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If you were to ask Jeremy in the morning where he thought he'd end up that night, the answer would've been anything but this.
Since he had been feeling optimistic, he probably would've assumed that he'd succeeded in sneaking out. He'd spend a reasonable amount of time wandering the streets of their small town, as if he were a regular citizen like everyone else, not the Prince Wilshire. Maybe he'd go find Laila and Cat, or maybe he'd tumble between the sheets of a cute, passing merchant. But if he was actually being realistic, he would've answered that he'd spend hours tossing and turning in his bedroom, as per usual.
Now, for the first time in his twenty-two years of living, he silently wishes that was what he was doing.
It was a thought he had never imagined having — despite how vast his room was, it was constricting and altogether suffocating — but that dull, listless ache he had felt everyday for years was nothing compared to this. This, on the other hand, was sharp, all-encompassing fear.
Jeremy barely bites back a curse when his head strikes the side of the ship, which was still throbbing from the repeated impact. The rain that was coming down mixed with the blood that seeped from his head, the downpour serving as the only thing that helped to ease his pain. His kidnappers hadn't even been decent enough to properly tie him against something. Instead, they had him tied up and flat against the dampened floor, leaving him to slide around with each swerve of the ship. Though this technically gave him more mobility, it was difficult to appreciate that when his head was about one hit away from being split open.
For what must've been the hundredth time that night, Jeremy strains against the ropes which confined him. Like the ninety-nine attempts that came before, his struggles were to no avail. The only thing it earned him was a snort from one of his takers, who didn't seem threatened by his restlessness in the slightest.
"Try as you'd like, kid. Milo here knows how to knot 'em tight."
Jeremy blinks blearily, turning his head the best he could. The Milo in question seemed to be a beefy, pale man, his mustache overgrown and threaded with grease. The other members of the crew laughed and clapped his back, before a crew member turned to acknowledge Jeremy once more. This one, tall and lanky with crazed green eyes, flashes him a crooked, mocking sneer.
"Don't look at us like that. It'll all be over soon, as long as those parents of yours hand over the gold."
And with that, Jeremy is forced to hear his crew of kidnappers party and jeer, all while stepping over him as if he were nothing more than a crack in the deck. Some of them even kick him as they pass, delighting in the way he'd cough and splutter afterward.
This, Jeremy knew, was hell. He still didn't know how he'd ended up in this situation, tied up by a group of pirates to be used as ransom. The night had been going well, all things considered — he had just been trying to get some air, and it was hardly late at all. He had just been frustrated with his mother, with her overbearing words, but the instant he had drifted to walk somewhere more vacant, he had been ambushed. Now, after being unconscious for an indiscernible amount of time, he was desperately trying to formulate an escape plan.
The crew didn't seem to be too much of a threat. Their ship was small, and most of the men were spending their time drinking and praising themselves for pulling off such a stunt. In Jeremy's opinion, that was hardly anything worth bragging about. Jeremy was trying to listen as close as he could, in case any of his captors would divulge information about where they were and where they were going next, but from the sound of it, they clearly hadn't thought much about their plan beyond kidnapping a prince.
They were right, though — Milo did know how to tie him tight.
Jeremy didn't know how long he spent laying there, his face and head numb with pain. He didn't want to relinquish himself to this reality, of living on this scrappy ship until his mother and stepfather received word of his capture and sent back coins in exchange for his return, but it wasn't as if he had any say in the matter. To be honest, Jeremy wasn't certain that they'd even bother — it wasn't like they gained much from have having him around. They still had Joshua, Bryson, and Annalise, the former two being the only ones who had a chance of inheriting the throne. If his abductors had really thought about it, they would've taken one of them, instead of wasting their time with the least favored.
He had just about accepted his fate when it happened. One of the crew members started to walk over him, mumbling something as he lit a cigarette. As he continued onward, Jeremy realized the man's mistake — in the lieu of his steps, he had dropped a matchbox.
Jeremy really could be lucky sometimes.
The men of the ship were entirely occupied. Jeremy didn't think that a single one of them had even bothered to glance at him in the past thirty minutes. Once he is doubly, triply certain that no one was paying any attention, he inches forward, rolling onto his side and attempting to reach for the matches. It was a struggle, definitely — Jeremy couldn't supress the worry that one of them would notice, that they'd see him angling himself to grab what had been dropped and then it'd all be over. Fortunately, none of them seemed to hear the scuffle, so Jeremy proceeded with his squirming until he eventually got ahold of it. With a few strikes, he manages to burn the ends of the rope which tied his hands together. With those free, burning through the rope that bound his arms and legs was much easier.
