Chapter Text
Purotu walked briskly along the long avenue of palm trees leading to the entrance to the Kingdom of Corals’ palace, an imposing coral-red gateway adorned with reliefs, flanked by two enormous vases of orange hibiscus. The palace was named Forgetmenot, a melancholic name chosen by the Wise King, father of Kalea, the current princess of the Kingdom of Corals.
Many years ago, the Wise King had ordered the planting of protective hedges around the palace. These hedges were unlike any others, for they bore only flowers and had grown into an intricate labyrinth. Some of the blossoms released an intoxicating scent, potent enough to make any unwelcome visitor dizzy or even cause them to lose consciousness. It was said that the hedges themselves decided whom to let pass and whom to turn away, stunning the latter with their fragrance.
It was surely just a legend, for, how were flowers capable of making decisions? But Purotu was part of the court and had nothing to fear.
The hedges appeared instantly after the avenue of palm trees, with their sweet, intense scent… and nothing else.
As soon as he stepped through the coral gate, Purotu saw Princess Kalea a few paces away.
“Purotu!”
“Kalea…”
“Thank goodness you’ve arrived!” she smiled, stepping closer. “I was starting to worry.”
He also smiled. The princess had just woken up, yet her face looked fresh and radiant. The unruly curls of her red hair instantly made her look endearing to anyone who saw them. Her green eyes—bright as gemstones—and her sweet, gentle smile radiated a contagious joy.
“You’re up early today,” Purotu remarked. Her seaweed-leaf dress was still dripping seawater.
“I was worried about you, little brother.”
He frowned, his expression sharpening above his long, pointed nose.
“Brother,” he corrected dryly. “You know I don’t like being called that… little sister.”
“Fussy,” Kalea replied, amused. “You’re so fussy.”
She knew Purotu considered himself an adult—a crucial role in a realm like the islands, which had no king.
“Did you find the seaweed?” she asked.
Without a word, he opened his left fist to show her the beautiful red seaweed fronds.
“You did it!” Kalea exclaimed.
“Did you ever doubt it?”
“No, of course not!”
“You’re calmer now, aren’t you?”
Kalea winked at him.
“Tell the truth, little sister... you were more worried about whether I’d find the seaweed for the Golden Fish’s bait than about me.”
“What are you talking about, Purotu?” she laughed. “I was worried about you! But luckily, besides coming back safe and sound, you found the seaweed—so now I can go get dressed as befits a princess!”
“I don’t believe a word of that.”
“That’s your problem, little brother.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Look who’s talking!”
The two siblings kept arguing loudly as they parted ways. Kalea and Purotu both had strong, determined personalities. They bickered at times, but almost always in a playful spirit.
She headed to her chambers in the palace’s south wing, while he made his way toward the kitchen.
The Palace of Forgetmenot had been built many years earlier with the intention of creating a space in perfect harmony with the surrounding nature. It was full of open areas and porticoes, and the sea was visible from every room. The Throne Room was also in the open-air; the throne itself was crafted from stones taken from the great reefs of the Sea of Voyages and was surrounded by covered walkways and a garden. The bedrooms faced south—the sunniest, warmest area during the wet season—while the living areas and kitchen faced north—the windiest side—offering spectacular views of the other islands.
Emiri, the court cook, stood in the kitchen before a mountain of juicy fruit waiting to be chopped for the fruit salad the princess ate for breakfast every morning.
He was an enormous man—tall and obese—with hands so large that a whole coconut could fit in his palm. His eyes were large, kind, and light-colored, too, and his fish broth was famous. At least, that was what he always claimed.
“Good morning, Emiri,” Purotu greeted him.
“Good morning, lad. Forgive me, but I can’t stop to chat with anyone today. I’m running late- terribly late...” He then turned to his kitchen assistants: four loyal, hardworking blue lorikeets. “Hurry up with those pistachios! They need to be ground very fine!”
The parrots began crushing them with their sharp yellow beaks, filling the kitchen with the rhythmic sound of shells cracking at high speed.
But Emiri’s assistants were not the most surprising thing about the palace kitchen. Even more astonishing was the cook’s knack for crafting refined dishes despite his massive fingers and rough appearance.
Purotu moved to a corner—far away from the man and his pistachio-crushing parrots—found a large bowl, and began mixing a complex dough. At the last moment, he added the red seaweed leaves he had gathered at Pietralga. His movements were precise and careful, as if he were performing a ritual.
He had been tasked with preparing the bait for the Golden Fish, and he had to ensure it was just right. That way, once caught, the creature would remain healthy throughout its year of life. The boy patiently crumbled the red seaweed until it was perfect.