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Chapter Text

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The surface was a rule Colin, Crown Prince of the Bridgerton Sea, had never dared to break outright—until today. He hovered just beneath the waves, where the water shimmered. He could hear the distant cry of gulls, the hush of tide against sand, the pulse of the ocean thrumming along his skin. It should’ve been enough. For any proper offspring of the Sea Queen, it would have been.

However, Colin had never been entirely proper.

He rose slowly, cautiously, breaching the surface just far enough to scan the shore. He expected the usual: children splashing, men hauling nets, carts rolling past the docks. But today—today, the beach was quiet.

Except for her.

She knelt alone by a smooth curve of rock, her yellow dress catching sunlight like it belonged to the day itself. Auburn curls tumbled from a loose braid, glowing warm as fire in the light, and she muttered as she sifted through shells, sorting them with a peculiar care and judgment.

“Awww, you’ve got a little chip,” she told a conch, setting it down gently. “And you—don’t even start. I know you're pretty, but you're too obvious. I was hoping for something more subtle. Or maybe a special touch of... I dunno.” She sighed. 

Colin blinked. She was talking to shells.

There was something arresting about her voice, her ease, the way her hands moved with purpose. She didn’t seem to be performing, or pretending. She was simply… herself. She brushed sand from her skirt and glanced out at the sea... right over him. Her gaze was searching, thoughtful. Not lonely. Not wistful. Just... quiet. Steady.

To no one in particular, she murmured, “Honestly, why must people insist on walking in pairs? Life should be more like strolling along the beach, not marching in some parade.”

Colin’s lips parted. The way she held her solitude—it wasn’t bitter. It was sacred. She didn’t fear the silence. She thrived in it. And so, he wanted to speak to her. He wanted to hear more. Know more. To ask what she meant and what kind of shell would be worthy of her approval. He’d never felt a pull like this before... not to a sound, or a surface, or a face.

He drifted closer. Just a little. Just to see her better.

A wave broke. Her head snapped up. Her eyes swept the horizon and landed near where he hovered. Sharp. Curious.

For a breathless moment, he thought she saw him. Not a trick of light. Not a fish or foam.

His heart stumbled. And before she could look again—before he risked too much—he dove. Bubbles thundered in his ears as he descended, deeper, safer, but not untouched. Her voice clung to him like a song, her gaze still prickly on his skin.

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The current carried him through a familiar stretch of kelp forest, though his mind was miles away. He couldn’t stop replaying the vision that was the girl on the shore, the way she muttered to herself, how her eyes scanned the beach like she belonged to it more than anyone else. He was so distracted, he nearly collided with a cluster of mermaids lounging on a coral ledge.

“Oh—it’s the Prince!” one of them squealed, quickly fluffing her pearl-lined hair and fanning out her fins into a graceful arc. “Your Highness, forgive us. We didn’t see you!”

Another instantly adjusted her posture, her voice syrupy with excitement. “Are you on patrol, or merely blessing this part of the reef with your presence?”

Colin smiled, tight but warm. He'd mastered it over years of royal appearances—polite, just enough charm to keep things from becoming awkward. “Merely passing through, I’m afraid. Good day to you all.”

“Oh, it is now,” another sighed, clasping her hands dreamily beneath her chin.

“How has your day been?” the oldest asked, voice low and hopeful.

“Peaceful,” Colin said smoothly. “Quiet.”

“Not for long!” the youngest chimed, nearly glowing. “We heard your sisters are performing at the Opal Basin! Everyone’s going. Will you be there?”

Colin blinked. “…Oh, right. That’s today.”

The mermaids exchanged delighted looks, as though even his forgetfulness was impossibly charming.

“Well, we do hope you’ll lend your voice as well,” one of them teased, flicking her tail coyly. “When you sing, everyone in the audience falls under your spell.”

“You’re very kind. I’ll make sure to stop by.”

As he drifted away, their laughter followed him, soft and melodic, like bubbles rising through sunlit water. Not one of them had asked him anything of value or interest. And yet, as always, he’d responded like he was supposed to: poised, pleasant, practiced.

Two strokes past the reef’s edge, a dark blur zipped into view and a familiar voice rang out like a splash. “Tell me you didn’t go up again,” said Benny, the sleek, talkative stingray with a grin that somehow never left his flat face. He flipped upside down mid-swim, swirling around Colin like an overexcited eel. “Please. Just once. One day of boring, legal, Queen-approved swimming, your highness.”

“I was merely near the surface, Ben,” Colin brushed past a curtain of sea moss.

“Oh please, you very much hovered,” said another voice—sharp and clickety. Tony, red-shelled and perpetually unamused, clambered over a ridge to meet them. “The moment your dorsal fin tilts above regulation depth, you’ve broken spirit if not letter of the law.”

Colin gave a long-suffering sigh. “Is there ever a time you’re not lecturing an innocent sea creature, Tony?”

“Is there ever a second you’re not asking for it?”

Benny snorted. “He’s still salty about last month. The one where you missed one of your sister’s two hundred ninety fourth birthday.”

“I was busy,” Colin sighed. "And it's the same repetitive celebration anyway. Nothing new."

“I'm sorry. You were busy doing what? Staring at seafoam and bubbles?” Benny teased.

Colin didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze drifted toward the horizon where the reef melted into open water, and beyond that, where the tide kissed the sand. “Ben, I saw a girl.”

“What?” Benny and Tony said together.

“Up on the shore,” Colin continued, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “She was alone. Talking to herself, picking shells, and getting annoyed at... well, just about everything. She's very interesting...” A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips as the memory kindled a warmth deep in his chest. “I don’t know her name. I don’t know anything, really. But there’s something about her. Something... different.”

Benny and Tony exchanged a wary glance.

“Oh no,” Benny said flatly. “Not this again. We’ve heard this story over and over, Colin. A merfolk falls for a surface human, gets cursed, turns into a soggy spongey mess, and everyone ends up in tears. This is preventable. No, not again.”

“I’m not in love,” Colin protested quickly.

“Yet,” Tony muttered under his breath.

“I just want to know her,” Colin said, voice earnest. “To talk to her. To see who she is when she’s not grumbling about broken shells. Maybe even have a real conversation. I want to see her world, too." He looked at them. "Is that such a crime?”

“Colin,” Benny warned, “Your mother would—”

“Please, I know what she’d say,” Colin interrupted, eyes fierce. “But maybe I’m tired of everyone telling me what I’m allowed to want.”

And in that moment, Benny and Tony knew—he was about to do something reckless. Soon.

Suddenly, the waters shimmered with approaching gold. Queen Violet, regal and serene even as currents parted for her, was framed by two swirls of glowing jellyfish and the unmistakable look of someone prepared to deliver a mother’s lecture. Her sea-green cloak flowed behind her like a living tide.

Colin straightened, heart sinking slightly.

"Your Majesty." Benny and Tony bowed. "A pleasant afternoon to you."

“Colin,” Violet said, her voice calm but weighted, “please tell me what I saw in my magic mirror was wrong—that you didn’t go to the surface again!” She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. Her quiet disappointment pressed heavier than any storm.

“But... I... I didn’t speak to anyone,” Colin replied. “I didn’t even touch the sand.”

