Page 2 of The Noble's Merman

“Ah, perhaps I shall take these off. Be easier on my feet. You promise not to eat them if I leave them here?” He smiled sweetly at Biscuit.

She huffed a harsh breath out her nostrils.

“That’s a good girl.”

Kent tied her to a sturdy tree, then knelt down to unbuckle his shoes. One foot, then the other, one stocking, then the other, setting them in a pile and leaving his calves bare. He took off his frock coat as well; shrugging off the extra heat.

“I’ll just be over there,” he told Biscuit, pointing toward the shore. “You’ll be able to see me.”

She whipped her mane in a way that almost looked like a nod. Some days he thought she could understand him.

Kent walked toward the sea. Far off in the distance was the Isle of Wight, peeking out from the horizon. It disturbed that grand idea of seeing the ocean as it was: the vast endless void that continued on forever. But it was still incredibly beautiful, as the sun set in the west, decorating the sky in shades of yellows, oranges, and reds. The water reflected the sky, shimmering, as gentle waves rose and fell with thin lines of white foam. It was a blessing to live this close to the sea.

Warm pebble shingles touched the soles of his feet as he stepped forward, and a soft, gentle breeze whipped at his shirt sleeves. Hiding within his blind peripheral, a few tall, wide rocks poked out a dozen feet in front of him in the water. Seagulls cawed as they passed by, filling the air with their song.

Oh, a song. Music was another thing that always grounded Kent. Whether it be tinkering around on his harpsichord or simply using his voice, forming the notes and following the music never failed to calm his mind. He needed something like that, hence his initial decision to ride out here, but he needed to think of which song to sing first. Something to fit his mood.

He was angry, most certainly. But it was a melancholic anger, one brought on by heartbreak, tears, and loneliness. This whole mess was brought onto him in the first place not of his own doing, but because of his betrothed. Well, she wasn’t his betrothed anymore, with what she did. However, even though a year had passed since the incident, he couldn’t help but still think of her that way. Which was incredibly ridiculous of him, but his brain wasn’t always in proper working order since the whole situation happened. Kent wanted to still have time, let things go and move on, but his father was having none of that. Kent was twenty-seven now; if he wanted strong and healthy heirs, he’d need to find a new wife sooner than later. That’s what his father, Herbert Wilson, the Earl of Fareham, badgered at him anyway.

It wasn’t like the idea of having a beloved was absurd to Kent. No, on the contrary, he would adore having a lover again eventually. With what Diana did to him, it was difficult to open his heart to another woman. And he only wanted to be in a love marriage, what truly felt right to him; it wasn’t the norm as the son of a nobleman, but it was what he wanted. He could never be forced into a loveless marriage simply to continue his lineage. Though that very well might be what would happen to him, if his father continued on how he did. Pressure built in his chest and burned his eyelids. So much pressure, it made him untie his eyepatch from his head, pulling it off and clutching it in his hand.

His heart sank, and so did he, as he sat down on the warm ground. The sea in front of him glistened, glittering with each gentle wave. The sun continued to set—the sky a dreamy painting of blues and pinks.

A sweet, soft, lullaby.

That was the song he’d pick. A lament to the sea, asking for its comfort. A song his mother would hum to him as a child: sweetly, for love, to tell him everything would be all right. Kent brought his knees to his chest, cradled his arms around them as he lifted his head, taking a deep breath and?—

He began to sing.

TWO

It had been a few days since Mo scuppered the pirate ship. There were plenty of items from her that he could sell—jewelry, artwork, and weapons. The weapons especially were a nice touch. Letting him give in to his macabre cravings, playing with the drowned. Each stab and slice fed the Song and elongated the high, satisfying him in a way he could never possibly describe to anyone who wasn’t a siren.

