Chapter Text
“Forty-three minutes.”
“What, did they demote you to time keeper? Give it a rest.”
“Forty-four minutes.”
Atem huffed as he tugged on another set of bangles, careful not to catch the webbing between his fingers on the jewels. He’d made it back to the palace in record time, only stopping to drop his new treasure off at the grotto, but Mahaad had been unimpressed. He stood at the door to Atem’s bed chamber with his arms crossed.
“Um,” Atem struggled with the clasp behind his neck, “can you help me with this?”
Mahaad rolled his eyes before swimming over to Atem, taking the back of the golden collar from his hands and clasping it with ease. He’d always been better at these types of things than he was.
“Maybe if you’d gotten here earlier you would have had more time to get ready,” Mahaad said with a tight-lipped smile. He patted him on the back just a little too firmly.
Now Atem rolled his eyes. He reached down to the vanity to grab his favorite earrings; the gold and sapphire fans he’d inherited from his mother. Though they leaned a little too feminine for his father’s liking, the weight of them hanging from his ears had always offered a specific kind of comfort that he desperately needed right now. He could see Mahaad’s reflection in the mirror watching intently as he slipped the earrings on, all harsh lines and angles that towered over him like a suit of freshly polished armor. The wall of tension between them betrayed Mahaad’s well-practiced neutrality.
Atem whipped around to face him, “what? Stop looking at me like that.”
Mahaad pursed his lips, purple fins fanning behind him in the gentle current. He was the perfect image of composure. The only reason Atem knew otherwise was from growing up together, learning all of Mahaad’s tells as he came up with them.
An aggravated sigh tore through Atem’s frown, “look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m late. I just got distracted is all.”
Mahaad’s shoulders fell, if only a little. One of his eyebrows quirked upwards, “distracted? On what’s probably the second most important day of your life?”
The second most important day of your life. Atem’s stomach went cold, like he’d swallowed glacier melt. He folded his hands in front of his face and hunched forward, closing his eyes. For the second time that day, he found himself wishing that he could be anywhere else right now. Anywhere but here.
Yes. Atem knew just how important today was. In fact, he could argue that he understood its importance better than anyone else. But the importance that he knew it to be was one of misery. Today was the start of the rest of his life; a life he had no say in, and a life he certainly didn’t want. It was a means to a premature end.
“I know,” Atem finally mumbled. He opened one eye to see Mahaad approaching him, his expression having softened just a little bit.
Mahaad placed a hand on his shoulder, “Do you really? Because in my opinion, I feel that if you truly understood its importance, you would have been on time.”
The hand on his shoulder was meant to be comforting, but to Atem it felt like a vice, a way to keep him from escaping. Since officially taking the position of Royal Advisor, Mahaad’s priorities had changed. Too bad Mana couldn’t be here instead.
After a minute of awkward silence, Mahaad grimaced and let his hand fall from Atem’s shoulder, “Very well. I’ve said my piece,” he started for the door, “I’ll let your father know to expect you in no more than ten minutes, and might I suggest you conjure up one of your award winning excuses and an apology. We’re all waiting on you.”
Atem waved him away without a word.
After savoring a sweet moment of silence for himself, Atem looked over his reflection in the mirror one last time. The gilded jewelry and the many colorful jewels he’d draped himself in made the fluorescence of his scales impossible to miss, the gold reflecting back in shades of orange and blue. Even without his crown he looked like royalty, the colorful spikes of his hair a crown in their own right. And yet he still couldn’t sell it.
It was the look in his eyes that gave him away.
By the time Atem finally made it to the ballroom they’d started the mock procession without him. The palace ran a tight schedule that halted for no one, not even the prince and king-to-be, as Mahaad and his father had oftentimes reminded him.
Time is precious. Don’t waste other peoples time. Yeah sure. But what about Atem’s time? If he had feet, he’d surely be dragging them.
Atem was about as inconspicuous as a clown fish as he burst through the large stone doors and swam up the aisle, waving sheepishly at the various members of the royal court and guests who’d arrived from Ishtar. Some of them glared, but for the most part they all just looked at him as if they were shocked he actually existed. He made a point of smiling at all of them, sharpened teeth barred. May as well make an impression.
They’d already started the rehearsal for the wedding procession, his future bride and select members of her court lined up at the steps before the throne. He could feel everyone staring at him, including his father, so he held his head high as he came to a stop in front of the princess. After years of bullshitting his way through royal duties, he knew that the most important thing was to act as if nothing was wrong. Feign confidence.