Her gaze held steady. “That girl with auburn curls on the shore, she didn’t see you?”

“No. I, I don’t think so.” Why wasn't he so sure about that?

Violet sighed. “Son, you know the surface is no place for beings like us. We’ve kept peace for centuries by staying in our waters. This is why the agreement between our worlds was set. Humans… they’re curious until they’re cruel. I’ve seen what they do when the sea doesn’t serve them. I won’t have you be the next story of loss.”

“And yet I’m expected to marry a stranger from the Eastern Shoals come next moon tide?”

“She is kind. Strong. A healer’s daughter,” Violet said softly. “She knows our world and is willing to be part of it. I wouldn’t choose someone thoughtless for you.”

“I didn’t choose her,” he insisted. “You did.”

The silence that followed was long and cold. Violet swam closer and cupped his face gently with one hand, thumb brushing just under his cheekbone. “You were always my wanderer. You begged for stories about what lived beyond the kelp line. But I’ve lost too much already, Colin. I've lost children in the past and if I seem strict, it’s only because… you’re the one piece of the sea I can’t let drift.”

His throat tightened. “You did everything you could for my sisters,” Colin said quietly. “You gave them choices. Let them explore. Make mistakes. And still, accepted them. Maybe, it’s time you let me decide what I want.”

Violet’s expression shifted—subtle, sharp. “You are not your sisters.”

Colin flinched.

“You look for danger... You chase what you don’t understand. I won’t pretend that doesn’t terrify me.”

“Then, it seems that you don’t trust me.”

“I love you, son,” she said, the words thundering through the water like a breaking current. “More than you know. And love sometimes means saying no.”

Colin was already backing away, his chest rising and falling too quickly. “You don’t get to entrap me with the love speech, Mother. Not when it so very well feels like a cage.”

Violet’s jaw tightened, her voice trembling just beneath its calm. “Is that what you want? For me to let you go? So you can throw yourself into a world that will never care for you the way we do? You belong here.” Her next words cut like shards of coral. “You are the Crown Prince of the Bridgerton Sea, Colin. You carry a weight no one else can.”

Colin stared at her, something breaking loose behind his eyes. “Yes, but have you ever considered that maybe I’m also just a merman?” he said aloud, voice raw.

"Just? You are never just anything!" the Queen snapped. "You are never to surface again, Colin. Do you under—"

But he’d heard enough.

He turned before she could finish—and swam. Hard. Faster than he ever had.

He had finally defied the Queen. His mother. And it felt like freedom. Somewhat.

The currents tore past him, snarling and bending around his body as the reef blurred beneath him. He didn’t look back. Didn’t slow down. Benny called his name once—twice—his voice edged with worry. The Crown Prince didn’t stop. He absolutely couldn’t.

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He didn’t know how long he swam—only that his pulse eventually slowed, though the weight in his chest pressed heavier than before. The Queen’s words echoed in his mind, louder than the ocean’s hum: You are the Crown Prince. As if that title were a separate creature. As if wanting more was something to fear.

He ducked beneath a low arch of coral, slipping into a shallow trench where the light dimmed and seaweed curled gently along the rock. He just needed a moment...to think, to breathe, to stop feeling so endlessly... torn. His solitude didn’t last long. Two merfolk drifted just above, unaware of his presence. Their voices were low, threaded with urgency.

“…I’m telling you, it’s the only way. The sea witch will grant me another chance...”

“Are you mad? Have you forgotten the price—”

“It doesn’t matter. I have to see her again. Even just for a day.”

Colin pressed closer to the rock. One of them was younger, maybe his age, with a desperate edge in his voice. The other sounded older—worried, but not turning away.

He waited until they were a few strokes ahead, then pushed forward. “Wait.”

The two spun around, startled.

Colin approached slowly, palms raised, his voice calm but sure. “I'm sorry but I can't help overhear... You said… the sea witch can grant a wish?”

The younger one, with streaks of silver in his fins, narrowed his eyes. “Why are you listening?”

“Because I need to know if it’s real,” Colin said. “If she can really do it.”

The older one glanced at his companion, then back to Colin. “It’s real. But it’s not simple. Or safe.”

“Is it worth it?”

The younger one spoke first, his voice steady. “The first time I stumbled onto the surface, every scrape and bruise was worth it—the scars I carry are proof. But the moment I met the one who stirred my heart… that was beyond any price.” He paused, his gaze darkening. “She, however, is no stranger to cruelty.”

Colin frowned. “Then why seek her help at all?”

“Because this life we're given, entails risk... choices... decisions to be made. Whether you choose to swim away or stay rooted, whether you follow the current or the call that makes your soul tremble. The only true question is this, do you have the courage to choose what you want? Or what truly belongs to you?”

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The trench where the sea witch lived was charted on no map. No current dared pass through it, and even the bravest sea creatures and merfolk swam wide around its borders, as if the very water whispered warnings. Only the curious or the desperate—ever ventured close.

At this particular moment, Colin was rather both.

The sea darkened around him, until it felt more like night than water. Twisting tendrils of gray coral rose like claws from the ocean floor, and schools of lantern-fish with hollow eyes blinked slowly as he passed.

Still, he kept swimming. He had to.

“Ahhhhh, the scent of Bridgerton blue-blood,” came the low, silky voice before he even saw her. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon, Crown Prince.” She appeared from the shadows with a trail of sea glass. Her hair drifted around her like a curtain, and her eyes glowed with soft malice. “I was wondering when one of you royal strays would come swimming into my humble, yet forgotten abode,” she continued, circling him like a shark at a feast. “Let me guess. Forbidden love? Or just a very bad idea wrapped in longing?”

Colin didn’t flinch. “You must be her.”

“I am who you seek,” she said, her voice curling through the water. “But the real question is—what is it you want?”

Only then did he see why they called her the sea witch. Her tentacles unfurled around her like drifting shadows, elegant and ominous.

“I wish for legs,” Colin said steadily. “...For I desire to walk on land.”

“What for? You have everything beneath the waves. Your blood, your lineage, envied by most.” She paused. “Unless… you’ve seen the surface. Met a little human you fancy, hmm, dear Prince?” He said nothing, but the flicker in his eyes was answer enough. “Ahhh,” she purred. “A girl the Sea Queen surely wouldn’t approve of. And so you’ve come to me—your last resort. But, what if she doesn’t fall for you? What if your floppy human legs and dazed stares are more curse than charm?”

“Then, I’ll come back,” His lips twitched into a quiet grin. “Though, I doubt it’ll come to that.”

“The tone of confidence,” she said, amused. “Careful, careful. Such tastes better when it’s bruised.”

“I understand there are terms?”

She leaned in close, her voice syrupy and slow. “You have seven days,” she said. “Seven days to make her fall for you. Love you. If she does, you can stay with your beloved. However, if you fail… you return to me, cursed to remember her forever while she forgets you." She gave a little laugh. "I am a big fan of tragedy, you see.”

“Fine.”

Her grin widened. “There is another stipulation.”

“Of course there is,” he added. “Go on, then.”

“You want to walk for love?” she crooned. “Then walk close. You must not leave her side.”

“That’s it?”

“If you stray too far, her heart will feel it. Her mood will shift. Her mind will churn." She paused and whispered to herself. "Let’s see if she likes being the center of your world.”