Since that day, because he couldn’t swim with everything he wanted to grab all at once, he made the journey from his grotto to the ship and back a handful of times. Carrying goods in a sack over his shoulder, other merfolk never questioned what he held. In fact, they too scavenged treasures from the shipwreck—it was simply a common practice for their kind when encountering human remnants. First come, first served. And as the source of that destruction, Mo was always first.

Though, after a few days of scavenging, he’d had enough of that particular area of the sea. He’d fulfilled the Song’s pull, he took what he wanted. Yet now, with discovering so many interesting human things, his curiosity piqued, and he wanted to explore. Such a notion clashed with the Siren’s Song, it clashed with how merfolk in general feared humans, but Mo ignored those sentiments. He still wanted to see humans anyway. It had been a while since he explored anywhere near dry land. Really, how long has it been since he last ventured? He remembered seeing ice hanging off cliffs, and white, fluffy blankets covering the land. Snow—that was what sailors called it. That had been winter. Now, it was summer. A trip to the shoreline would definitely be much more enjoyable at this time of year.

So, Mo swam toward land, lunging through the water with each flick of his tail. It was still bright enough in the day to travel without carrying a sea crystal, and he wouldn’t want to carry one anyway, as the light would surely attract unwanted attention. The closest landmass to him was a large island, but not many humans lived there, or at least they didn’t appear to. While the flora was certainly beautiful, he was more interested in getting a better look at the humans themselves.

Further and further, he passed fewer merfolk. Practically none were this close to shore. Only the bravest traversed this close to human civilization due to perceived dangers. Humans were widely known amongst merfolk as terrible, murderous creatures, yet, unbeknownst to his kind, Mo gave humans the benefit of the doubt.

Which was why he could never open up to other merfolk. While no mer had ever spoken about it to him, he could imagine the things they’d say: Why bother using your Siren’s Song only for pirates? Why be selective at all—why not kill humans as they’ve killed us?

Past the island appeared the heartland: ‘England’, he’d heard it called. He breached the surface as he swam closer, taking in the sights and sounds of a world so similar, and yet so different from his own. Ships and smaller boats gathered by large stone buildings lining the coast, gliding across the water into an inlet. His curiosity begged him to swim closer, to observe the humans and happen in on their conversations, to see where they walked, to witness their gatherings. More than anything, he wanted for a life he’d never known.

But an uncomfortable feeling churned in his gut. Despite his want, and despite the power of the Song, he’d never had the courage to swim closer to where humans congregated on land. Sailors knew of merfolk’s existence—and even then Mo was hesitant to befriend them, afraid the Song’s call would arise and he’d dangerously reveal that fact about himself to everyone—but humans as a whole were not aware. If anyone spotted him, chaos would ensue. Mo respected humans and their culture, and did not wish to cause harm unless it was necessary. If he wanted to swim up to shore, he’d need to be discreet.

While he was decently far away—no human would be able to see him from this distance—he could still hear some sort of shouting, some sort of commotion from outside the buildings that lined the coast. A celebration, a disagreement, a brawl, he couldn’t tell. It posed too much of a risk for him to be seen, and the uncomfortable pulse only swelled fuller in his chest.

So Mo swam away from the city, toward the quiet, pebble beaches to his far left, keeping his head low, only his eyes peeping out of the water. Sunlight gleamed against the surface, blinding white in some spots as gentle waves lapped all around him.

For a good length of land, all he saw were green trees, ashy gray pebbles, and even more luscious green, green trees. Was this trip to land all for naught, if the only humans he saw he couldn’t even convince himself to eavesdrop on? No, he could keep going. The further along he swam, a speck of something looked like it was sitting, a figure contrasted against the bright stretch of beach.

A human?

Closer and closer, he crept, and the figure didn’t move. He was far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the city that it was merely a faint buzz in the distance, barely even noticeable. Yet here, on this lonesome stretch of shore, this one individual caught his interest enough to gather up his courage, and swim closer. What were they doing here all by themself? Still too far to see their face clearly, Mo circled further left, lifting his head a bit more out of the water?—

The human was singing.

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