Atem forced a smile at his future bride as if he were right on time, “hello.”
“Hello,” she whispered back, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Despite his reluctance towards marrying her, even Atem couldn’t deny how beautiful she was with her deep complexion and dark hair, her fins white as the clouds. But regardless of how beautiful she was, she was still a stranger.
“Prince Atem.”
At the sound of his name being spoken, Atem turned to face the high priest Kasmut, stationed at the stone pulpit. He had donned full ceremonial garb for the occasion, making him look old and withered beneath the pounds of canvas and golden chords.
“How wonderful of you to grace us with your presence only, oh,” the sarcasm is Kasmut’s tone was biting, “nearly an hour late.”
From the corner of his eye, Atem could see Mahaad pointedly sneering at him from beside the throne. So much for ten minutes.
“My apologies. I lost track of time,” Atem shrugged.
Kasmut maintained that expression of perturbed calm that only a man of the cloth could manage, “Indeed. Well, provided that you are ready, may we proceed with the ceremony?”
“I get a choice?” Atem smirked, speaking without thought. Not a second later he heard a cough from the throne’s direction, making the briefest of eye contact with his father. Even from afar the king’s presence towered over him, the firm set of his jaw and carefully maintained gaze sending an unpleasant tingle up Atem’s spine. He immediately straightened and cleared his throat, “again, my apologies. Please continue.”
“Thank you, your Highness. Let us pick up where we left off.”
Atem suppressed a sigh. The solo rehearsals he’d been forced into over the the last few weeks had lasted for hours, so he could only imagine how long this would go on for. Fantastic. He clenched his fists in a futile attempt to stay still and maintain his posture.
Kasmut droned on with the sacred scripture he’d picked for this occasion, his monotone perfectly off-putting. Atem found himself hyper focussing on the gray tone of his words, trying his hardest not to zone out. The language sounded foreign yet familiar, and he only understood bits and pieces of it. It sounded ancient. Atem guessed that it must have taken hours to dig it out of the palace archives, seeing as how Millennium hadn’t married of one of its heirs to that of another kingdom in centuries. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.
Atem was only vaguely aware of Kasmut requesting he and the princess hold hands, his mind adrift. It was then that Mahaad appeared beside them, ceremonial rope in hand for the hand fasting ritual.
Just the sight of the golden chord made Atem feel nauseous. He knew what it symbolized after decades of attending weddings within the royal court; undying devotion, new beginnings, unity, the list went on. But to him, trapped within the prison of the ballroom with a stranger he had been sentenced to spend the rest of his life with, it felt like the end.
Absentminded, Atem folded his hands over the princess’ as Kasmut chanted over them and Mahaad began the binding. He closed his eyes in deep concentration, the golden chord shimmering and glowing softly as he tied intricate knots around their joined hands. Atem felt a sudden surge of envy at the display; he’d never been able to do magic despite his royal lineage, and yet here Mahaad was doing party tricks with ease. He shook the thought off. Now wasn’t the time, especially when he could feel everyone’s eyes on him, scrutinizing, burning holes into his scales. He hated this.
“Your Highness?”
“Hmm?”
“This is her marriage to you so you will be leading the vows,” Kasmut said as if he were speaking to a small child, “you remember them, yes?”
“Yes,” Atem was rolling his eyes before he could stop himself. He made the effort to stare into the princess’ eyes like he was supposed to, but it was as if his subconscious was convinced that as soon as he made eye contact, he would be trapped. He settled on staring at the circlet that adorned he forehead and cleared his voice, “I take your hands within mine, to have and to hold for centuries time. I welcome you into my heart and into my kingdom. May our marriage be as prosperous as Millennium and our rule hereafter. May our hands be forever bound, Princess… Princess,” he paused.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
Atem tried his best to maintain a straight face as his throat went all scratchy, his mouth contorting into a grimace despite his efforts, “beautiful princess…princess…princess…um.”
The princess in question stared at him as if he’d grown a second fin on his forehead. Their was no avoiding eye contact now as he stammered an idiot. The heat began to rise around him as if he’d been dropped into a pot of boiling water.
This was bad. Very bad. He didn’t need to look at his father to know that he was probably planning his execution and funeral right about now.
Atem pursed his lips before he could embarrass himself further. The ballroom had fallen silent.
“Princess Ishizu,” Kasmut said dryly, “her name is princess Ishizu.”