“What girl doesn’t want someone close at hand?”

Her laughter echoed through the deep. She was already conjuring the spell. “The tether is silent. Invisible. But it will bind you. The moment you wander, it will tug. She won’t understand the ache—only you will.” She paused, her grin curling like ink in water. “So… have we got a deal?”

“If I become human,” Colin spoke, “I’ll never see my mother or sisters again. Or any of the sea.”

“Yes, well… but you’ll have her, won’t you?” she leaned in with a voice both soft and sharp. “Life’s full of difficult choices, darling.”

“I… I’ve never been given the right to choose,” He admitted softly.

“Well, here it is then, Your Highness,” she said, voice like a challenge. “A decision—all yours.”

He lifted his chin, resolve settling in his chest. “Do it.”

A large shimmering bubble drifted between them, revealing a magical golden quill and a gleaming scroll. Without hesitation, Colin took the quill and signed his name with a sure, steady hand.

Colin XoXo

The scroll curled up on its own and was swiftly snatched away by one of her waiting tentacles. The sea witch offered no more smiles, only a look heavy with knowing before she slowly melted back into the shadows.

Immediately, agony surged through him. He gasped sharply as his tail split and twisted, seemingly transforming—scales falling away to reveal tender skin, fins folding into strange, unfamiliar limbs. The current churned wildly around, water blurring in dizzying motion, while the ocean’s weight pressed against his ears like distant thunder. Suddenly, everything was new, pounding and overwhelming.

Eventually, the sea swallowed him fully while the nearby shore waited—yellow and warm.

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Chapter Text

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The Featherington villa stood proudly on the hill above—a pale yellow dwelling trimmed in coral pink, windows glittering with imported glass and balconies draped in silk. It was far too loud for Penelope's tastes, really. As she paddled her little boat closer to the shore, her yellow skirt fell damp around the ankles, thanks to the water sloshing in and out. Soon, she nudged the shore with a gentle scrape, she stood and stretched.

From the balcony above, two voices pierced her peace.

“Penelope!” called Philippa, leaning over the balustrade. “You must make haste! Mother’s not going to like it that your clothes are wet and your hair's in disarray!”

“Your potential husband awaits!” Prudence added, her curls bouncing as she elbowed her younger sister. “And he may be wearing ruffles... Ruffles!”

The two disappeared with a giggle that made Penelope want to turn right back to the open sea. Instead, she stepped into the shallow surf—and instantly yelped. “Ow—!” She lifted her foot, wincing as a little red seashell clung to the tender skin of her heel. “Of course,” she told herself, nudging it aside. “Wet flesh and sharp objects, don't mix.” She took a deep breath. “I’m coming…” she called half-heartedly, raising her voice just enough for the balcony ghosts to hear. “Or maybe not.” Her eyes drifted back to the horizon, to the place where sky met sea and expectations felt a little less immediate. She could definitely live out there, she was certain of it. Alone on her boat with her writings, her scribbles, her silence. No forced laughter or hopeful glances exchanged across polished tables. Just the wind, the water, and her own steady breath.

She could do things on her own.

Alas, on this island, solitude was considered a scandal.

Her mother’s idea of happiness came with contracts, agendas, and delicate cakes shaped like merchant fleet ships. And why not? Penelope understood the logic. Marriage meant alliance. Clout. More ships. More power. Especially in this world. The Featherington Clan had climbed the merchant ranks on charm and clever deals, and Lady Portia meant to stay there. Even if it meant marrying off her daughters like prize goods at auction.

"Why can’t people choose to live their lives?” Penelope asked the sea. “Or I suppose, some people choose on their own... meanwhile, I—”

“PENELOOOPEEEEEEEEE!”

That shrill cry snapped her right back to the very non-solitary reality waiting for her. She picked up her skirt with a sigh and began the slow climb toward the villa. One day, she promised herself, she’d paddle the other way and do things her way.

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Colin coughed, sputtered, then blinked up at the dazzling sky, so blue it hurt. The sun pressed down on him like a warm, heavy hand. But it wasn’t the brightness that disoriented him.

It was his body.

Not the familiar sleek glide of tail and scale but actual limbs. Two of them. Long. Pale. Bent at the middle.

He propped himself up on his elbows and stared at his feet as if they belonged to someone else.

He's got toes. Five little ones on each... foot? It was Benny who taught him such words. Toe? On a foot or feet? He wasn't sure but they wiggled when he willed them to. They did not look quite elegant. But, they were real. Then he laughed—a soft, breathless sound of awe and disbelief. He had legs and foots-feets!

“Your Highness?” The voice echoed around the cove. Colin turned his head too fast and groaned as it throbbed. There, perched atop a boulder, was Tony, eyes wide. “Your beautiful, strong, tail...”

“Is gone,” Colin said, beaming. “Tony, it’s gooooone! I did it! This is real!”

“Sweet sea foam, you’re all skin and legs!”

Colin barely heard him. He was too busy trying to sit up fully—then, slowly, ungracefully, to bend one leg. It folded. Then the other. He stared at his knees, touched them, tapped them experimentally. His heel dug into the wet sand. He tried to push but his hips buckled. Still, he pushed again and got halfway upright.

Then he froze.

“What is… that?” he said, blinking down at himself, eyes wide in both horror and fascination. “That… that thing in between my legs—why does it move?”

Tony tilted his crabby head and said far too seriously, “I haven’t got an idea, Your Highness. May I suggest you don’t poke it.”

He looked horrified. “How do humans live like this?”

Tony muttered, “Poorly, I imagine.”

"No... this is interesting. Very interesting."

Colin was already back to the task of moving—bending one limb, then the other, hands sinking into the sand for balance. Whatever he’d gotten himself into, there was no turning back now.

One foot planted forward—he leaned too far and fell flat on his stomach.

“Oof.”

Balance. Right. That was a thing now.

“Oh my shipwreck, what have we done??! What have we truly done this time?” Tony crab-scuttled closer, claws clicking with pure panic. “Get back in the water before someone sees you!”

“I see someone!” A small voice piped up from farther down the shore.

Colin rolled onto his back, groaning. Above him stood a boy—no older than twelve—his sun-bleached curls wild in the breeze.

“Dad!” the boy called, waving frantically. “I found a man! He looks like he’s been shipwrecked or something!”

Within moments, the boy’s father, a broad-shouldered man with a fisherman’s stride came jogging down the dune, worry tightening his brow. He knelt beside Colin without hesitation. “You alright, young man?” he asked, already helping him to sit. “You fall off a boat?”

“I—” Colin blinked. “No boat.”

The man studied him, eyes narrowing slightly as he registered the damp skin, the dazed expression, and the complete lack of clothing.

“Let’s get you covered, then.” He shrugged off the sack slung over his shoulder, pulling out a worn pair of brown trousers and a soft, cream-colored linen top. “It’s not palace fashion, but you’ll need something. We might be on an island, but walking around naked will only earn you a bad burn and a visit from the constable.”

Colin reached for the clothes, fumbling with the buttons. “Thank you,” he said earnestly.

The man nodded and turned to give him privacy, while the boy squatted nearby, eyes wide with curiosity. “What’s your name?”

