mother were here, she'd remind me that our people come first. No fascinations, no curiosity, no prideful endeavors are more important than the people we serve. And she would know best; Mama loved studying the humans, too. I've lost sight of my main goal and in the process got off track.

Fending off an onslaught of tears, I sink into the water. There's no time to wallow and cry. I just need to focus and get back to work. I need to give my family, my kingdom, my Mama, a reason to be proud of me.

Sometime later, Amaia returns and sets the bucket of water over the fire. Then she pulls a stool over to the head of the tub and starts washing my hair. Never asks, never questions—just washes. Her experienced fingers pull at the red strands, kneading out dirt and sweat, shame and tangles. She works slow circles into my scalp and hums to herself. Or to me. Either way, it's calming. The action is so frighteningly familiar because her voice is deep like my mother's. It's warm, too, like a sun-toasted rock sitting on one of the isles, and comforting, like the sound of waves crashing onto the shoreline.

I could stay like this forever. Lose myself in the safety and comfort of a motherly touch.

But I can't afford to get distracted.

When Madam Amaia's finished scrubbing my hair, she uses a cup to rinse the suds out. Then, she pats my shoulder—my sign to rise up—and together, we lift my sore body out of the tub. My legs aren't nearly as wobbly as they were when I first arrived, thank goodness. The twigs manage to hold me upright, even as Amaia wraps a towel around me and guides me a few steps to the stool.

"How are you feeling?" she asks softly.

"Better now," I admit. "Sore but fine."

"I say you'll be sore for a few days after that." Her fingers comb through my hair, flitting expertly between the strands as she braids it. "I won't lecture you. You're too old for that." At my relieved sigh, she laughs. "But I do hope you won't be sparring with the boys again."

"I won't," I say quickly. And I mean it. There'll be no fighting for me until it's with Eero.

"Good." She ties my ribbon around the end of my braid. Suddenly, I miss the wilted daisies, the ones I've stowed away at the bottom of my bag. "Did you at least give the man a run for his money?"

I smirk as I pull on my undergarments. "I would have won if he hadn't fought dirty."

"That's my girl," she says with a laugh. "You might not be able to win every fight you get involved in, but you have to teach them not to come back for seconds, at least."

I slip into a clean uniform and hoist my leg up to tie Mama's dagger back into place. Madam Amaia watches with a thoughtful expression, and it hits me just how well these two women would get along. Mama wouldn't have been mad at me for losing, either. She would have just taught me how to get revenge. Or how to win the next fight.

It isn't until I'm fully dressed that Madam Amaia speaks again.

"Be careful, Ari," she warns, making me jump.

"Oh, don't worry. I already said I won't be fighting the guards anymore. I meant—"

She cuts me off. "I know. That's not what I mean."

"Oh." I plant my bare foot back on the cold stone floor. "What do you mean, then?"

The matron studies me for a minute, pursing her lips into a straight line. "Eero... All that comes with him, all that he is... it's like walking into a den of venomous snakes. If you get ensnared by them, twisted up in them, you will end up being the one who suffers. Not Eero."

Realization washes over me slowly, like a gentle spring rain drizzled over sand. Her words leave little indentations in my mind. She thinks I'm interested in Eero—romantically interested. While she can't be further from the truth, her warning still applies here. The snake needs to be dealt with, carefully.

"I don't know why that dum boy let you get involved in that sparring match in the first place, and trust me, he'll get an earful from me in the morning," she pauses and takes a deep breath. "But I know why he carried you up here. I know why he stood up for you on that field. Eero's about as thick as it gets sometimes, but he's awfully transparent."

I want to ask her why he did those things, but I'm scared I already know the answer. It was frighteningly obvious in his worried expression and wandering hands, in the way he gazed down at me in the hallway... This can't get out of hand. I can't let it go farther.

If Eero and his life are a den of venomous snakes, then I need to find the head—like I promised Zula—and cut it off before the snake warms up to me.

"I understand," I say with a nod.

Amaia touches my shoulder. "Good. Because you're one of mine now, and I'd hate to see you get hurt." Her hand moves up, landing on my neck. I wince. "That's going to look awful tomorrow."

My hand drifts up to meet hers. It's so sensitive that every beat of my heart sends a new pulse of pain through it, so I know it must look terrible, too. Half the palace will be gossiping about it by morning.

"Can I go to bed now?" I ask.

She nods. "Of course." Then, Amaia links her arm in mine and begins to lead me back through her dark room, to the door. As she eases it open, I step quietly outside. The lump in the bed never moves.

"I assume you can find your way."

I laugh. "Surely. It's just right there."

She chuckles for a second and says, "Sleep well, Ari. I'll check on you in the morning," before leaving me in the hallway.

My feet begin carrying me towards my quarters, but after a few steps, they stop. Guilt rears its head again. It's impossible to know for sure why Eero stood up for me on that field or why Amaia feels the need to care for me as if I'm a wounded bird or why Josef stands up for me when it's not his place or why I'm starting to feel comfortable in these cold stone walls... But I know there are people here I don't want to hurt.

Humans that are going to be devastated if I keep leading them on with lies about who I am.

So, one thing is abundantly clear.

I cannot stay here any longer. I need to do this job and leave before the aftereffects are catastrophic and I leave a trench in my wake.

So, turning on my heel, I make my way to the grand staircase. The carpet cushions my footsteps, allowing me to move silently through the dark hallway.

By now, everyone's gone to bed except for a few guards. The castle is silent, and the candles have been snuffed out. Moonlight filters through the glass door, casting multicolored, misty shadows on the navy flooring. I grip the onyx banister and climb the steps. Every inch upward takes a little more of my breath away and makes the ground buck, but I only allow myself a moment's rest before continuing.

When I finally make it to the top, I have to stop and catch my breath. The main hallway here is empty, too, but it's much darker than the ground floor. For security purposes, there are no windows to shed light into the corners, no natural sunshine to chase away the palace's demons. My eyes hurry to adjust, and I scamper towards the adjacent hallway—the one that leads me to Eero's bedroom and study.

I turn the corner blindly and come face-to-face with an empty corridor. If it was daytime, I wouldn't be surprised. The guards often leave the hall unattended when Eero's in Lykke or out on the grounds. But it's nighttime. Eero should be in bed, and there should be men stationed at his door.

Instead, the hallway is dead.

Either he's sent them away, or the prince isn't here.

Sliding my dagger out from under my dress, I push open the door to Eero's room. The huge four-poster bed sits empty, sheets still tucked in at the corners, just like I left them earlier. The window's open, and its curtains billow in the chilly night air. I begin to step inside and check, but if he's not in bed, there's no point.

So, I ease the door closed and move on to check his study.

But I find that room just as empty.

He's not here.

Where else could he be?

I check the upstairs bathing rooms, the dining hall, the sitting area, the meeting area, and the ballroom. My heartbeat pounds stronger and stronger in my ears as each room turns out to be empty. Sweat from my clenched hand covers the hilt of my dagger.

Slowly, I make my way back through the palace and to the main staircase. The glass door waits, glittering in the moonlight. When a gentle wind sneaks in, lifting the baby curls that line my face, I notice the door's been propped open.

Eero has to be out there.

I tighten my grip on my dagger and slip into the darkness of the garden.