“Princess Ishizu,” Atem repeated, feigning confidence with a grin. Maybe he could still save this. At least the princess, Ishizu, looked like she was struggling not to laugh at his stupidity, “May our hands be forever bound, princess Ishizu.”
As the princess, Ishizu, began her portion of their play wedding vows, Atem made the mistake of sparing a glance towards his father’s direction. If looks could kill, Atem would have been hung up in Davey Jone’s locker in an instant.
As soon as the wedding rehearsal and faux reception ended, Atem got out of there as fast as he could. As if he hadn’t been dreading the event already, the name debacle had left him tense and anxious and the last thing he needed was a conversation with his father.
Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Atem slipped through the door that led to the hallway through the servants quarters. If he was lucky, he could sneak out through their back door while his father busied himself with farewells and proposed meetings before their guests retired for the evening.
“Atem.”
He’d just started down the hallway when a low, commanding voice sounded from behind him.
So much for escaping.
“Father,” Atem greeted King Aknamkanon with a nervous smile. He stood with his shoulders pulled back into a perfect ‘T’ and head held as if he were balancing a stack of books. As if his presence alone wasn’t intimidating enough, the king was nearly twice Atem’s size and wielded a massive three-pronged scepter. He stared Atem down as if he were about to skewer him like shrimp. He gulped.
“You forgot the princess’ name,” it was a statement, not a question.
Without thinking, Atem babbled, “I was overcome by her beauty and I-“
“Atem.”
“Yes, father,” Atem meekly tucked his hands behind his back, “I’m listening.”
“You forgot the princess’ name. You forgot the name of the woman to whom you’re betrothed, the princess of Ishtar, the nation we are forming an alliance with. You forgot the princess’ name, princess Ishizu, in the middle of your own wedding rehearsal, where her name had been spoken at least a dozen times,” he could see his father’s knuckles turning white around his scepter, his free hand balled into an equally tight fist, “you forgot Princess Ishizu’s name. You made a complete fool out of yourself, made a mockery of the entire royal court and myself, and embarrassed the kingdom of Millenium!”
King Aknamkanon had always possessed the talent of keeping his wrath at a low heat, just hot enough to be felt but not burn, but Atem might as well have been set on fire by the metaphorical flames bursting from his father’s mouth. Atem reeled, any thought he’d previously had reduced to ash. He was sure that anyone left in the ballroom had heard the whole thing. The king stared at him expectantly.
“I, well,” Atem sputtered, struggling to regain his fine motor skills , “In my defense-“
“In your defense!” his father mocked, exasperated, “Fine, fine. I’ll indulge you. What’s your ‘defense?’”
“I was nervous,” Atem shrugged, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
Atem watched as his father flipped through a mental rotary of emotions, pausing at ballistic before moving on to disbelief, and pausing again at murderous before finally settling resignation. He sighed and placed a hand to his forehead, muttering, “Poseidon be with me.”
Atem heard the long pause that followed as it was intended. A continuation of his father’s silent prayer: Poseidon please give me the strength not to murder my son.
“Atem, you sat through countless council meetings discussing this wedding an its importance. You know what’s at stake here, and somehow, despite multiple discussions regarding our alliance with the kingdom of Ishtar and your marriage to their heir, you managed to forget her name?” his father spoke, tone flat yet sharp as a blade, “do you have any idea how insulting it was to the court of Ishtar to present their princess to you as your bride, and you couldn’t be bothered to remember her name? Have you stopped to consider how humiliating such a careless mistake was to us?You made a mockery of our proposed allegiance. You’re lucky her father didn’t call the whole thing off.”
Atem perked up at that last part. He must have made a face as his father immediately scowled at him, “I know what you’re thinking. And yes, you’re still marrying her. Thankfully.”
Atem deflated like a puffer fish, unable to stop himself from muttering, “It was an accident.”
“It was a careless mistake,” his father corrected, “one that can’t happen again. Our way of life is at stake.”
Atem’s chest tightened. He knew just how important this wedding was for the survival of their people, but it didn’t make it any easier. He looked down and began to count the floor tiles, stone cracked and color faded from years spent at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.
“Atem, do you have any idea the importance of your position?”
Atem remained silent. Great. Here comes the heir lecture again.
“You are the heir to the throne of Millennium, the oldest and largest kingdom of the seven seas,” his father began speaking as if he were giving a well-practiced presentation, “for thousands of years, we’ve existed as a beacon of power and achievement for merpeople across the world. And right now, they need us more than ever. And we them.