When he's done, Jeremy barely resists the urge to sigh in relief. All he has to do now was steal something from the ship that would help him float through the water, and then he could find refuge on the nearest island. It was alright. He'd be alright.
Or, he would've been if a head didn't jerk in his direction.
"Hey!" one of the men shouts, indignation creasing his features. "That ghastly prince is—"
The rest leap to attention, and Jeremy only has a fraction of a second before they all launch in his direction. He swerves around, attempting to dart the other way, but there was already another man blocking his path.
He was surrounded. They were about to back him against the railing of the ship, and then he wouldn't have another opportunity to escape. This was all he had.
This is my only chance, Jeremy realizes, and desperately, he tries thinking of a way to get himself out of this. Some way where he wouldn't get himself killed.
Unfortunately, it's not exactly easy to come up with an escape plan when men are bolting towards you from all sides.
So, Jeremy does the only thing he possibly can — he turns around, and flings himself over the side of the ship.
He lands in the water with a splash, rapidly making his way up for air. Though this is far from ideal, Jeremy is a talented swimmer. He's sure that he could make his way to land as long as no one dives after him.
But, no one came.
Jeremy could make out the crew members hurriedly talking, everyone gesturing wildly as they anxiously peered overboard. However, none of them bothered to attempt to swim and retrieve him. Before Jeremy could take the chance to get as far as he could, he realized why.
The rain from before wasn't just a heavy downpour — it was part of a full-out storm, thunder snapping and lightning striking and waves thrashing. The latter is incredibly apparent now, considering how a wave carries him and flips him over, submerging him within the dark waters. Desperately, Jeremy flails, attempting to fight the unpredictable way the ocean moved, but it only continues to carry him with it, overtaking him until his arms grew limp and his lungs felt numb.
His eyes flutter shut. As he fades out of consciousness, a pair of arms wrap around him.
When Jeremy wakes up, he lurches forward with a gag. He squeezes his eyes closed as he coughs up the seemingly endless amount of water in his lungs, only managing to take a breath after a few moments. He breathes, shakily, but he's breathing nonetheless.
He doesn't know how. By all means, his survival should've been impossible. He'd drowned in the middle of the night during a storm, when no one was near to rescue him or even catch sight of his turmoil. Then again, wasting time ruminating on his situation felt useless — he was simply grateful to be alive at all, no matter how nonsensical his situation was. Though his vision is blurred, he can tell that he's in a sea cave of sorts. He's propped up against a rock, still half submerged in the ocean. Squinting, he blinks the water out of his eyes, just before he sees him.
He rises from the depths, water cascading in rivulets against moonlight infused skin. Dark, damp curls frame his face, the color a sharp contrast to the way everything else about him seems to glow, like a pearl beneath the sea. His eyes meet Jeremy's, their silver depths boring into him, worming beneath his ribs and dissecting him.
Then, he bares his teeth.
Jeremy scrambles backward, the jagged edges of the rock scraping his skin through tattered clothing. He can only gasp when the man, no, entity flies towards him, taking his face in hand and forcing his head back. His nails are unbelievably sharp, the ends of his fingers a pitch black. His grip alone causes Jeremy to hiss in pain, and he wonders if his nails have punctured his cheeks. Jeremy looks properly, now; at his sharpened teeth, his webbed ears, the blur of a navy tail beneath the water. This is no man — this is a siren. They should only exist in folktales, but here one was, attacking him in the flesh.
Jeremy tries to shove him away, limbs thrashing in a desperate attempt to be free, but the siren presses a flat hand to his chest, holding him in place.
"Do not struggle," he says, voice rich with a foreign accent. "You are only making it worse."
For a moment, the reality of his situation slips away from him. The siren before him is ethereal, both in voice and appearance. Idly, he wonders if this is the result of an alternate form, conjured in order to keep him docile.
The siren seems to take his brief stillness as invitation. In the blink of an eye, he latches to his neck, sharp canines sinking into supple flesh. Jeremy realizes he plans to tear.
Hurriedly, Jeremy jerks his leg upward, promptly kneeing the siren in the stomach. It's enough for him to startle backward, and it's exactly the opening Jeremy needs. He grips the other's waist, whirling him around so their positions are flipped. Jeremy's chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, but the siren is unfazed, despite being pinned against the rock. He only flashes crimson stained teeth, tongue darting out to lick up every last trace of Jeremy's blood.
