Chapter Text
He takes a deep breath, rubbing his face and leaning against the table. It’s been a rough day. A rough week. Hell, this entire life hasn’t been all bubbles and pearls.
He’d wanted to lock himself away in his office all day, exhausted from the hustle and bustle of daily life in the palace, but now it’s late and he was one of the last to be dismissed from the meeting. He just has to finish up some work, then he can retire to bed.
As if someone sensed his moment of peace, he hears a faint noise behind him.
Immediately, he straightens up and clasps his hands behind his back. His trident is against the opposite wall and, though he can’t imagine using it in such a place, he also cannot imagine who might be creeping around at this hour.
A shape emerges from the dark. A woman. Her skin is dark brown and her black hair is in several small braids down to her hips. She looks at him with large eyes and her hands are outstretched, her palms in the air. He knows she is trying to show him she’s not a threat. He’s never seen this woman before, so how is it possible she has access to, arguably, his most private room in the palace?
“Orm Marius, soon to be King of Atlantis. I had hoped to speak to you, only it is not easy making an appointment with you.”
She is so small, the top of her head would barely reach his chin. She is beautiful, too, appearing to glow from the inside out. But she is not Atlantean. It is obvious despite her effort to appear so.
“You know of me, yet I know nothing of you?”
“I am Althera,” she says simply, her eyes scanning him in an invasive way, “If you feel more comfortable, I will step away from your trident.”
She moves aside and he grows irritated.
“You want an appointment with me? About what?”
“So many things,” she says, drifting away and turning her back to him, “Are you going to call your soldiers in now, or have you already done so?”
The door swings open and she moves much faster than he expected, bubbles chaotically spiraling around them. Her hand finds his chin and he is stunned by the stillness in her dark brown eyes as she stares into him. He holds his hand up, stopping the men in their tracks.
“You’ll know where to find me. And you’ll want to talk, I know. Try not to worry yourself about what I have to say,” she speaks quickly and does not break her gaze. Then she speaks directly into his ear, lowering her voice so the soldiers cannot hear.
He does not look at her as she pushes herself back in the water and swims up to the soldiers, holding her hands in front of her. Perplexed, they cuff her and take her out the room.
He stares at the door, his body frozen, his blood cold, and the sensation of her hand still on his face. Her voice, the low, even quality of it, replays in his head.
Your mother survives. The Queen; she lives.