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Merfolk were hypocrites.

For all their talk of despising humans, of calling them “two-legged sea snakes” who cared for no one but themselves, they were eerily similar to the creatures above. Though, of course, they would never admit that. No one in the kingdom would ever dare compare themselves to the lung-breathers beyond the waves.

Well, except for Gilbert. He could, seeing as he was no longer part of their midst. Some would even argue he had never been much of an acquaintance to begin with, considering he had been rather pointedly banned from every royal festivity in the sea kingdom. Birthdays, initiations, and celebrations of the princes and princesses of King Arthur and Queen Francis. Gilbert was welcome at none of them.

Which suited him just fine. Being stripped of his title as army general had been the best thing to ever happen to him. Otherwise, he might never have discovered his love for sorcery.

In another life, perhaps he would have found it sooner. Skipped all the nonsense of climbing the ranks of the military, only to become the queen’s murderer and have the grieving king banish him to the deepest trenches of the sea. In another life, he might have understood from the moment he was born with an albino shark tail that fate had something entirely different in store for him.

Something far greater than serving a crown.

He was meant to hold a mirror to the merfolk. To make them crumble beneath the weight of their own selfishness.

But if Gilbert wanted to send a message to the entire kingdom, he first had to reach the very top. And what better way to orchestrate the king’s downfall than through his own offspring?

He chuckled darkly, then slipped behind an anemone, retreating back into the shadows.

His prey, the key to his grand plan—a young merman with strawberry-blond curls and a shimmering lilac tail—had no idea he was being watched, too busy gathering courage to enter the Wizard’s lair. It yawned open like a wound in the reef, carved into the skeleton of some long-dead leviathan whose ribs still arched overhead like broken castle spires.

The prince lingered at the entrance for a while. Biting his lip, he swam in small circles as he visibly second-guessed every decision that had led him here. He clutched something close to his heart. An object wrapped in whale felt.

It looked… familiar. But before Gilbert could decipher what it was, the young merman spun back toward the entrance. Drawing a deep breath that made his gills shiver, he dared inside with a single, powerful tailbeat.

He was careful not to touch the black coral knotted along the walls, pulsing as though it still remembered a heartbeat that wasn’t its own. The prince hugged himself, to self-soothe or due to the sudden temperature change, it wasn’t clear. The deeper he drifted, the colder the water became, thick with silt that sloshed against him, slowing him down. Tendrils uncurled from crevices in the stone, brushing his fins, then his tail, testing, tasting, as if deciding whether he belonged there or not.

The prince gasped when something tighter coiled around his fin for a beat before slipping away just as quickly. The prince might have dismissed it as mere algae, but Gilbert knew better. If the Wizard played his cards right, the prince would soon join the pathetic moss lining the walls, filling the lair with wails no one recognized as anything more than seaweed sighing in the current.

Ahead, the tunnel narrowed toward a dim, flickering glow at its center, but even that light was deceiving, as if it were watching him back.

And it was.

The prince floated in, first letting his head peek through the opening. His fear was delicious, the hesitation in his every movement a feast for Gilbert’s eyes.

Well, not the only feast. The young merman was even more striking up close. He had clearly inherited Francis’ beauty, though his lean frame came from somewhere else entirely. Francis had been known for never lifting a finger with so many servants at his disposal, and Arthur had always been the runt of his family. So had the prince been raised on sport, perhaps?

Gilbert caught himself before leaning too far out of his hiding spot. The prince would see him if he wasn’t careful. He strangled his mind, forcing his gaze away from the defined lines of the merman’s abdomen. This was the King and Queen’s offspring. The light in those eyes, bright enough to make the cave feel less dead, meant nothing compared to his obviously inherited corruption. An inner ugliness no amount of long, tantalizing eyelashes could conceal.

“Welcome, Matthew.”

The prince froze. He whirled around, left to right, right to left, like he was already tangled in one of the trapping nets humans used to hunt their kind. His gaze darted across the grotto, over weathered harpoons embedded in the rock walls, shattered figureheads resting on decayed wooden shelves, and rows upon rows of skulls strung together like the trophies they were. A human saber, its blade eaten through with rust, rested atop a mound of cracked helmets and barnacle-covered shields.

All that was missing was their owner.