Colin hesitated for half a second—Crowned Prince of the Sea didn’t seem quite right here. “Colin,” he said simply.

“That’s it?” the boy asked, unimpressed. "Nothing else?"

He grinned as he finally managed to find the hole for his head as well as the other two for his arms. “I am—Colin.”

“Well, I'm Finnick, but you can just call me, Finn,” the boy announced proudly. “This is my dad, Jesse.”

“Can't walk.” Colin said, still blinking as the sunlight struck his now-dry skin with a searing sting. 

"Are you injured?" Finn inquired.

“Typical for people who are shipwrecked for days. Don’t worry,” Jesse said, hoisting him carefully up by one arm. “Here, lean on me. And Finn, you show him—heel first...”

Finn eagerly demonstrated, stomping one foot into the sand. “Heel, toe! Heel, toe! Like marching!”

"Heel." He copied. "T--t--oe." Colin tried to imitate the motion. One foot, heel to toe. Then the next. Wobble. Stagger. Arms flailing again.

Tony shook his head like a disappointed chaperone. “Kids these days,” he sighed. “How is he to survive the surface if he can't even stand?” He scuttled closer, just out of sight of the humans, and added with a huff, “And, where exactly shall we look for this girl you seek, Your Highness? This island isn’t small. It’s quite vast.”

"That's it! You're doing it! You're doing it!!" Finn cheered.

"You're walking!" Jesse echoed.

"Walking." Colin nodded. "I'm walking."

"Yes, you are! Let's go!" Finn smiled.

Colin, still teetering, turned toward the sunlight with a grin full of something his royal subject hadn’t seen in a long while—hope. “Let's, let's go!”

Tony clipped his claws. “Ugggghh, this is going to be a disaster.”

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The great hall was stifling. Not from heat—it was shaded well—but from the unbearable weight of expectation. Flowers decorated on every post, perfume clung to the air like invisible fog, and the nervous shuffling of men’s boots echoed like distant thunder. Penelope sat beside her sisters, hands folded neatly on her lap, already counting and dreading the seconds.

“Ladies,” announced a footman, “may I present... Lord Grafton.”

The middle-aged man strode in a plum-colored coat several decades too flamboyant, a cravat that looked like it might eat his own chin, and a grin too large for his own good. “It is an honor to be here!” he declared with a sweeping bow. “Four beauties in one house! Truly, the sea gods have blessed this island!”

“Was that meant to be charming?” Penelope tried to hide her face.

Prudence giggled. Philippa pursed her lips. Lady Portia, seated like a queen at the head of the room, smiled tightly.

Lord Grafton launched into a tale about the size of his fleet and how he once outran a storm with “nothing but instinct and seven barrels of salted cod.” When he paused for dramatic effect, Portia clapped once—brisk and unamused. “Thank you, Lord Grafton. That will do.”

Before his ego could linger, he was ushered out.

“Neeeeext,” Portia snapped.

The second man, Mr. Calloway, looked like he’d been just dragged out of a fishing net. His boots were muddy, his collar wilted, and his handshake left a faint fishy scent in its wake. He sat without being asked and winked at Philippa.

“You,” Lady Portia said icily, “are dismissed.”

Mr. Calloway didn't stand a chance.

The third candidate, Sir Tilden, was young, easy on the eyes—admittedly—but arrogantly late beyond repair. He barely acknowledged Portia’s daughters and instead immediately spent fifteen minutes describing his “extensive” trade in silk and spices and how his future wife would be expected to bear many sons. "I want at least ten hatchlings."

"Hatchlings?" Prudence let out her tongue. "Dear sister, are you to sit on a nest?"

Lady Portia rose. “Enough,” she said. “I thank you for your visit, Sir Tilden,” she added curtly, “but I'm afraid none of our guests today are clearly suitable for my daughter.”

“But Lady Featherington, I—”

“If you cannot arrive and speak with respect, then I cannot trust you to speak with respect about them when you leave. Good day.”

The room emptied. Slowly. Reluctantly.

Lady Portia lingered, her hands smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt. “No one is good enough.."

Philippa frowned. “The last one was quite acceptable, Mama. Quite well-off.”

“Sir Tilden couldn’t even wake up early to meet us. That’s not a suitor—that’s a delayed headache in the making.” Portia’s voice softened, but only slightly. “I may be hurrying this along, but I still want a good match for your sister.” She hesitated a moment longer, gaze sweeping across her daughters. “You know your matches were meant to set the tone,” she said quietly to Prudence and Philippa, both of whom stiffened. “It’s not your fault… what happened to your late husbands. But you two must understand, widows are more tricky to rematch at this time. Hence, Penelope's,” she said, eyes now on Penelope, “has to go right. For all of us.”

She swept out of the hall, the click of her heels followed by the soft snap of the doors closing behind her.

The silence that followed was warm with relief.

“She wants you to marry,” Prudence said, reaching lazily for a grape, “but she’s just as choosy.”

“She doesn’t want you ending up a widow like us. That’s two down already,” Philippa added with a shrug.

“Wait a minute,” Penelope said gently. “Those were tragic accidents, Philippa…”

“Both cursed betrothals, if you ask me,” Prudence muttered with a nod.

“She just wants the best for us,” Philippa said quickly, always the first to defend their mother.

Penelope stared ahead, voice quieter but firmer. “If she truly wants the best for us… shouldn’t she at least ask us what we want?”

The question—simple, sharp—settled between them.

Neither sister replied. Not because they disagreed, but because they didn’t quite know how to say yes.

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Much later, Penelope finally slipped through the rear garden gate. This was the dockyard stretch, where boats lined up with their day’s catch and the scent of salt, fish, and life clung to every wooden beam. She loved it here as it was far from her mother’s critical gaze, far from suitors and forced smiles. Here, no one cared what she wore or how loudly she spoke. Here, she was Penelope. Just Penelope.

“Oi! Look who the tide brought in,” Jesse called, waving from where he stood beside a crate of red snapper.

“Jesse! I see that you’re back,” she grinned. “Was it a good haul?”

He had known her since she was a toddler, when she'd snuck out to ask about barnacles. He'd treated her like a daughter ever since.

“Fair enough,” he said, reaching into a small pouch at his hip. “I brought you something.” From his calloused palm, a small pearl gleamed pale blue, as soft as moonlight and no bigger than a pea.

Penelope gasped. “A blue one?”

“Straight from the deep,” Jesse said with a wink. "Here, take it."

Her eyes sparkled. “Did you have to swim for it?”

He didn’t answer directly, just gave her a knowing look. Penelope gently closed her hand around the pearl, her heart fluttering with a mix of guilt and awe. She knew these depths. She’d read about them, dreamed of them, but swimming that far from shore? Her mother would lose her mind. 

“Penelope!”

She turned and saw Finn running toward her. “Can you help me?” he asked, breathless.

“Of course. What do you need help with?"

Finn didn’t answer with words. He only raised his hand and waved behind him. Out from behind a stack of wooden crates emerged a tall, dark-haired man with sun-warmed skin, loose clothing on, and the kind of wide-eyed expression one usually saw on new sailors trying not to fall off the docks.

“Actually… Colin needs help.”

"Who?”