Something stirs in Jeremy's gut. There's no way he's making it out of this alive.
While one hand holds the other in place, the other hurriedly darts beneath the water, searching for anything he could use. Somehow, he manages to come up with a large rock, the edges certaintly sharp enough to puncture if enough force and friction was applied. With a shaky grip, he holds it up against the man's neck, watching as a flicker of shock graces his expression. Despite the fact that he just attempted to rip off a chunk of Jeremy's skin with his teeth, he doesn't feel inclined to hurt him. It must've been the form he was taking — harming something that looked so human had to be considered sacrilege. It didn't help that he looked utterly angelic.
"I don't want to hurt you," Jeremy admits honestly, which earns him a sharp glare. "How about we figure something out?"
"And I starve?" the siren hisses, tail wriggling wildly. It smacks Jeremy's legs a few times, but the impact isn't enough for him to slacken his hold.
"Alright," Jeremy keeps his voice steady as if he's attempting to soothe a feral kitten, not a cannibalistic merman. "What's your name?"
His already hostile gaze only sharpens. "Most do not initiate polite chit-chat while threatening someone."
Jeremy exhales sharply, barely clinging onto his last thread of patience. His shoulder still aches, and all he really wants is to go home, where he can see Cat and Laila, but he forces himself to keep his composure. "Well, I guess I'm not like most. I know you're just hungry, but I— I have to go home. So, please, can we just talk?"
"I will not talk with you." there's a short pause, but he relents. "It is Jean."
"It's a nice name," Jeremy replies, the tiniest of smiles lining his lips. "I'm Jeremy. I'm, uh, needed back at home. I can't leave my family behind." By family, he really means Cat and Laila — but there's no reason for him to clarify, so he doesn't. Jeremy hasn't half a clue why he's telling Jean this, as if someone like him hasn't heard millions of sob stories before, but the words tumble out of him anyway.
Jean raises an eyebrow, lips curling downward. "And how did a village boy such as yourself end up drowning?"
"I got kidnapped by a ship of men! I had to jump in the water to escape." Jean narrows his eyes, and Jeremy barely manages to pin his wrist back before he attempts to claw out Jeremy's eye.
"Slow down," he splutters, a bead of sweat dribbling down his forehead. He isn't so sure if he can overpower Jean for much longer.
"I do not care about your human affairs." he spits, squirming in Jeremy's grasp. His eyes roam Jeremy's figure in a way that nearly makes him shiver, before he begrudingly continues. "How many men were on the ship?"
Jeremy frowns, the memories of the ship already growing foggy. "Maybe ten?"
There's a beat of silence. "Let go of me."
Jeremy really, really shouldn't, but something about his voice causes him to slacken his grip instantly. He winces as soon as Jean jerks away from him, bracing himself for an impact that never comes. Jeremy blinks, pauses, then blinks again.
Jean doesn't speak for a while, his expression inscrutable. Jeremy could take the moment to try and swim away — the storm has lessened for a while — but, naturally, he can't help but find himself lost in the cloudy irises which stare back at him now. There's a precision to his etherality, as if the ocean painstakingly etched and carved each feature to prove there is perfection to be found in its depths.
"If I find this ship," Jean starts, his tone somehow unsure and confident all at once. "I will spare your life."
Jeremy's eyes blow wide. "What?"
"If," Jean emphasizes, eyebrows furrowing. "Unless they're back on land."
"As long as it hasn't been too long, they're probably still voyaging." Jeremy hurries out, instantly feeling a rush of guilt for doing so. These men may have kidnapped him, but he still couldn't help but feel heavily conflicted about leading them to a violent death. Jean must catch this hesitation, because his expression immediately shifts to one of distaste.
"Pathetic. You were abducted yet you still fret?" Jean grabs Jeremy's jaw, and he can't help the low noise of surprise that escapes.
"R-Right," Jeremy stammers, because he's hardly in a position to argue. "Won't you need my help, though? I could point you in the direction of my homeland."
What he doesn't say is that he doubts he'll make it back alive if he doesn't have Jean to anchor him. Fortunately, Jean grumbles something in what seems like agreement.
"Alright!" Jeremy exhales, a nervous grin lining his lips. "Isn't this great? Rather than one man, you can have ten."
He really shouldn't be talking about the lives of real people like this, but the threat of imminent death has him spewing words for the sake of it. His life may be horrible in many aspects, but he still didn't want to die. Although halfheartedly, he internally reassures himself there's nothing wrong with doing what he has to for survival.