Though the prince couldn’t see the source of the voice, he still reached into the felt bag, not yet drawing the sharp object hidden inside, but revealing enough for Gilbert to recognize it immediately.

A dagger. Forged from pearl steel that was dredged from defeated battleships. Its dark blade veined with deepwater jade. A strip of sharkskin wrapped the hilt, rough beneath the thumb. The mark of a military gift rather than a noble one.

“Y-you know my name?”

So he didn’t remember Gilbert. Hm. Interesting. Perhaps the Sea Wizard should have expected as much. After all, the last time they had seen each other, the prince had barely been a season old. And by the time he was grown enough to remember more than his morning meal, he had likely already been fed enough tales that erased Gilbert from his family’s history entirely.

And yet, he had kept the dagger Gilbert had bestowed upon him when it was the general’s turn to step toward the cradle.

Gilbert snickered. Back then, Francis had been horrified by the gift, but if he could see his boy now, clutching it for dear life, he… well, he would still be horrified.

By Poseidon. Had it really been twenty winters already?

Gilbert suddenly felt rather old.

Either way, he decided to play along. “I know everything,” he warbled, savoring the frightened little eeps the merman let out as the Wizard made random pots and vials rattle on their shelves. “I know all there is to know about everyone who seeks me out. Their stories. Their deepest fears. Their darkest desires.”

With that last sentence, the cauldron at the center of the cave Gilbert called his living room coughed a plume of pink smoke. It was one of Gilbert’s favorite tricks, and the sight of the merman stumbling back in alarm made it entirely worthwhile.

“You’ve swum quite a long way from home, Your Highness.” Gilbert tried not to belch at the title. Mimicking Arthur’s ridiculous manner of speech helped a little. So did commanding one of the skulls lining the wall to clatter its jaw with every word. “I’m surprised your babysitter Antonio didn’t follow you here… or did he?”

The Sea Wizard already knew the answer, of course. The only reason the merman was still breathing was because Gilbert decreed it, which made the prince bringing a dagger along all the more cute. And had the Royal Guard followed, even from a supposedly safe distance, Gilbert would have sensed them from miles away and ended things before they could even begin.

Gripping the anemone tighter, Gilbert strangled the memory before it could wander further. Before it could drag him back to that day. To Antonio’s face when he found Gilbert hovering over Francis, both of them drenched in blood.

A small part of him wished Antonio had come.

How satisfying it would have been to gut the traitorous bastard and feed his innards to the sharks.

The prince had swum closer to the talking skull. He avoided eye contact, yet still spoke with politeness when he whispered, “I promise you that I’m alone.” He stalled, then leaned in farther. “So… can you help me?”

Another skull from the opposite wall burst into cackling laughter. The force of it tipped the thing clean off, and it rolled across the cave floor until it stopped just short of the prince’s tail. “Of course! That’s what I do. It’s what I live for,” it rattled on. “To help unfortunate merfolk just like yourself.”

While the prince’s shock remained fixed on the enchanted remains, Gilbert slipped behind the shelves, still cloaked in shadow but close enough now to study the other properly. The water around the prince carried the scent of sea lavender, calming and herbal beneath the salt. Francis used to braid the purple blooms through the prince’s hair before bed, claiming the fragrance helped his boy sleep.

Just then, the smell threatened to pull Gilbert somewhere dangerous. Somewhere softer.

He smashed that thought.

“So, who’s the lucky woman?” a third skull cooed from somewhere above. “Or man. I won’t judge.”

The prince’s brows furrowed. “I want to go to the surface.”

“I gathered that much.” Gilbert had drifted onto his back, though he still remained hidden from view, idly toying with the edge of a spiral dirk while his tail traced lazy circles through the water. “The question is who you’re trying to seduce,” he hummed. His gaze raked over the prince again. The young merman must have felt it, given how his skin prickled. “Not that you would need much help with that.”

Color rushed to the prince’s face. Even in the dim light, illuminated by nothing more than bottled glowing plankton dangling from the ceiling, the blush stood out vividly against his doll-like skin. “I-I don’t want to seduce anyone.”

A chorus of snickering echoed through the lair.