The stranger stepped forward, and the breath caught in her chest. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen—so much so that he didn’t seem real. There was something almost unearthly about him: eyes the color of sea glass, sun-kissed skin that shimmered faintly in the light, and a presence that made the very air feel heavier, electric. He looked familiar, but not in a way she could name...more like something remembered from a dream.

“This is Miss Penelope,” Jesse said, standing between them. “Go on, Colin. Say hello.”

Penelope offered her hand but Colin did not shake it. Instead, he stepped in—without hesitation—and wrapped his arms around her.

She stiffened instantly. His embrace wasn’t forceful, just warm and full-bodied, wrapping around her like sunlight after a storm. He smelled of salt, sun, and something faintly sweet. For one strange second, she didn’t pull away. Her nose brushed against his chest, her cheek grazing his shoulder as she tried to wiggle free. Was it odd that he was sweet and salty? Maybe not.

Her mind caught up with her body and she quickly stepped back, heart racing. “I—I’m sorry!” she gasped, color blooming across her cheeks.

“Apologies, Miss Penelope,” Jesse jumped in. “He is still… ah… a little disoriented.”

“Disoriented?” she asked, smoothing her skirt and trying to steady her pulse. "How so?"

“We found him washed up on the southern shore earlier,” Jesse explained. “No papers. No clothes. Hardly any memory of how he got here.”

Penelope looked at Colin, who was still smiling at her. He wasn’t blinking much. Or speaking. He was just… smiling quietly.

Finn nudged Penelope gently. “Miss Penelope… do you think he could stay with us? Just for a bit? Until he… finds his footing? Or, or at least stops looking like a wobbly pelican?”

Penelope was startled by the question. “Stay... here?”

“It looks like he’s got nowhere else to go,” Finn added. “Father says the boarding house is full this week ‘cause of the trading ships and the guests, and he can’t sleep on the docks. The gulls will eat his buttons.”

Jesse explained further. “The lad’s harmless enough, Miss Penelope. Strange, yes but harmless. And plus, he helped Finn haul crates earlier without being asked. He's got the back muscles for sure.” 

She sighed. “I’d have to ask my mother.”

Jesse and Finn both deflated a little.

“She was rather irate when she left us,” Penelope added, glancing at the villa nearby. “Maybe after dinner I can try to talk to her. Her mood may turn like the tide by then..."

“Great. We can keep him here..for now.” Finn nodded.

“Alright,” she said. Then, turning to Colin, she added more cautiously, “We’ll see if we can find you a spot to stay… temporarily, Mr. Colin...”

Colin took a step closer. His eyes never left her. “I, I want...to be with you.”

Penelope’s head jerked up. “What?”

“You,” he said more clearly. “I want... to be with you.”

She was unsure if she’d heard correctly. “You want to be with me?" She looked at him again and then to the father and son.

Tony, expertly hidden snugly in the side pocket of Colin’s borrowed trousers, chose that moment to pinch his leg sharply with one claw. “ACKKK!!” Colin yelped, jumping back with the grace of a startled jellyfish.

“Is he—?” Penelope turned quickly to them, eyes wide. “Jesse, did he hit his head on the way here or something?”

“Maybe? Probably a mix of dehydration, too. Who knows how long he's been at sea?” Jesse said smoothly, already reaching for Colin’s elbow before he could blurt anything else out. “We'll make sure he’ll be all right by nightfall. I promise you.”

“Okay, just please keep him with you until I speak with Mother. If she sees him now, we’ll all be in big trouble.”

“Of course. We won’t press further.” Jesse gave her a small, respectful bow before guiding Colin away by the arm. "Come on, my boy. We've got work to do."

Finn leaned closer to Penelope and whispered, “I do hope he stays, even for a little while. We could use some help with the labor, you see." He paused. "And besides, you heard him. He wants to be with you."

Penelope didn’t respond right away. She wasn’t even sure if Finn had meant it as a statement or a tease. Instead, her eyes lingered on the strange, handsome man—his clumsy gait, the bewildered look on his face as if everything around him was new, and the curious way he kept stealing glances at her, as if he’d stumbled upon some long-lost treasure.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Chapter Text

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The walls of the small bungalow creaked as a soft breeze drifted through its windows. Colin sat cross-legged on a woven mat by the low table, blinking at the unfamiliar but inviting spread before him: grilled fish, roasted vegetables, a golden loaf of bread, and a bowl of something gently steaming.

“So… you eat fish,” he said slowly, staring at the plated cuts. He’d seen sea creatures swallow fish whole—wild, instinctive, violent. But this was… deliberate. Almost ceremonial. It felt strangely humbling. Respectfully, he nudged the fish aside and pointed to the loaf. “What is this?”

“Bread,” Finn replied. “Want to try it? It's a bit sweet. If you want more, there’s a couple in the oven.”

Colin’s brows knit together. “Oven?”

Finn grinned and stood. “Come see.”

Colin followed him on unsteady legs to the corner hearth. A warmth pulsed from the small stone box set into the wall. Through the metal door, he glimpsed something flickering orange and alive. He recoiled slightly, eyes wide. “What is that?” His voice dropped. “It moves. Like it’s breathing.”

“That’s fire,” Finn said, proudly.

“Fire,” Colin echoed, cautious. “What is it?”

Finn scratched his head, thinking. “It’s like… really, really hot light. You feed it things and it eats them. No teeth, but it still burns. Like magic. But warmer.”

“Burns.. like the sun? Does it bite?”

“Oh yeah,” Finn said seriously. “If you touch it, it’ll bite bad. But it’s useful, too. It prepares our food. Keeps it warm.”

Colin leaned closer, the heat brushing his face. “So you need to use it well?”

“Pretty much. You just have to know when to stay close… and when to back off.”

Colin watched the flames dance, mesmerized. “Fascinating.”

Back at the table, he picked up the silver utensil beside his plate and turned it carefully in his hand. “Ooooh… a dinglehopper,” he said delighted, and lifted it to twirl through his curls.

Finn blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Taming the...?” Colin said hesitantly, then frowned as Finn looked at him oddly. "No?"

“That’s a fork,” Finn said, half-laughing. “For eating.”

Colin blinked. “Not a dingle…?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Colin said quickly, embarrassed. Of course Benny had been wrong. He still remembered how proud his stingray friend was to name it after finding one washed in the shallow waters—right before accidentally biting it. Colin shook the memory off. “Why use… a fork when you have fingers?”

“I guess it’s optional.”

Colin set it down gently, glancing at Finn. “What do you use to fix your hair, then?”

Finn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, bristled tool. “This. It’s called a comb.”

"Pretty much similar to the coral—" He stopped himself from revealing too much then ran a finger along the teeth. “Oh, what remarkable craftsmanship.”

From the other room, Jesse’s voice echoed, “Finnick! Son, are you feeding Colin or distracting him?”

“A bit of both!” Finn called back, grinning.

Colin glanced between the bread, the flickering fire, and the comb resting on the table. “May I borrow your comb?”

Finn blinked, then grinned, a bit awed by the question. “You know what—keep it. I can grab a new one at the market tomorrow.”

“Market?”

“You don’t have markets where you’re from?”

“I’d have to know what those are first,” Colin said honestly. “Maybe later… you could show me around?”