"Be quiet," Jean says, just before he lunges forward.
Jeremy doesn't need to wait for Jean to sink his claws in, because his heart has already stopped. Of course he was lying, of course he was just entertaining his prey —
His hand grips Jeremy's hair, yanking it until Jeremy's forced to bare his neck. But Jean doesn't bite, claw, or tear — instead, he leans forward and licks, tongue sliding over the remnants of blood from his earlier wound. He then pulls back, visibly resisting the urge to lean back in for a real chunk. With his eyes glazed over and the faintest hint of pink dusting cheeks pale as bone, Jeremy almost thinks Jean's drunk on the taste.
"Come," he beckons, and of course, Jeremy does. Jean moves gracefully in the shallow water, and Jeremy can't help but follow the blue blur of his tail beneath the rippling ocean. Whether they're venturing out of the cave or deeper into it, Jeremy can't tell, but he does know that the water is submerging him further the further he goes.
Wordlessly, Jean plunges within its depths.
"Wait," Jeremy begins, startled by his sudden disappearance. "I—"
He doesn't get a chance to finish before a hand wraps around his ankle, tugging him into the water and muffling his shriek.
It's Jean, of course. He's looking at Jeremy blankly as he flails his arms around, because there's hardly any air in his lungs and they're so deep, how are they so deep —
"Stop that," Jean chastises, and he hooks his arm around Jeremy's shoulders. All of a sudden, he's been tugged close, close enough to the point his nose is nearly brushing Jean's. Jeremy's eyes widen, and if he'd take a breath if he had any air to lose.
"There is a purpose to this," Jean insists, and before Jeremy can give him so much as a look, the siren's lips slot against his.
Jeremy is no stranger to the mouth of another. Over the past few years, he's had a plethora of lovers, all of which were uniquely different; Leo tasted of smoke and maple syrup, Faser couldn't kiss him unless his teeth were scraping his tongue, but no matter their differences, they all had one similarity. These kisses were always for fun, the sort of kiss that stoked the flames of insecurity in Jeremy's gut before his arousal. This, though? This was anything but.
It was no wonder why sailors were so quick to fall for sirens.
Jean's lips are soft as silk, his sweetened breath pouring into Jeremy's mouth. He tastes like the sea and the moon and the cliffs that oversee the shore all at once, and the only thing Jeremy can think is more, he needs more. He doesn't know how he's ever enjoyed being kissed before when it wasn't like this, with sharpened teeth that brush the corner of his mouth but do not dare to dig. Yet, just as quickly as it's begun, it ends. Jean is pulling away, and Jeremy gasps.
Wait — he what?
"Holy shit," he murmurs, and he's talking, he's talking and he's breathing and it's all beneath the surface. "You can do that?"
"I could not have you passing out on me." Jean huffs, his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. Yet, even now, he takes his time to put space between them, his arm slipping languidly from Jeremy's shoulders. His curls dance in the water, framing his face like a halo cast from above. It's distracting. Endlessly distracting.
"Okay," Jeremy relents, because he can't take this anymore, especially now that he's just been kissed. It may have been to gift him with the ability to breathe underwater, but it was shaking nonetheless. "If we're going to do this, do you mind… doing something about that?" He gestures vaguely.
Instantly, Jean's eyebrows knit together. "Excuse me?"
"Your form," Jeremy continues, and holy shit, this is embarrassing. Here he is, practically up on a silver platter, yet he's admiring the man who had just been planning to consume him. "I mean, you're probably not going to eat me, so you don't need to lure me in, right?"
"What?" Jean gapes, the pink of his cheeks now deepened to crimson. "What in the world makes you think I can take on an appearance other than this?"
He's lying, Jeremy thinks immediately, but the look of abject horror on Jean's face is enough to make him consider otherwise. Jean hasn't been remarkably difficult to read thus far, and it's hard to read his current expression as anything but genuine. Then again, it hardly makes sense — how on earth does one just look like that? Like everything Jeremy has ever wanted and more?
Jeremy's face is burning, and he clears his throat. "Right. Stupid assumption. Anyway, don't you think we should go a bit higher? So I can—"
He yelps when Jean wraps his arms around his torso, pulling him against his chest as he propels the both of them upward. He releases him when they rise to the surface, and Jeremy squints as he surveys their surroundings, legs idly kicking in order to keep himself afloat. He pinpoints an island in the far distance, one that's located not too far from his own land.