Gilbert silenced them with an amused sigh. “That’s what they all say. But really, what’s the difference between seducing someone and wanting them to “hopelessly fall in love” with you? Not much, if you ask me.”

The Sea Wizard would know. He had seen it too many times to count, the way merfolk prided themselves on reason while drowning in impulses that matched those of a sea lion. Lust, greed, revenge, grief… all dressed up as duty or destiny. It always started the same way: a glance too long held... a promise too easily made... a desperation disguised as choice.

They called it passion when it suited them. They called it necessity when it did not. And when the consequences came due—the payment they signed up for—they called it anything but their own fault.

He had watched enough of them bargain away pieces of themselves for something fleeting. Voices traded for romance, loyalty traded for power, memories traded for the illusion of being wanted. All for their own selfish gain. Because they convinced themselves they were in control, while every decision pulled the rope only tighter around their throat.

Pathetic, really.

“That’s not really—”

“Ah, I see it now.” Gilbert rolled upright. His voice mellowed into mock understanding as he tested the dirk blade’s edge against his thumb. “You want to become human for its own sake. You want to be where the people are.”

The skull near the prince’s tail bobbed excitedly.

Gilbert let his fingers prance through the water like tiny legs. “You want to see them dancing, walking around on those…” Gilbert snapped, searching for the word. “Ah. Feet. Because let’s face it, flipping your fins doesn’t get you very far. It’s legs you want. Legs for jumping. For dancing. For strolling along down a…” He clicked his tongue. “What do they call it again? A street?”

“I’m not—”

“No need for false modesty, Engelchen.” Gilbert’s tone sharpened at last. The grotto dimmed with it, shadows thickening along the walls while the lights dulled behind their cloudy glass. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want to abandon your family, your home, your kingdom, all for the chance to become the very creature your father loathes with every fiber of his being.”

Gilbert’s glare was fiery in the dark. “The very creature,” he continued, “whose race is responsible for your mother’s death—!”

Thunder tore the water as the cauldron convulsed on its hooks. Its lid thrashed. Thick crimson froth burst from beneath the seams and bled over the rim, clouding the water like freshly spilled blood. Something beneath the surface lashed hard enough to make the metal groan—a warped sound that echoed through flesh and bone.

Gilbert had lost many potential clients at this exact stage. Some couldn’t stomach the flickering lights. Others broke at the talking skulls. And the cauldron, which always had a mind of its own, usually proved the final straw. It was a worthwhile sacrifice. For every coward that fled the lair, there was terror they carried with them back to the kingdom. Rumors spread quickly underwater. Faster than currents, sometimes. And every horrified retelling only deepened Gilbert’s legend. Free advertising, as it were.

But not Matthew Bonnefoy-Kirkland.

The prince stayed, even though Gilbert had never seen his cauldron this out of control before. Curled near the corner of the cave, the merman simply stared, eyes wide, though the look in them didn’t seem entirely present.

Slowly, the cauldron settled. The violent bubbling eased into a low simmer, and with it, some of the tension slipped from the prince’s shoulders. Gilbert’s, too.

Then, without warning, the prince spun towards the shelves. Toward the darkness Gilbert dwelled in. Somehow, their gazes united through the gloom. “I would like to,” the prince said, his voice trembling yet firm all at once, “look you in the eyes, I mean.” He swallowed, but kept his chin high. “I would like to see who I’m bargaining with.”

Gilbert’s grip tensed on the spiral dirk. Its sharp edge caught his skin. A line of blood surfaced, drifting into the water like unraveling ink. His first wound in a long time. Just as long as it had been since anyone last touched him. Since the day he was banished.

He watched the red curl from his own fingers, letting the warm sensation linger a beat longer before he steered his focus back.

Silence settled thickly in the cave. Once again, it didn’t feel like something he commanded. Gilbert searched for a way to break the quiet, and found none that came easily. No quirky retort. No sarcastic quip. There wasn’t a script he could follow, because no client of his had ever requested… this. Terror usually did the speaking for them long before curiosity ever dared.

He tried for a smirk. It came out thinner than intended. “Very well,” the Wizard said at last, still hidden in the dark. He remained there for a beat longer. Then another. “But I don’t think I need to warn you. My reputation precedes me.”

The Sea Wizard waited.