“Of course,” Finn said, pleased. “That way, you can practice walking upright without falling on your face. Dehydration must’ve really knocked you sideways, Colin.”

Colin nodded slowly, filing the word away. Dehydration. He repeated it in his head, even though he had no idea what it meant.

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Dinner was nearly over, and Portia dabbed her mouth with a napkin. Penelope watched her mother carefully, mentally weighing whether this was one of those rare, shimmering moments where she might actually listen.

“Mother, I was thinking,” Penelope said, “that perhaps… if the right gentleman presented himself I might consider entertaining the idea of courtship again.”

Portia’s eyes lit up. “Well, I should hope so, dearest. You've always had such potential. It would be such a waste to let that pretty face and perfectly ample dowry go unnoticed.” She sighed dreamily. “We simply must try again. Maybe Lord Seaforth or…”

Before Penelope could react, Varley, the villa's long-serving housekeeper, appeared at the dining room door with a stack of papers.

“Pardon, Lady Featherington,” she said. “The list of new staff is with me. They’re set to arrive by tomorrow.”

Portia waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, bother. I’ve no time to oversee new hires.” She flicked her wrist in Prudence’s direction. “You’ll do it, Prudence dear, right? You're the eldest! It’s high time you earned that distinction.”

Prudence blinked mid-sip. “Me?”

“Yes, you. It’s more imperative I focus on finding suitors for your sister, anyway,” Portia declared, gesturing toward Penelope with a pointed nod. 

"Ooohhh, more suitors to come!" Philippa teased her younger sister while Penelope bit back with a little scowl.

“Actually, speaking of gentlemen…"

Portia was intrigued but Varley returned in a rush, whispering something into Portia’s ear. A shadow crossed her mother’s face. “A commotion? At this time?" She stood, already smoothing her skirt. “I shall leave you three, girls. Varley, lead the way.” She swept out with the same dramatic flair she’d entered with, leaving the sisters alone in the echoing dining room.

Penelope slumped back against her chair with a groan.

“Finally, responsibility!” Prudence declared, tossing her napkin onto her lap. “Do I get a title now? Head of Household Affairs, perhaps?”

Philippa rolled her eyes. “Please, you, dear sister will forget them all by breakfast.”

“I so would not!” Prudence sat up straighter, puffing her chest slightly. She flipped through the list with an eager smile that slowly wilted. Her nose scrunched. “Ughh, they all seem rather… old.”

Philippa leaned over her sister’s shoulder, squinting at the roster. “Old. Old. Old,” she said flatly, pointing at each name in turn.

“What did you expect, dear sister? A lad our age?” Prudence arched a brow.

“Well… it would be refreshing to have a few young men in the household for once.” Philippa’s brows lifted, lips pursing thoughtfully. “I can picture them now… strong biceps and calves, perfectly suited for lifting heavy objects.” Her eyes glazed slightly. “A broad chest, a sturdy back... something nice to gaze upon while they...”

“Gaze upon?!” Prudence gawked. “Pip, you’re ogling imaginary men, and it’s going completely overboard. Wake up and smell the seawater!”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“This path loops around to the staff wing,” Finn explained, gesturing ahead. “You’ll find the garden shed, the well, the cellar entrance, and a few storage rooms we never use.”

Colin slowed, taking all the information in, thankful of the lamps that lit the way. He had learned about them when Finn found him staring at one before their evening stroll. “Such a large dwelling,” he murmured. “All for one family?”

Finn shrugged. “Upstairs are the private quarters—bedchambers. Down here’s the study, the music salon, Lady Featherington’s private parlor—which, for your own safety, don’t enter without being called in—the drawing room...”

“Slow down, Finn. I don’t know half of what you just said.”

Finn stopped mid-step, grinning sheepishly. “Right. I keep forgetting this is all brand new to you.” He scratched his head. “I can’t imagine being born on a ship and having to live your whole life on one.”

That was the story—the tidy little fable Colin had crafted to explain his unfamiliarity with land. His awkward gait, his wide-eyed awe at simple things, even the way his legs wobbled on steady ground. All accounted for. A brilliant addition, thanks to Tony’s whispered advice, of course.

“To put it simply,” Finn continued, gesturing toward the sprawling villa, “each room serves a purpose. A place to sleep, a place to think, a place to eat or read or pretend you’re important while listening to music. All designed to keep the noble types from dying of boredom.” He gave a small laugh, then pointed to a set of tall windows just ahead. “That one there on the far end, is the library. It's a huge room but only Miss Penelope ever uses it.”

At the sound of her name, Colin’s steps slowed. 

“I now understand why Mother handed me this assignment. It's too taxing! Penelope, I cannot possibly do all of this,” came an exasperated huff. “Window sills, cracked floorboards, a warped railing on the east balcony...what am I, a carpenter?”

“You’re overseeing the staff and labor, Pru,” came Penelope’s calm, unhurried tone. “Mother’s not handing you a hammer.”

“But she might as well!” Prudence snapped. “I can't believe I’m managing this while she obsesses over your suitors."

"Well, if I had any say, I hope she'd reconsider it." Penelope said in the hope that she would distract her sister, “As for you, I’d look into the sills. They’re crumbling. And monsoon season’s nearly here.”

“Window sills first. Then what? The crack in the marble fountain? Honestly...”

Finn snorted next to Colin. “Sounds like Miss Prudence is panicking.”

However, Colin wasn’t listening. Nope. In fact, he had drifted closer to the ivy-draped side of the wall, drawn to Penelope’s voice.

“Be careful—”

It was too late. His foot stepped on a gnarled root hidden beneath overgrown grass and as a result, his clumsy right foot twisted, his balance shifted, and he tumbled forward—crashing shoulder-first into the base of the window sill just beneath the study. The weakened sill gave way with a sharp crack and splintered wood gashed his forehead as he fell backward, hitting the dirt with a grunt and a dull thud.

“Coliiiiiin!” Finn shouted, already darting to his side.

Inside the study, the conversation halted. Penelope and Prudence froze mid-sentence.

“What was that?” Prudence shrieked.

The door creaked open as both sisters leaned out, only to find a disheveled young man sprawled in the grass, a good amount of blood trailing down his temple. Finn knelt beside him, looking thoroughly panicked.

Penelope’s breath caught. “Oh my goodness! What happened?”

“Is the man dead?!” Prudence gasped.

Finn helped Colin up, barely. His head lolled slightly and his hand pressed to his forehead where the blood still trickled.

“What in the world?!” Penelope asked, crouching beside him.

“Somehow, he just—wandered into a window and the window fought back.” Finn explained.

Penelope gave Colin a quick but gentle once-over. Her eyes met his... those green meeting sea-glass eyes. They were enchanting her for sure.

“Is he alright?” Prudence asked, eyes wide.

Colin opened his mouth, dazed. “I think… I was attacked.”

Penelope blinked then let out a soft, startled laugh. “Come,” she said, slipping an arm beneath his. “Let’s get you inside before the window sill finishes the job.” As she and Finn helped him to his feet, a subtle shimmer rippled in the air around them, quiet and unseen, but unmistakably there.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Penelope dabbed gently at the side of Colin’s forehead. “Hold still,” she said, guiding his chin with a soft touch.