“The humans and their careless greed are destroying this planet at an alarming rate. Parts of the sea have become uninhabitable. You know what happened to the peoples of the north and south. They can no longer survive in the only home they’ve ever known. And us, well,” the king placed what was meant to be a comforting hand upon Atem shoulders, but it took all of his self-control not to shrug it off, “the oil rigs are causing their own set of problems for us, aren’t they?”
Atem didn’t have anything to say. He knew the oil drilling was a problem, poisoning not only their people but every other creature that inhabited the surrounding waters. It was awful.
“Millennium can no longer stand alone, Atem. Our beacon becomes slightly dimmer with each passing year. We need to join forces with our brothers and sisters from other kingdoms if we wish to survive. Our alliance with Ishtar is of utmost importance,” the king continued.
“I know, father.”
“They need access to our glowing algae, and without their potions and salves more of our people will die. And perhaps,” he paused, “with our combined military power we can figure out some sort of solution to the root cause of the problem.”
“I know,” Atem failed miserably at not sounding like a petulant child.
Silently, his father removed his hand from his shoulder and backed away. He took a moment to study Atem, as if he were really looking at him for the first time in a long time, and it made him feel… well, weird. He wished he could dissolve into sea foam and float up to the surface where he belonged.
“Why were you late to the rehearsal?”
Uh-oh.
“Um, no reason.”
His father narrowed his eyes, “Atem.”
“I was busy… practicing my vows,” Atem stumbled through the excuse, trying to smile again, “I lost track of time.”
“Practicing your vows?” he repeated, “you were late because you were practicing your vows and you still managed to forget the princess’ name?”
“Yes,” Atem feigned innocence. A beat of silence.
“You went up to the surface again, didn’t you?”
Atem’s stomach did a backflip. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. His cheeks began to wobble as his smile faltered, “what? No! That’s not allowed. Come on dad, I’m not that irresponsible.”
A far off look overtook the king’s eyes, as if he were time traveling. His stoic expression fell in a way that only Atem was familiar with after having experienced it so many times over the last few decades. He straightened in preparation.
“Atem, we’ve had this conversation countless times,” his expression was firm, but the edges of his words were tinged with a deep sadness. He sighed, voice just above a whisper, “you’re too much like your mother.”
At the mention of his mother, Atem’s carefully constructed posture collapsed like a sandcastle. He folded his arms across his chest as if he could hold himself together that way. Talking about her, about her death, and about his relation to it, made him wish that he could crumble in on himself like dry sand.
“It’s for the safety of everyone that we no longer venture up to the surface. Especially now, given the damage humans have caused to our way of life,” Atem listened quietly, not looking up at his father as he spoke, “not to mention whatever those strange, electrical box things they all have now are capable of. If we’re really and truly found out, that could be the end of us,” he paused, “my son… you are the last gift your mother gave me before she was taken from us. By them. I’d never be able to forgive myself if you met the same fate.”
Atem forced himself to look up at his father. The king gazed down at him with a tenderness he rarely saw, as if he could see the woman they both lost in him if he tried hard enough. Atem had always looked more like her, inheriting her size and stature along with the striking fluorescent coloring of his scales. His chest ached for both of them.
Atem knew how deeply it hurt his father to talk about his mother in this context. He knew how much he resented Atem’s open-secret, how much he was fascinated with the world beyond the water and those who inhabited it. He knew his fathers fear that one day, his only son, the last piece of his wife he had left, would be torn away from him the same way that she was.
“Promise me that you’ll stay away from the surface, Atem,” the king’s expression solidified again, any remaining bit of weakness hardened like stone, “Again. I need to hear you say it.”
“I promise that I’ll stay away from the surface,” the lie was automatic, one he’d repeated over and over again like a mantra in the years since his mother’s passing. A promise he broke into smaller pieces with each passing decade, putting it back together each time he got caught, only to smash it with even more force the next time. It was a cycle they’d been trapped in for nearly sixty years.
His father looked as if he didn’t believe him, having heard the same lie more times than he could count, but this time there was a subtle light in his dark eyes. He wanted to believe him, and that was enough for the both of them.
“Good,” his father nodded, “I hope that after today you’ll take your responsibilities as prince and heir to the throne more seriously, given the circumstances?”
“Yes, father.”
“Very well,” he waved him off, “you’re free to go.”
“Thank you,” Atem turned tail and swam towards the opposite door as fast as he could.
“Atem?”
“Yes?” He spun around, trying not to sound exasperated.
“Do not let me catch you in a lie again.”
The water between them felt colder than usual. Atem nodded, “yes, father.”