The prince didn’t revoke his demand. If anything, he edged closer to the shelves, dagger now fully drawn, but not pointed at the Wizard.

So Gilbert emerged. Slowly at first, an arm slipping from behind the shelving, then his shoulder, then his head, until he finally wafted fully into view, shark tail and all.

The prince’s dagger slipped from his hand and sank toward the floor.

Gilbert hoped the light wouldn’t catch all his scars. There were so many of them, carved into him over years of service. Earned in battles fought for a kingdom that now wanted his head on a spear. Once, he had been proud of them, tracing each mark’s story like a ledger, recounting them to anyone willing (or not) to listen. Now they were nothing more than pale, ugly reminders of time wasted.

He attempted a grin, something to redirect attention, to drag the prince’s focus up to his face instead of the war zone below. Not that it would help much. Gilbert’s sharp edges were all encompassing, reaching to his expressions too. His crimson gaze had always been called too intense, too harsh.

Too demonic.

Gilbert folded his arms over his chest. He was already muscular, yet now he wished he had trained harder still, if only so his arms could cover more of him. “I know. What a shock.” His chuckle came out weak. “The Wizard, whose horror tales compare him to a moray eel, is actually hideous.”

The prince blinked back to the present. He waved his hands wildly. “Oh! No. That’s not what I was thinking at all!”

Gilbert circled him, eyes narrowed. “Then what were you thinking?”

The prince’s cheeks flushed. For the fact that he studied Gilbert for far too long mere moments ago, he now suddenly found great interest in everything else in the cave. He wrung his fingers one by one. “Just… um… that you aren’t really as scary as I thought you would be.”

A pause. Gilbert’s smile twitched. Then he moved. In a blur of motion, he cut the distance between them, driving the other into the wall. The prince let out a gasp that tickled Gilbert’s nose. They were so close, their lips a mere breath away. “Now you listen here,” he said, voice low, “I’m not only scary, I’m the most feared Wizard of the Seven Seas.”

The prince gulped and nodded. Even pinned, he managed, “Of course. You’re very terrifying. Spine-chillingly horrifying, sir. Pardon me, Your Esteemed Spookiness.”

Gilbert huffed and let go. “Now you’re pushing it.”

“Sorry.” The prince shifted awkwardly, like a guest in the Sea Wizard’s home who couldn’t quite bring himself to ask where the loo was. “So… what happens next?”

Gilbert picked the skull off the floor and set it back in its designated place beside a fading painting he had salvaged from a shipwreck. A king from a distant realm of Pruss-something, its name half-eaten by salt and time. “What happens next is that you tell me exactly why you want to become human. Only then can we discuss… payment.”

This whole ordeal might have started out very differently from Gilbert’s usual client work, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t steer it back where it belonged. If the merman behind him thought royalty earned him any special treatment, he was royally mistaken. At the end of the day, Gilbert was still a businessman.

He liked to think he worked with contracts first, spells second. All it needed was a signature, penned by the client themselves. No take-backs, no bending of the rules. For no one. Every contract was equally binding. And the moment ink spilled on paper, every client sealed their own fate.

As the prince thought of how to phrase his reasoning, Gilbert absently adjusted the clutter on a shelf that never stayed orderly for long. A skull here, a cracked vial there, a strand of black coral twisted back into place like it had ever belonged neatly anywhere in the first place.

Finally, the prince spoke. “My father,” came his breaking voice from behind. “He is… he is dying. I want to look for a cure for his illness on the surface.”

Gilbert’s hands stilled. “What?” He heard himself say. “Arthur… is sick?”

How had Gilbert not known about this?

“Our healers are at a loss,” the prince went on quickly, as if afraid the sinking silence would swallow him whole. “We… my siblings and I… we don’t know what to do. My father’s magic is failing too. So I snuck out to find you. Because if there is anyone who knows how to shape-shift, to help, it’s—”

The Wizard’s raised palm shut him off.

There was something deadly in the way Gilbert turned around. His glower fixed on the prince properly now, and the water in the cave tightened with it. “Ever since you swam in here, I’ve been trying to decide whether you’re brave or just plain stupid.” He set the skull down carefully, as if the smallest sudden movement might fracture something. “I have my answer now.”

