Page 21 of Female Fantasy
The word reeks of condescension.
I’m a grown woman, goddamn it.
“Maybe I’ll get here at seven fifty-five and hit you with his car,” I mumble.
“Oh, Joonie,” he says, getting irritatingly close to me. Determined to have the last word. “It’s adorable that you think you’ll be the one behind the wheel.”
I groan.
This is going to be a long fucking trip.
My eyes devour Ryke, ripping apart each tendril and patching him back together.
His stature: shoulders back, neck long, head raised.
The dip of his lips, his straining Adam’s apple.
Strong, defined muscles.
Dark, lost eyes.
Dominance and confidence radiating from every inch of his body, from the top of his head to the tip of his tail.
Royal.
“So, you are no simple mer,” I state, my eyes narrowing.
He sucks in his cheeks. “It would appear not.”
“You are a prince.”
“So they tell me.”
Beneath our bubble in the sky—the sea—applause breaks out among the spectators in the amphitheater, and theperformers bow. Instead of rose petals, the mer throw pieces of algae and coral in appreciation. Thick braided ropes pull the set pieces from the stage, and the audience disperses, swimming in all different directions.
Ryke moves his body slightly in front of me, a show of protection.
Even though he is meant to be in hiding himself.
I take a deep breath.
“Start at the beginning, my prince.”
He turns back to me and smiles, the corners of his mouth twisting as my stomach knots.
“As you wish, princess.”
“I preferminnow.”
That smile stretches into a grin wider than the four corners of the Earth.
“Our tale begins as most do: with the creation of man. The Great Furnace carved its clay and let the fire burn, giving form to man, maecena, and mer, all in the same breath. Then he carved into thirds. The maecenas would rule a star in the sky, hidden from sight by a thick layer of cloud. Men would prosper in the in-between, dwelling on land where all things grow, good and bad. They would harvest crops and dig their heels into the earth. And the mer would rule a realm beneath the ocean floor, concealed by the sandy false bottom. A valley of seaweed, a haven of salt water. Our bodies evolved to allow us to survive in our separate terrains.”
“Evolved?” I dare to ask. “So your tail is not, then, a product of this magic you speak of?”
“No, my minnow. Man, mer, and maecena share certain attributes. We all begin life through our lungs, chant our prayers through hopeful lips, and hold our loved ones in our arms. But man was born with formidable legs to walk upon the Earth’s surface. The mer were given great tails with which to navigate the tides. And the maecenas? Well, they sprouted white eagle wings so they could soar into the atmosphere and look upon the planets. Now, the Furnace made us so, forged these worlds in an attempt to keep us separate but powerful. And for good reason. But of course, over the millennia, curiosity got the best of a few wayward travelers. Mer met man. Man met maecena. And a few mated, giving the children of certain—but not all—bloodlines the ability to shift, as I can.”
All the blood rushes from my brain to the organ in my chest.