Colin obeyed, his gaze never leaving her face. So close now, he could trace every delicate detail: the freckles across her cheekbones, the way her lashes brushed downward as she focused, the way her lips parted as she concentrated. Her nearness was a strange comfort. Calming.

He winced. “What in Poseidon’s name did you put on me?”

“Antiseptic,” she replied, barely suppressing a smile. “It keeps your wound from festering. Try not to scream.”

“It stings like sea nettles,” he muttered, nose wrinkling. “And smells like... old kelp and regret.”

Penelope laughed before she could stop herself. “Then, it’s working.”

Colin didn’t laugh. He was too busy watching her—captivated, caught in the quiet pull of her presence. The scent of her was warm and unfamiliar, something uncharted and wholly hers. He didn’t know the names of the notes she carried, only that they lingered in the air. Whenever she moved, even just a bit, time itself seemed to slow down, bending around her.

“Finn, is he on the staff list?” Prudence’s voice snapped the moment apart. "Why haven't I seen him before?"

Colin turned to find her standing with a clipboard, peering at him.

Finn straightened from his awkward stance in the corner. “No, Miss Prudence.”

“But you know him.” She told Finn.

“Yes—well, I…”

“Give me his name, then. I’ll add him to the roster.”

Penelope’s brows shot up. “You’re adding him, Pru?”

“Why not?” Prudence shrugged. “He already hurt himself on our property. I'd rather not risk complaints to the constable. These sills could ruin our good standing.” She paused then mumbled to herself. "Now, I get why we need to jumpstart villa repairs. This cannot happen again!"

“Pru, wait.. I don’t think he’s—”

“Pen, you’ve already started tending him. And with all those medical books you read and consume, you might as well earn the title.” Her sister nodded. "So, that's set."

“I had plans, Pru, especially for the next few days!” Penelope exclaimed, surprising even herself with the edge in her voice. “I was going to spend it alone. Reading. Walking. Fishing. Breathing. I’m not interested in...”

“Well, Mother made me head of the household staff. So I say you’re in charge of him.” She turned sweetly to him. “Recover well, won’t you, Colin? After your wound heals, Jesse will let you know what post you'll get. Let’s say… groundskeeper’s assistant. Or whatever sounds official.” She turned with a smirk. “Pen, I trust you can handle this? Because clearly, I have so much work to do!” Suddenly, she vanished through the door.

Penelope released a long, audible sigh. “Well… at least we don't need to tell my mother you’re staying. Prudence has already declared it.”

Colin watched her. “Thank you.”

“Anything else hurting?”

He hesitated, then placed a hand over his chest.

“What? Where else does it hurt?” she said, as she leaned in, hand lightly against his shirt, her head tilting toward his sternum.

Colin moved his palm at the back of her head, guiding her until her cheek rested against him.

She froze.

His heartbeat was thunder beneath her ear. Steady. Wild.

“Colin, what...?”

“Do you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

"My heart beats for you." His voice was barely audible.

Penelope pushed away suddenly, her hand firm on his shoulder. She stood quickly, smoothing her skirt and steadying her breath. “Colin, I told you, I'm no doctor...” She turned to Finn. “Please tell your father that Colin will be staying. For a temporary post.”

“Yes, Miss Penelope.”

"I'll check on his wound tomorrow. Good evening." Those were her last words, before she hurried to leave.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

A rustling behind a patch of seaweed signaled the arrival of Tony. “You’re talking to yourself again, Ben...”

Benny rolled his eyes—if stingrays could. “Ahhh, my friend, you’re late.”

“Well, I had to dodge a rogue creature with four legs and not to mention, one of those gulls nearly made off with my shell!” Tony adjusted his lopsided armor with a crabby grunt.

Benny didn’t dignify that with a response. He slapped his tail once on the wet sand instead. “So, how's the Crown Prince doing?"

“Well, he finally managed to hit his head and I'm uncertain if that bump will cause him to wake up from this...this...”

“He hit his head?! Is he alright?”

“He’ll live. Though I’m starting to wonder if consenting to this was another mistake. I mean, he already twirled a fork through his hair.”

"Ahh you mean a dinglehopper." Benny twitched, a little guilty. “You could say that was all me.”

“I figured.”

“Heyyy, it adds a bit of whimsy!”

“It adds confusion. He called it a dinglehopper in front of a human! Oh, the horror!” Tony groaned and sank deeper into the sand. “We're one sunset down, Ben.”

“I know,” Ben's voice suddenly quiet. “Just six left to win her heart.”

Tony shot him a sideways look.

“And she doesn’t even like him yet, does she?”

“Not even close.”

“Great. This is going swimmingly.” Ben flicked water from his tail. “Shall I scurry to Queen Violet and ask for her help?”

“And say what?” Tony threw up his claw dramatically. “Oh, your majesty, your son has made a deal with the sea witch and he has seven, no six days to make a surface girl fall in love with him?" He paused. "And we both knew about it all along! All along! She's gonna punish us. She's gonna zap us with her trident. She's gonna feed me to the big guys."

"Everyone's bigger than you under the sea."

"Stay away from me, Ben." Tony put both his claws up. "Mind you, I have thick pincers that could inflict pain."

“Oh, would you relax? Is he even eating well?"

“You know what they served him?”

“What?”

“Fish.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“You’re bluffing.”

“I wish I was. A whole snapper right on the plate! I nearly fainted.”

Benny sputtered, horrified. “Well, did he...did he eat it?”

“He set it aside, respectfully and tried the thing called bread.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the waves splashing around them. “So…” Benny asked, hopeful. “What should we do now? I'd hate for Colin to fail at this task and be with the Sea Witch forever.”

Tony sighed. “For now, I guess we wait. And pray more to the sea gods!"

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“Oh Miss Penelope, are you alright?”

The voice reached her like a bell through fog. Penelope blinked, realizing she was standing in the villa’s kitchen—halfway across the east wing from where she’d been moments ago, in the study. Her hand was braced against the countertop, breath uneven, skin flushed.

“I’m… I’m…” She struggled to gather her thoughts, as if they’d all gone scattering like startled birds. “Varley, I’m feeling… a bit…”

Varley tilted her head, eyeing her with the kind of concern only years of knowing someone could warrant. “A bit what, dear?”

Penelope blurted. “Annoyed.”

“Annoyed?” Varley echoed gently, stepping closer. “At what, if I may ask?”

“That's the thing. It's rather strange because.. I—don’t know.” Penelope’s voice cracked with frustrated honesty. “A flush came over me so suddenly.”

Varley watched her for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm. Must be the tides, then.”

“The tides?” Penelope’s eyes flicked up in confusion.

“Oh yes,” Varley said, setting down a basket of folded linens on the table. “I’ve read that tides and full moons can affect a person’s mood. Emotions pulling like waves. Silly to some, but I’ve seen it happen often enough to believe it.”

“So I’m being... swept out to sea by feelings I don’t understand?”

“Well, if that’s not the definition of being a woman, I don’t know what is.” Varley smiled kindly. “Would you like me to make you some peppermint tea? It usually helps calm the body.”

Penelope nodded slowly, the tension in her jaw easing just a little. “Yes, please. That would be lovely.”

“You’ve seemed... off just now. Not unwell, just not yourself.”