"There," Jeremy points, turning to look at Jean. "If they're anywhere, it'll be somewhere in that direction."
He regrets it the instant the words fall from his mouth. He should've held his tongue and waited for Jean to guide him closer to land — now, the siren would either go off on his own and leave Jeremy stranded in the middle of the ocean, or he'd eat him and then pursue the rest.
Instead, Jean regards him with a faint grunt, outstretching his hand for Jeremy to take. Jeremy can't help but sighing with relief. If Jean wanted to kill him, he wouldn't bother to beckon him forward. Jeremy takes his hand without caution, and in an instant, the world collapses to a roar of bubbles as he's yanked beneath the surface.
It was a given that a siren would be deft amidst the brine. It was their sanctuary, their soverign domain, really — but this fact did nothing to ease the intensity of his descent. Though he was technically moving in the water, he wasn't swimming as much as he was being dragged, flailing wildly as he held onto Jean with a white knuckled grip. The coral reefs around him blur to smears of color in his vision, and if he could find the ability to think, he might even consider it beautiful.
Barely any time passes before the two of them resurface, slowing to a halt. The island is still a considerable ways away, a hefty amount for a human to swim, but what was but a blip in the distance before is now strikingly present. Jeremy whirls around, his eyes locking onto Jean's as he surveys him for any signs of exertion. He doesn't expect him to look nearly bored.
"Wow," Jeremy breathes, having to catch his breath despite the abundance of air beneath the water.
Jean gives him a look before he turns to look out at the rest of the ocean, his eyes narrowed. It's only then that Jeremy realizes just how strange this whole situation is — it was weird enough to be under threat of consumption by a mythical siren, but even weirder for said siren to spare his life. It was only natural that he'd instantly agree to whatever Jean had wanted out of him, but now that he thought about it, Jean really didn't need his help at all. He could move with enough speed to explore the entire area without burning much time; in fact, with the additional weight of Jeremy, he was probably wasting more than necessary. Was this some sort of trap? Did Jean just want to eat Jeremy and the other men all at once, and that was why he was still alive?
In retrospect, Jean gifting him the ability to breathe underwater was hardly an act of kindness. Breathing or not, he could catch up to Jeremy's measly human legs in a fraction of a second. But what would be the point of that?
Jeremy stares at Jean. Jean turns languidly, and the brief moment of eye contact is nearly enough to make Jeremy splutter and cough. So far, the siren has been blunt and straightforward. He wasn't the type to tease or stall — he had every chance to make Jeremy his prey in the cave, but he hadn't. Most of all, he certainly did not seem like he'd go through so much trouble only to not live up to his word.
Jeremy purses his lips. Somehow, getting kidnapped caused him more distress than the possibility of him getting eaten. Maybe it was because Jean was almost nice company. It was hard to be threatened by a man who had gotten flustered so easily, no matter how sharp his teeth were.
The flop of a tail snaps Jeremy out of his thoughts, and he belatedly realizes that Jean has wordlessly begun to swim away. Jeremy halfheartedly paddles after him, taking note of the ship that looms in the distance. The sight of it alone makes Jeremy's stomach churn, images of just an hour prior flashing in his mind. The way his head had banged against the hard wood, the sneers of the men as they had taken ahold of him on the shore. He figures then, that he's given Jean what he wants — there's no reason he has to be there, for this. Now's his opportunity to swim toward the island and leave Jean to his meal.
He can't help but frown as he watches him glide through the water, further and further away from him. Despite the puncture of his teeth still sending jolts of pain down his shoulder, he's almost sad to be apart from him. It's a ridiculous thought to have, but it doesn't take much for Jeremy to become fond of someone.
He forces himself to turn around. In the end, he's a predator, a predator whose natural diet is humans — sticking around would be like a rabbit running towards a wolf. But just as he pivots himself away, a sharp nailed hand grasps his shoulder.
Jeremy looks behind him, silver hues staring back. Jean leans forward, the brush of his lips against Jeremy's featherlight, before he submerges him within the water.
This time, Jeremy can't breathe. He attempts to propel himself back to the surface, but Jean's hand remains tangled in his hair, holding him beneath until he can't take it anymore.
The last thing he hears before his consciousness slips is the first note of a song.
He wasn't supposed to live.
Alright, he's said it before, but really. This time, it makes the least sense. The last thing he remembers is the same siren who had given him the ability to breathe underwater in the first place taking it away, and then proceeding to hold his head beneath the water until he passed out. There couldn't have been a reason for that if it wasn't to kill him.