He pointed toward the entrance. “You’ve come to the wrong place. Get out. Before I make it so you can’t.”

The prince shot forward. “Please—!”

“Get out!”

The young merman didn’t get far. A burst from the cauldron separated him and Gilbert.

The pot’s lid ripped free with a metallic shriek. A column of crimson brew erupted upward, slamming into the ceiling. The cauldron surged again, spilling molten red light through the water like pus from a ruptured wound. It sent pressure waves rolling through the cave. The reef groaned. The lair shook as rocks split, glass shattered, coral crumbled, and shelves collapsed.

It left nothing but ruin in its wake.

And yet, the brat still wouldn’t leave.

When the cauldron tipped sideways, lifeless, the merman hadn’t moved a muscle, but he looked different now. The prince’s skin, once smooth, was marked with cuts from scattered glass. Splinters and fleeing bubbles tangled in his hair, and his tail had become caged beneath a fallen shelf.

“You said you would help me,” the prince said through gritted teeth as he crawled out from beneath the wreckage. “Why not?” His voice carried farther than Gilbert had expected, rising into a sharp volume that cut through the cave. “Because you were banished?”

The prince had barely managed to straighten before Gilbert seized the front of his chest and slammed him against the nearest stone wall. Coral cracked under the impact. The prince couldn’t even gasp in pain. Gilbert’s hand closed around his throat, fingers pressing against his gills hard enough to make his panting gurgle.

A sword materialized in Gilbert’s other hand. It was a beautiful thing. An abyssal glaive inlaid with veins of pale bioluminescence that pulsed through the blade. He had ended lives with it before. Many. And now its edge rested against another victim's throat. Perhaps the prince should have thought twice before dropping his dagger.

“You catch on quick, Engelchen,” Gilbert said, his tone chilling. “Yes. I was banished. By the same merman you call your father. The same bastard who made the entire kingdom despise me, feeding everyone lies that I had conspired with humans to assassinate his spouse.”

It could have been so easy. One twist of his hand could snap the prince’s neck. One tighter squeeze around his gills could choke the life from him. One swift motion of the glaive could sever his head clean from his body. Arthur would finally get what he deserved. His son’s lifeless frame delivered straight to his deathbed.

So then why didn’t Gilbert act? Why couldn’t he? Why did he keep on talking instead, his speech brittling with every word?

“I was there… that day. I saw it happen. All I did… all I tried to do was save Francis’ life. My friend’s life!”

But Francis couldn’t be helped. The harpoon was dug too deeply into his chest. So Gilbert had been left to hold him, blood clouding through the water, while the merman Gilbert had sworn to protect slipped through his fingers anyway. And what had Francis chosen to spend his final breaths on?

“Take care of my children…”

“Stay by Antonio’s side…”

“Tell Arthur I love him…”

“…This isn’t your fault…”

Gilbert hadn’t fulfilled a single one of those wishes. Arthur and Antonio made sure of that when they burst in only after the light left Francis’ eyes for good.

Somehow, Gilbert found himself on the grotto’s floor, tail curled beneath him, palms pressed into a bed of shattered glass and coral. He barely felt the cuts.

Then something warm touched his hand.

Soft. Careful. Nothing like the roughness of his chapped, scarred skin.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” the prince said. Gilbert doubted he had ever heard a voice this gentle. “That was wrong, and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“What if I do?” Gilbert let out a humorless snicker, whatever bite it usually carried long gone. “You don’t know me.” His crimson eyes flicked upward, but he couldn’t meet the prince’s gaze. “I could be lying to your face right now. For all you know, I really am your father’s killer.”

The prince’s—Matthew’s—touch remained. “Well, I believe one should always listen to both sides of the story. Also, you wouldn’t be crying like this if you meant for my father to get hurt.”

Gilbert immediately rubbed the stinging salt from his eyes. Their fingers had somehow interlaced, and he quickly pulled his hand free with a cough. “All that is to say—” He floated upright again, punching himself back into soldier-like composure, “—the king and I haven’t exactly gotten along. So why should I help save him?” He fluttered his lashes at the prince, his tone sickly sweet. “Just because you asked nicely?”

The prince hugged himself. As it turned out, he wasn’t as daft as he seemed. In fact, he had come prepared.

