Chapter Text
The Little Mermaid (1) - Mitya
There are fantastical creatures in the deep ocean that humanity has yet to discover. Yet, sailors who have sailed the ocean blue always have stories about those creatures to bring home. Kraken. Hydra. Leviathan. The sea monsters are always gigantic and have immense power to capsize a ship.
Mitya thinks about them constantly. He knows they exist because the sailors record them through sketches and songs. But he would like to behold them with his own eyes. His previous attempt to sail the ocean resulted in a shipwreck, but nonetheless, they remain a fascination of his. They are sea creatures, and that means they could be edible. He wonders what a Kraken’s tentacle would taste like and how many dishes the chef could whip up for the upcoming royal ball.
When he informs the Young Miss about his plan to catch one himself, she shakes her head vehemently, and her gray eyes water tearfully. No! Don’t kill them!
Seeing her so expressive warms his heart. He laughs it off with, “I’m just messing with you."
She relaxes her shoulders and brows. When she catches him stealing a glance at her, she crosses her arms and looks away.
“Sorry, sorry. I won’t joke like that again,” he says, chuckling despite himself. He takes a pot and pours some tea into her cup. She peeks at the golden tea with curiosity. “This is jasmine tea. Quite pleasant with sugar. Valeriy got it from an envoy.”
He drops a few sugar cubes into her drink. She takes her teacup, stirs it, and brings it to her pursed lips. Mitya pushes a plate of biscuits towards her. “Have some as well.”
She brightens at the taste of the tea. Or at the biscuits, he doesn’t know which. She nods and puts one in her mouth. She cups one hand over her cheek in satisfaction, and anything she has held against him has dissipated.
She’s so cute. Mitya thinks. He could stare at her all day without getting bored. Ever since he found her on the beach two weeks ago, life at the castle has felt more bearable with a lovely companion.
“Is it really that good?” he asks.
She nods and takes another one.
“I’m glad. If you want more, I’ll have Valeriy fetch you some.”
The Young Miss nods again. Again, that’s the only way she can communicate with him. She can’t speak. The only way she can converse with Mitya is through hand signs and gestures. He finds it easier to read her expressions, whether she’s happy or sad, pleased or displeased with him. He doesn't know her name because she can’t write.
Well, she could, but he can’t read what she writes. The words look legitimate for a language, but are ironically nonexistent in this world.
“I want to know your name. Could you write it for me?” Mitya asked her a few days ago when they went to the beach outside the castle walls. She scribbled on the sand with her finger. He couldn’t decipher what she wrote, no matter how much he tried to make out just one word. After some time, she gave up writing and let the current wash away her name. Her sad smile told him to leave it. Still, he wrote it down in his notebook, hoping one day he could find the answer to her name. For now, she is Young Miss, and everyone in the castle calls her that.
In the drawing room with a balcony, the cool wind passes through the thick, billowing curtains. Mitya is grateful that the wind masks the silence between them. The Young Miss doesn’t seem interested in knowing about him, despite how much he wants to know about her. Every time the wind roams inward, she looks at the distant sea, searching for something that’s beyond Mitya’s comprehension.
Mitya could sit here all day with her, but his duties don’t wait for him. Procrastination. That’s what he is doing. He glances at the clock. Valeriy’s afternoon break is almost over. If the man knew Mitya had been idling and drinking tea with the Young Miss instead of working, he would open the gates of hell and escort Mitya there. And Mitya doesn’t want that.
“Young Miss,” Mitya says. The teal-haired girl turns to him, her eyes round and curious. A pang of guilt spreads through him. That is not her name. He reminds himself. He smiles at her. “I have to get back to work soon. Will you be okay in the castle alone?”
She nods.
“I’m glad. If you need to go anywhere, have the maid ring for Valeriy or me to take you. Please don’t hesitate to ask for anything. The people here always cater to your needs.”
She nods again, this time with a bow. He smiles wryly at her as he gets up from the cushioned velvet chair.
“Shall we go now?” he asks her, extending his hand to her. She smiles and opens her arms to him, and he holds her up with one arm under her knees and another supporting her back. He’s carrying her like a princess out of the drawing room.
The Young Miss can’t walk either. With every step she tries to take, her face contorts with pain—both from the attempt and from the fall. He steals another glance at her as he ascends the spiral staircase. Again, she wears that distant look in her eyes.
Arriving in her bedroom, he sets her down gently on her bed. The curtains are drawn, looking out to the ocean beyond. She smooths out her aquamarine dress and smiles in gratitude. He knows that look. She stares directly into his eyes, her gaze lingering for a second longer than usual, and he allows himself to be trapped in her eyes twice as long. His heart skips a beat, but he immediately breaks away when the seagulls honk outside her balcony.
It’s strange. He wants to clutch his heart in his palm. Instead of plucking out his heart, his fingers drift to his chest, masquerading as a gesture of departure as he lowers his head slightly at her.
“Well then,” Mitya says reluctantly. “I will see you later.”
Walking down the carpeted hallway, Mitya wonders what kind of flowers he should give her. The flower vase in her room is empty after all. What should he get her? Tulips? Daisies? Or roses? Roses sound good. He remembers presenting red roses to his mother, the queen, once upon a time, but she prefers blue roses.
His steps falter in front of his office. The elaborate door remains shut. Valeriy is already standing guard in front of it. Mitya has miscalculated his timing again.
Valeriy’s stoic face needs to be studied. Sometimes Mitya can’t tell whether he’s upset or happy just by looking at him. But the brows. Valeriy’s brows knit one millimeter closer, confirming the former assumption.
“Went to see that young lady again?” Valeriy asks. He’s good at keeping his tone neutral.
“She’s a guest,” Mitya says. “It’s natural for a host to entertain his guests.”
“She’s an unknown creature,” Valeriy says. “Not one person or document confirms her existence in this nation. I’d be wary if she were a spy from a foreign land.”
“Cut the crap, Valeriy,” Mitya says, his eyes darkening. “You’ve seen her.”
Valeriy grumbles.
Valeriy was there with Mitya when they found her washed up on the beach, naked. Crabs and seagulls were normal sights, but a person? It was a first. A beautiful one at that. It was Mitya who put his cloak on her, carried her back, and had her examined by a doctor. She can’t talk or walk, but Valeriy has his doubts. Mitya can’t share them. What could she possibly do to gather information when she can barely communicate? She could write in a nonexistent language—a code of some sort—but that seems unlikely. If it were a code, she wouldn’t have revealed it to him. It would be safer for a spy to just assume the role of a voiceless girl through and through.
A moment of awkward silence doesn’t sit still with Mitya. He doesn’t want to argue with Valeriy, knowing how stubborn his friend can be. Instead, he sighs and smiles, changing the subject. “I heard the princess is coming next week to attend the queen’s birthday. Have you collected names to send invitations to?”
“Yes,” Valeriy says stoically. “Matter of fact, I already did three days ago.” He pauses and lets Mitya have a moment to reflect on what procrastination has done to him. Valeriy opens the door to the prince’s office, where he beholds the mountain of paperwork Mitya could’ve gotten through had he not visited the Young Miss. Valeriy narrows his eyes and continues. “Your Highness, please get back to work. We don’t have much time.”
“I get it already,” Mitya says grudgingly. This is getting annoying, he thinks. It's paperwork all day and every day. He sluggishly drags himself inside. If only this world were a fantasy or illusion of some sort, how easy would it be to break free?
But then, that’s only a dream someone in his position shouldn’t dream about. Ever.