Still, he finds himself waking now, washed up on the shore. Dry land.
His eyes flutter open, adjusting to the bright glare of the sun that shines overhead. His dampened hair is plastered to his face, and the bottom half of his pants have been reduced to tatters. Yet, despite this, he lives, with nothing more than a now dull pain where he had been previously hurt. It isn't long before a barrage of voices begins to flood his senses, never mind the still lingering water which clogs his ears.
"Holy shit, is that a body?!"
"Yeah, but I think he's awake—"
"My god! It's the prince!"
Unfamiliar faces grace his vision, all of their expressions creased with worry. One of them drops to their knees, checking his wrist for a pulse before propping him upwards, pressing a hand to his chest to encourage him to cough out any water. His head swims, stars dancing in his eyes as more and more people begin to fret over him, mumbling observations about what on earth could've happened.
"Jeremy!"
Despite his lack of strength, the familiarity of that voice causes Jeremy to whip his head around immediately. Worming her way through the crowd with her skirts bunched up is Laila, brown eyes tinged red as she breathes heavily. She practically falls forward into the sand behind him, her arms wrapping around him protectively as she pulls him against her lap.
"Jeremy," she croaks, and something shatters within him at the sound. His strong, resillient Laila, reduced to sobs because of him. "Jere. I thought— I thought I'd never see you again."
His hands come up to hold her arms in place as he leans into her warm embrace, his eyes squeezing shut. Tears prickle at his eyes but do not spill as he utters hushed reassurances, his grip trembling. "I'm here, Laila. I'm here."
The days after that are hectic.
Jeremy isn't surprised when his mother opts to lecture him rather than worry, her words accusatory as she somehow spins it so that his abduction was his fault. They demand a bounty on the kidnappers, the same day that the people realize that a small fraction of their villagers have gone missing. They assume that the missing men failed to kidnap Jeremy and thus retreated from the land, in order not to be caught. Jeremy knows the truth.
Most of the time, Jeremy is confined to his room. He isn't allowed to leave as freely as he was before, because if he managed to get hurt again it would do horrors for the kingdom's reputation. So he waits by his window, like a damsel in distress trapped in a tower guarded by a ruthless dragon — though, the comparison isn't too far off. Replace 'damsel' with 'prince' and 'dragon' with 'mother,' and you would have the story of Jeremy's life.
As he bides his time in near isolation, his thoughts find their way to Jean again and again. He thinks of his blistering eyes, the glint of his teeth, the feeling of his lips pressed against him. He's even begun to plague his dreams, an ethereal figure rising from the water who Jeremy can't help but run torward. The dream always ends the same, with claws finding their way beneath his skin and fangs latched onto flesh, but rather than horrified, he'll end up waking up with a flush on his face and his heart hammering against his ribcage.
It was beginning to be a problem. The only way he could cure it was through air, by attaining the carefree joy that came with exploring the markets and wandering along the shore, but under his mother's watchful eye, his only entertainment was his own thoughts.
Thankfully, by some grace of god, the tide decided to turn in Jeremy's favor. A few days after returning to his kingdom, Mathilda informs him and the rest of his siblings that her and their stepfather will be seeing to a nearby land in order to negotiate. Joshua, mature and altogether a good image, is to be trusted overseeing the kingdom until their return. They wouldn't be gone for long, but Jeremy was overjoyed nonetheless. His siblings didn't care what he did, and he had a much better chance of slipping past them than he did the King and Queen.
That night, when the sun has long set, Jeremy springs to action. He wears his most casual clothing, so casual that no one would glance at him and assume he was a prince, unless they had his face committed to memory. Just for tonight, he could be average, the same as everyone else.
When he's sure his siblings are occupied, he makes his way out, quickly rushing down the stairs and towards the door. The guards are distracted, as always — honestly, he doesn't even know what they're paid for — but just as he's about to slip out, he hears someone clear their throat.
"William," he sighs, relief replacing his initial horror. "Please, I need to get out."
William gives him a forlorn look, turning his head away. "I did not see you. But don't be out too long— you're still recovering."
Jeremy beams, and he almost launches forward to engulf him in a hug. "Thank you so much. I promise I won't be a while!"