“In your contracts,” Matthew began, “you always give a time limit. Usually three nights. And if the client fails to meet their goal…” His voice faltered. Even the thought of it seemed enough to spook him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before pushing himself onward. “What if I reject the time limit? You let me go to the surface, and once I’ve accomplished what I need to…” His throat bobbed. "I'll hand over all of myself to..."

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Gilbert drifted closer until his shadow swallowed the prince whole. His expression darkened. “I trust,” he said slowly, “that you fully understand what you’re offering me.”

Matthew’s lips crinkled as they pressed close. He still wouldn’t look up. “I do.”

“Why?”

The prince blinked. “Why what?”

“Why do this for him?” Gilbert demanded. “Your father.”

There had to be more to it than this. Some greater reason behind all this insanity. It couldn’t have been a thirst for power. Matthew wasn’t the eldest prince. The crown was unlikely to ever be his burden to carry, which meant this could not simply be about securing succession or preserving the kingdom’s stability. So was it fear, then? Fear of losing another parent? Fear of becoming a true orphan?

Matthew gaped at him. As though the answer was so simple, so painfully obvious, and Gilbert was the one too blind to see.

“Because I love him.”

Gilbert stared at the prince for a long moment before snorting under his breath. “By Poseidon, couldn’t you be any more corny?” Something he had done in Francis’ presence countless times.

Because where had Gilbert heard that before?

With that, he shoved himself away and dove toward the ruined cauldron. Broken chains still dangled from the ceiling, swaying lazily in the water. A flick of his wrist sent them snapping back into place with a clang. The shattered iron vessel trembled. Then, piece by piece, it dragged itself back together, jagged seams fusing shut until the great pot hung whole once more.

Matthew flinched as the cauldron lurched upright.

Gilbert circled the thing slowly, chanting in a language far older than the sea’s most ancient kingdom. The water darkened with every word. The remaining lights flickered overhead, casting distorted shapes across the cave's walls while the skulls dotting the floor began to chatter amongst themselves in hushed excitement.

The liquid inside began to churn. Gilbert swirled a finger through the water, and the iron beast boiled back to life. Colors burst beneath the surface in violent, shifting strips. Sickly greens melted into luminous blues, then molten gold, then bruised purples that flashed like lightning underneath the froth. The brew spun faster and faster, churning itself into a whirlpool, until the entire cave blazed with it, rainbow light rippling across the prince’s stunned face.

Gilbert dove toward his shelves, ripping ingredients free. Boiled seahorses. Crushed pearls. Human herbs stolen from shipwrecked cargo. A glowing jellyfish still twitching in its jar. Everything went into the cauldron.

The mixture screamed. A wail burst from the pot as steam exploded upward in twisting limbs that looked like reaching hands. Matthew recoiled, backing into the wall again, but Gilbert merely grinned as the water around him whipped into a current. His tail whipped through it effortlessly while he worked, theatrically coordinated, like a conductor leading an orchestra toward disaster.

“I hope,” Gilbert called over the roar of the boiling cauldron, “you told your father all that sentimental nonsense before swimming here.” The crimson in his eyes gleamed in the riot of colors. “Because the moment you find what you’re looking for,” he purred, “you belong to me.” His grin widened, canines flashing. “Forever.”

Matthew stiffened. But before he could reconsider, Gilbert flicked his wrist. From beneath the rubble, the prince’s dagger tore free and shot into the Wizard’s waiting hand.

Without hesitation, he sliced the blade into his own palm. The sting didn’t even register. Blood welled instantly, dark ribbons dancing through the water before the cauldron greedily sucked them in. The colors inside deepened at once.

Gilbert offered the dagger hilt-first.

Matthew took it. Hesitantly. His fingers trembled around the sharkskin grip while the cave held its breath alongside him. For a moment, he only stared at the blade. Then, after worrying his lip between his teeth, he lifted his arm and drew the dagger across his skin in one swift motion.

A pained hiss later, and Royal blood spiraled into the water. The cauldron devoured it with delight.

The reaction was immediate. The entire reef shuddered. The cauldron’s glow flared white-hot, swallowing every other color. Gilbert’s vision paled. The water around them fragmented, a collapse of reality that folded in on its seams.

