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Their coupling had been brief but intense, passionate and strange and mystical. It could not compare with his few dalliances with other women, to the point that he could hardly fathom ever laying with another.
But as his men help to haul him back onto the ship's deck, he's forced to wonder. Did he make the right choice? The siren had seemed so earnest and sweet, for a creature of legend, much less one whose kind most often feasts on the flesh of men. He's certain no one would believe him if he told them what happened, and he finds that settles...oddly upon him.
His father hadn't believed him anymore than his men had, and neither did his brothers. But he supposes that doesn't truly matter, not unless the siren bears a son. And even, that assumes she would keep her word.
He puts it from his mind, focusing on his duties as a prince—second son or not, he's busy enough to keep him well occupied.
Months pass, and then a year. He sees neither hide nor hair nor scale of the siren.
Sometimes, though, when he walks the shore, he swears he hears a few lilting notes of a familiar song from the deep.
It's on one of those walks which have become habit now that he sees her. He goes stock still, staring into eyes he has not seen in nearly fifteen months. He hears his elder brother, who has accompanied him on his walk today, say something of little import—his name, maybe, or a query, but he pays it no heed.
His boots come off before he really thinks about it, his socks following before he rolls up the legs of his trousers. His brother definitely calls his name this time as he wades into the water, going as deep as his waist before he's face to face with the siren.
She's as beautiful as she was that night, but it's not her ink black hair or gleaming amber eyes that catch his eye. No, it's the six month old babe wrapped in some sort of kelp blanket and cradled in her arms that captures his attention so utterly.
And as she offers the child to him, he notices the sling made of the same kelp, surely swaddling another child. But that one she keeps carefully beneath the waves.
"Have you named him?" He asks, his mouth dry and his mind feeling as if it's full of cotton as he accepts the child from her arms.
"No. I thought you would wish to." She says, her gaze not on his face but on the babe now in his arms. She had not told him what her kind usually do with sons, but given the bittersweet expression on her face...his grip tightens on the child.
"...and the girl?" Her gaze flicks to his face when he asks, but he does not falter. He cannot.
"I have named her Amaranth." The siren dips further into the water to gather the girl from the sling, careful to keep her beneath the surface but allow him this glimpse. "She cannot breathe air yet."
The explanation makes something within him relax and tense in the same moment, but he simply nods.
"I want to know her." He says, tongue heavy with things unsaid. "Return here. Yearly. ...please."
The siren regards him quietly for a moment, then lets her gaze drop to the babe in his hold.
"Tell me what you will name him and bring him to the visits." Her condition is an easy one—he wouldn't want to keep her from her son.
"Caius. He'll be named Caius. We'll see you here next year." He watches as she nods, casting him and his son one last glance before she disappears below the waves. He lingers for another few heartbeats, staring out at the glittering waves, before adjusting his hold on his son and turning back to the beach where his gobsmacked brother awaits. A small, fleeting smirk pulls at his lips.
Perhaps his father will believe him now.