With that, he bolts outside, his smile as bright as the sun in the everspanning night. It's cold, and he really should've chosen a layer heavier than a cloak with a flimsy hood, but he basks in the fresh air nonetheless. Barely resisting the urge to skip down the road, he settles for walking with a bounce in his step, humming lowly to himself as people retreat back into their homes. He loves the kingdom during the day, all bustling streets and music and business, but the night is beautiful too. It's almost fascinating, how a serene quietness washes over everything, transforming the lively thrum of the day into a sleeping giant.
As he walks, he briefly considers visiting Cat and Laila's place. Though he had just seen them a week ago, with the incident, it's felt like an eternity. Despite this, he immediately shuts the idea down. The night should belong to them, and he knows how they get when they're stressed. They must've lost hours of sleep over his disappearance, and he'd throw himself onto another suspicious ship before compromising their rest. He knew his mother would let him leave sooner or later. In the end, she didn't like to give him too much attention, and he'd be able to do as he pleased for the most part once more. He walks aimlessly, until somehow, he finds himself turning towards the shore.
Jeremy should be averse to this place. It's where he was attacked and kidnapped, after all, but the way the water shimmers beneath the glow of the moon draws him in nonetheless. Although tenatively, he makes his way forward, falling into a practiced rhythm as his heels dig against the sand.
Then he sees a figure in the water.
For a moment, he thinks it's a hallucination. It wouldn't be totally surprising — with the way the siren has infected Jeremy's mind, it was no wonder he'd think of him when he passes the shore. But when he rubs his eyes, blinks, and rubs them again, he realizes that the figure is strikingly real. He's risen from the water, staring blankly to the side.
He doesn't lure him with a song. He doesn't even look in Jeremy's direction, but somehow, Jeremy falls into a trance nonetheless. Just like his dreams, Jean is there in the distance, glowing beneath the moonlight and just within arm's reach.
He can't help it. He kicks off his shoes and trudges into the water.
The water sloshes against his ankles, chilling him to the core, but he perseveres anyway. The freezing cold is nothing compared to the warmth that's bloomed in his heart, the warmth that only continues to grow with every step he takes. It's Jean, the same Jean he thought he'd never see again, the one who drowned him and then proceeded to save his life. He had so, so many questions, so much to thank him for — even if all Jean would do was accept the easy prey with open arms, sink his teeth into his flesh as he sneered at him for being stupid enough to come back. He moves closer, closer, the water rising all the way up to his waist.
"Jean," he breathes, and he can't help the grin that broadens his lips. He speaks as if he's just talking to any other old friend — which, in a way, he is. Even if the old friend has no reason to spare his life now.
Jean visibly startles at the familiar voice. He doesn't turn to him with the grace of a predator, instead whipping around as he practically gapes up at Jeremy. "What in the world are you doing?"
The tension seeps from Jeremy's shoulders at Jean's reaction, which is somehow enough to make him undoubtedly certain that he's in safe hands. When he looks at him, awkwardly wading in the shallow water with his tail thumping against the sand, it's hard to feel dangered.
"I could ask you the same thing," Jeremy retorts, his giddiness dripping into his words. "What are you doing so close to the shore?"
"Does it matter?" Jean snaps, eyebrows knitting together. "I am in the water, as I should be. You, on the other hand, are behaving like a madman."
"Well," Jeremy begins, and before he can control himself, he lowers and sits on the sand. His grin only widens now that him and Jean are eye level, but the siren frowns. "I wanted to talk to you."
Something indiscernible flits over Jean's features, but only a fraction of a second passes before it's replaced by utter bewilderment. "What the fuck?"
Jean is staring blankly, and Jeremy stares back. Then, he suddenly breaks into a fit of laughter.
"What?" Jean's shock is now joined by mortification, crimson blanketing his pale cheeks. "What is wrong with you? Why are you doing that?"
"Sorry!" Jeremy replies hurriedly, but there's still giggles caught in his teeth. "Sorry, sorry. There's just something funny about hearing a siren cuss. Aren't sailors the ones who are supposed to swear?"
"You are ridiculous," Jean grits out, the thumping of his tail quickening. Idly, Jeremy wonders what that's about. "Do you think I don't listen to them spew profanities at me while I eat them?"
"See!" Jeremy straightens, and he's smiling so wide it hurts. "You're saying shit like, spews profanities. Do you not see how that's so different from 'what the fuck?'"
"You have the humor of a child. None of this is very princely of you, especially not walking into the water with dry clothing to talk to me."
