Forgive My Fins

12

Quince eyes the breakfast buffet in the main dining hall as if it might get up and swim away. I don’t know what his problem is. The spread looks amazing. There are mounds of scrambled eel eggs, toasted sea fans, strips of pickled kelp, and a variety of local fruit mixed with some land fruit—the kingdom has a trading agreement with some human merchants who prize the giant conch and other shells we can provide. And, if you love sushi—I dare you to name a mermaid who doesn’t love sushi—we have just about every variety of nigiri, maki, and inari you could dream of.

Grabbing a plate, I start piling on Thalassinian delicacies.

“Care to introduce me to the menu, princess?”

I scowl at Quince, ready to deflect whatever insult he’s getting ready to hurl, but he looks genuinely concerned about the buffet.

“You don’t eat sushi, do you?” I guess.

“Not if I can avoid it.”

Rolling my eyes, I point out the eel eggs and sea-fan toast. “Take some of those.” I scoop up a spoonful of fruit and dump it on his plate. “This should get you through the day without having to resort to raw fish.”

He gives me a relieved look and then piles on a plateful of my recommendations. I don’t have the heart to tell him what they actually are. He’d probably put them back.

Once we’re at the table and he’s figured out how to use seasticks, the mer equivalent of chopsticks, he asks, “What’s on the schedule?”

I shrug, dipping my spicy tuna maki in thick ginger sauce before placing the delight in my mouth. My eyes close automatically, focusing on the sensation of spicy and tangy on my tongue. The mainland has its fair share of sushi restaurants, and some of them are pretty passable. But nothing compares to the royal sushi master’s concoctions. I feel my body hum with epicurean pleasure.

“That good, huh?”

My eyes flash open. In my bliss I’ve completely forgotten about Quince—about everything except pure sushi joy.

I chew and swallow quickly. Knowing my cheeks must be bright red, I keep my head down and catch another piece in my seasticks.

“Yes,” I say simply.

I sense Quince shift next to me. “Then I have to try one.”

Surprised, I look up at him. He looks serious.

“Hey, anything that gives a girl that kind of pleasure,” he says with a wink, “has to be worth a try.”

Now my cheeks are practically on fire. He watches me with a kind of unsettling intensity as I take the ginger-dipped piece I’d been about to eat and hold it out for him. For Quince.

Never taking his eyes off me, he leans forward and opens his mouth. The spicy tuna disappears between his full lips and white teeth. My eyes dart up, anxious to read his reaction. An array of emotion plays across his eyes. Uncertainty. Contemplation. Intrigue. Finally, in one fluid motion, he swallows, then gives me a slightly forced smile.

“Not the”—his smile wavers—“worst thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Oh,” I say, not sure why I feel relieved. “Good.”

“But I think I’ll stick with the eggs and toast.”

We finish the meal in silence. I watch Quince nervously out of the corner of my eye, waiting for him to realize that the “ketchup” he’s putting on his eggs is actually sea-cucumber jelly, but he eats up ocean fare like it’s his favorite burger and fries back home. Dosinia watches us carefully from across the table, trying to act completely uninterested, while everyone else in the royal household—from Daddy on down to Cid and Barry—watches me and Quince with undisguised fascination. I feel like a goldfish in a bowl, and I was fully prepared to face that reaction once I finally bonded. Only I’m stuck in my bowl with the wrong human.

Unable to force another bite of eel and salmon roe into my mouth when dozens of eyes in the room are watching my every move, I kick away from the table.

“Are you ready to go?” I demand, not waiting for Quince to respond before pulling him up and away from the last bites of sargassum grapes left on his plate. On land he may outmuscle me, like, three to one, but underwater I have the definite advantage of a massive strong tailfin and years of learning how to use it effectively.

I have him out of the dining hall before he protests. “In a hurry, princess?”

“Sorry.” I don’t mean it, but since I’m forcibly dragging him away from breakfast, I probably should. “I just couldn’t sit there while everyone watched every tiny thing we did. I don’t do well in the spotlight.”

“Aren’t you used to it?” he asks. “I mean, you’re their princess. Haven’t they always watched you like that?”

We pass into the front hall, and I finally release Quince to swim on his own. “Not like this,” I explain. “They’re all super eager because of the bonding.”

Unconsciously I run my fingers through my hair. And, since it’s not air frizzed, they actually rake through easily.

“Why does that make a difference?” he asks. “I mean, it’s not like it was your first kiss.”

My entire body from the waist up freezes. I’m still kicking, still moving toward the door, but I am otherwise motionless.

“Well, hell.”

That freezes me altogether. I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will make this whole situation disappear. As if I can pretend for a minute that I just came home for a nice visit, without a bonded Quince in tow. As if I can shut out the feelings of shock and (annoying) pride that are pouring out of him.