Matthew’s silhouette was the first to break apart, dissolving into brightness. Then the shelves, the skulls, the weapons, everything smearing into a single collapsing wash of white. Gilbert reached out on instinct, but his fingers closed around nothing but pressure that had no substance.

The cauldron screamed once more.

Then it stopped. No sound. No light. No water.

Only black.

Time slipped somewhere beyond his grasp. It felt like ages until sensation returned in pieces. First cold. Then weight. Then something rough and grainy under him. Gilbert jerked as impact jolted through his spine. His back hit something hard, nothing like the shifting weight of the sea. His eyelids flickered open. Harsh light stabbed straight into them. The sun. Far too close. Far too bright.

Then a figure leaned over him, shielding his sight from the sweltering heat.

An angel.

Was he in heaven?

That was the first thought his disoriented mind supplied. The second came not too long after. It was one of offense. That couldn’t be right. Gilbert was fairly certain he had earned himself a very different destination after death.

The angel tilted their head, strawberry-blonde curls spilling forward as they spoke, his speech tender.

Gilbert couldn’t make sense of any of it. Everyone knew he was the last individual suited to learning how to speak Angel. He groaned instead. Even that felt wrong. His voice sounded dry, scraped hollow from the inside out. He dragged in another breath and choked on it. This wasn't water. It was...

Air.

Slowly, the brightness around him settled into actual shapes. Stone stretched nearby, pale and weathered, nothing like reef rock smoothed by tides. This… this was a beach. He was on the beach. Something shifted underneath his hand. Sand. Gilbert pressed his fingers into it cautiously, watching the grains slip through them. Nothing drifted. Nothing swayed. The ground stayed exactly where it was.

The figure hovering above him moved again, and the blur of halo light and curls finally sharpened into Matthew’s face. His brows knitted. “Gilbert—? I mean, Mr. Sea Wizard, sir?”

Gilbert grimaced. “What is it?” The words came out rougher than intended.

Matthew shrank back. “N-nothing. I was just wondering… um…” He fidgeted with a lone seashell on the ground. “Why did you turn yourself into a human too?”

Gilbert looked down at himself. A tattered sailcloth had been wrapped around his waist, with another hanging loose over his shoulders. Matthew wore something similar, though at least the prince looked moderately dignified in it. Gilbert did not. Mostly because of the horrors attached to his hips. The abominations that had replaced the Wizard’s wonderfully grotesque shark tail.

Two pale legs stared back at him.

He flexed one cautiously. Then the other. They moved independently. Wrongly. Like malformed eels stitched together by a drunk magician.

“Well, I can’t have you mess this all up by searching for the cure unsupervised,” Gilbert muttered as he planted both hands into the sand and pushed himself upright. Immediately, his knees buckled beneath him. “It’s not like I can plan King Arthur’s downfall if he is dead.” He grabbed fistfuls of sailcloth for balance and attempted a step. His left leg crossed into the right, and Gilbert folded instantly. Matthew lunged forward just in time to catch him before he ate sand face-first.

“I meant to do that,” Gilbert grumbled, though he still allowed the prince to guide him toward the nearest rock. He toppled onto it with all the elegance of a shipwreck. He squinted toward the horizon, where gulls circled above the shoreline, and a cluster of fishing boats rested near the surf. “Now, go and call those fishermen over there. I will ask them a few questions about the nearest herbalist.”

With an eager nod, Matthew set off across the beach. He looked relieved by the fact that he wasn't ordered to speak with them directly. He still hobbled, unsteady on his new legs, but he adapted quickly enough, eventually making the strange limbs his own as he headed toward the boats.

Gilbert watched him go. A smirk crooked on his lips. Yes, of course, this was still part of the plan. Nothing had changed. The sooner they found the cure, the sooner King Arthur could finally taste the Sea Wizard’s wrath. And it certainly didn’t matter that Gilbert had omitted a part of the deal back in the cave.

It was merely a minor detail. Just a token, really. A trifle.

That they had never signed a contract.

Gilbert was the most powerful being in the seven seas. Why go through the trouble of bending rules when he could dispose of them with nothing more than a flick of a finger? Why bargain for treasure he already possessed?

And why demand payment if it meant Francis’s son might lose that pretty smile forever?