"Well, I'm not on duty, am I?" Jeremy knows his words are easily contradicted — when is a prince not on duty — but he enjoys bantering with Jean too much to be logical. But then he falters, wincing as Jean's words catch up to him. "Wait, how'd you know I'm a prince?"
Jean raises an eyebrow. "It's what they called you."
Jeremy frowns. They?
"Oh," Jeremy realizes, and the tips of his ears flush pink. "You waited? To see me wake up?"
Jean opens his mouth, but words seem to fail him. Instead, he swiftly averts his gaze, taking a keen interest in the seaweed caught on his tail. He picks at it for an awkward moment before belatedly answering, "It doesn't matter."
Jeremy purses his lips. "It matters to me."
"I should've just eaten you." Jean's scowling now, nails tearing through the seaweed as if its personally wronged him.
"But you didn't." Jeremy presses, pausing for a second before continuing. "You could've, but you didn't. You brought me back and then watched to see when I'd wake up."
"I didn't think you'd be idiotic enough to run to me in the water." Jean hisses, and was he running?
"Well, I just wanted to thank you for saving my life! Which I still haven't done, so, thank you."
Jean finally turns, silver hues cutting to meet brown. "If that's all, then leave."
The hostility is sudden, but it doesn't phase him. Instead, he continues. "Why'd you drown me if you didn't want to kill me? Did you change your mind?"
This gets a reaction out of Jean. He fixes him with a sharp glare, and Jeremy almost flinches at the intensity of it. "Don't waste my time with stupid questions. I had already decided I wasn't going to kill you."
"But—" Jeremy cuts himself off, knowing his questions wouldn't get any proper answers. He decides to reminisce upon the situation instead, carding a hand through his tangled hair as he does so. He had been simply trailing Jean until they stumbled upon the ship, and then Jean kissed him and waited for him to stop moving before he started to sing —
Jeremy must've made a face, because Jean shatters the silence. "See how useful your brain can be when you use it?"
But he's wrong, because now, it's kicked into overdrive. Despite being submerged in freezing water up to his neck, Jeremy feels unbearably warm all over, his pulse only quickening the longer he thinks about it. Jean saved him. Jean drowned him so he wouldn't listen to him sing. Then, even after all of it was over, he still lingered by the shore. There was really no good reason for it, no reason other than kindness — and maybe something else.
"Jean," Jeremy says, very seriously. He moves forward, just enough for his knees to brush the other's tail. "Can I ask you something?"
Jean gives him a questioning look, and it's charming enough for Jeremy to briefly consider changing routes and ask if Jean would let him kiss him. Naturally, he dispels the thought instantly, but the idea of it makes his brain a little fuzzy nonetheless. "What do you think about staying?"
Jean blinks. "Excuse me?"
"Sorry," Jeremy blushes, rushing to correct himself. "I meant visiting. What do you think about visiting?"
"That doesn't make the sentence any less ridiculous, Jeremy."
He can't help the way his lip twitches upward at the sound of his name in Jean's voice, but he forces himself to stifle his smile. Clearing his throat, he continues. "Well, I know you must have siren duties or whatever to attend to, but what's so bad about stopping here every now and then? I don't want this to be the last I see of you."
Jeremy purses his lip, his expression embarrassingly desperate as he scans Jean for any sign of agreement. It's true — if he doesn't get to see Jean after this, he'll most certainly spend the better part of his life thinking about the siren who saved him from certain death. His eyes are searching, searching, until something softens in Jean's features.
"I'll think about it." he replies finally, and Jeremy beams.
"Will you really?" he asks, leaning forward. He fails to account for how close they already were, leaving him to awkwardly choke as he abruptly pulls back in order to give Jean an inch of personal space.
"I said I'll think about it," Jean repeats, but the way he says it makes Jeremy believe he's already decided.
"Thinking is good too," Jeremy assures, his smile spreading from ear to ear. For whatever reason, Jean averts his gaze.
There's an awkward pause before Jean speaks again.
"I'm leaving now."
Jeremy blinks, straightening up as his smile goes lax. "Already?"
"What do you mean, already? It's been too long. Far too long."
"Okay," Jeremy relents, unable to help the surge of disappointment that fills him. "Then, I'll see you?"
"You might," Jean confirms, and before Jeremy realizes it, he's coming closer, pressing something into the palm of his hand. When Jean backs away, he catches the way his cheeks glow pink before he whirls around.
When Jeremy opens his palm, he sees it — a small, iridescent pearl. He rolls it between his fingertips and smiles.
One way or another, he was going to sneak out tomorrow.