"I know. It is quite odd." Her eyes drifted back to the dark hallway. Whatever it was, moon, tea, tides, or something far more mysterious, she knew she needed to find stillness again.

“Here you are, my dear,” Varley said, placing the warm cup in Penelope’s hands. “Sip it slowly. And when you get to your room, sit by a window—let some fresh air in. The right kind of breeze can do wonders for a troubled head.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Chapter Text

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

"Time to check your wound," Penelope said, setting the items down on the nearby table. "Hold still."

Colin obeyed without question, watching her move with quiet precision. She unwound the old dressing from his forehead and frowned slightly at the bruise, which had begun to yellow at the edges.

"Still tender?" she asked.

"A little," he admitted.

"Well, that’s what happens when you ram into a window frame like a flying goose."

Colin looked confused.

Penelope stifled a laugh. "Okay, never mind." She dabbed gently at the healing gash. "You’re lucky it wasn’t worse." She glanced at him. There was an openness in his gaze that unsettled her in ways she didn’t care to name. She cleared her throat and changed the dressing with care. "I'm sorry Finn left you alone this morning. You aren't in the condition to join them in the open water with this thing on your head."

"He explained it very well." Colin nodded. "I can wait for him to come back."

"Hmmm..." Penelope contemplated. "Would you like to spend some time together? I mean, my sister told me to tend to you and while I do want to be alone today, I can't really leave you unsupervised."

"Together?"

She exhaled. "Yes, maybe you’d like to see the library?"

"What is that?"

Her brows lifted. "Uh, the library? Where the books are?"

He continued staring blankly. "Books?"

"You don’t know what books are..."

"I’ve seen…pages," he offered.

Penelope’s expression softened. "Interesting." She stood and gestured for him to follow. "Come on. It’s my favorite room in the whole villa."

Soon, they were in front of the double doors. "This is my sanctuary," she said, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Colin followed, eyes wide. The smell—leather, paper, and dust—hit him all at once. He stepped forward. “These are all… for what?”

“For reading,” Penelope said.

“So, books are for reading?” he repeated slowly.

He knew the word reading, of course. He just hadn’t realized there were entire bound objects dedicated to it. Back home, under the sea, writing was carved into whatever surface could take a scratch from pointy dead coral or thorns—lily pads, seaweed sheets, abandoned shells, even boulders.

Penelope nodded. “Each one holds a story, or knowledge, or... a little bit of truth. Some people build their whole lives around what’s in these.”

Colin looked around the room again, slower this time, with his awe beginning to bloom.

“Finn said you lived on a boat your whole life?” Penelope asked gently.

“I did,” he said, fingers brushing the edge of a page. “Sort of.”

"Must be nice."

"Nice?"

"Yeah. You have the sea around you. You can float, and wade, and swim whenever you want. You're free."

Colin blinked. He’d done all those things—every day, without question. Yet now, he wasn’t sure if he missed it. "It was okay. I like the water. I consider it my home," he said finally.

Penelope smiled. "I love the water too. But somehow it gets deeper at one point and that’s when I start getting cautious of it."

"You get scared of the water? Why?"

"The deeper it gets, the darker it goes and I feel... rather small."

"You only fear what you do not know."

"I guess." That earned him a thoughtful glance. She walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a thin book, old and lovingly worn. "This was a gift from a merchant years ago. He said it reminded him of me." She sat beside him and flipped it open. It was a picture book—illustrations of different seashells, marine flora, tidepool creatures, and old myths inked into the margins. Penelope pointed at a spiraled shell. "Do you know what this is?"

Colin peered at it. "That’s a luretail. We call it a ‘songcatcher’—because they hum when they roll through currents. Mer-children hide them to prank one another. They vibrate all night."

Penelope giggled. "No, you’re making that up."

"No, I'm not."

She flipped to another page. "What about this?"

"That's a moonclam. Softest creature I know. If you hold it to your ear—underwater—it plays echoes of your last dream."

She stared at him. "You’re either a poet or a very committed liar."

Colin grinned. "I'm telling the truth!"

Penelope reached for a wooden box on a shelf and brought it to the table. "Since we're talking about shells, want to see my collection?"

He nodded eagerly.

She opened the wooden box to reveal a stunning array of seashells—arranged by color and shape, some strung into delicate chains, others carved with tiny markings and paired with beads. "I make them into jewelry," Penelope explained, lifting a braided cord between her fingers. "Bracelets, anklets, necklaces… little trinkets like that." Smiling, she selected a simple strand with a single striped shell at its center. She looped it around his wrist and tied it gently. "This one’s a bracelet if you can wrap it around your wrist," she said. "It’s simple, but I’ve always liked this shell. It reminds me of the sea at dusk."

Colin stared down at the adornment and his fingers brushed the shell. "Bracelet," he repeated, carefully. Then he looked up, a slow smile curling across his face. "A pretty bracelet… from a pretty lady."

"That was... smooth." She glanced at him sideways. "You're quite the smooth talker, Colin."

"Smooth talker? Is that… good?"

Penelope laughed, soft and honest. "It’s very good."

"Oh. Then I am... glad to be smooth."

"Sure," she said, more amused now. "Let’s go with that."

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The sun was already high by the time Penelope and Colin reached the edge of the village market. The morning air was balmy, rich with the mingling scents of bread baking, fresh citrus being peeled, and sea breeze drifting inland. The narrow paths were lined with stalls covered in faded fabric canopies. Colorful produce spilled out of woven baskets, spices were piled in delicate pyramids, and bolts of dyed linen rippled in the wind. Children laughed, dogs barked, and merchants haggled with familiar ease. Everything was chaotic and new and fresh in the Sea Prince's eyes.

Colin stood at the edge of it all. “Is this the trading port?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Sort of,” Penelope said with a small smile. “But more lively. This is where everyone comes to buy and sell what they need. Or don’t need, but can’t help but want.”

Colin slowly took a step forward, his hands close to his sides, careful not to touch anything. His senses were overwhelmed: the colors, the scents, the clamor of voices. A cart full of lavender stalks made him pause, nose twitching. “That smells like you,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Warm. Calm. But not boring. It makes me want to look.” He tilted his head. “What is it?”

“Lavender.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling her cheeks warm.

Colin nodded. “I like lavender.”

At a fruit stand, he reached for an orange, confused by its smooth skin and citrusy burst when he bit into it. “What is this? It’s like if the sun had a taste,” he licked the juice from his fingers. "It's sweet and a bit sour."

“Yeah but also sticky, especially if the pulp gets in between your fingers,” Penelope handed him a cloth, which he took gratefully.

At a nearby cart, a fishmonger shouted about the freshness of his catch. “They’re… displaying fish,” he froze. “To eat?”

“Some eat it fresh. Some cook the fish. Why?” she asked.

He glanced nervously at a basket of mackerel. “Nothing. Just… the audacity.” He was thankful Tony wasn't with him on this trip. For sure, he would be either rolling his beady eyes or pinching his leg from his pocket.

Penelope wondered. "You're not a fan of seafood... or are you sick of them since you live on a boat?"

"Both?" Colin scratched his head.

She laughed. “Well, that makes sense. Here on the island though, we get abundant seafood so it's a staple on our dining tables. Lucky for you, Colin, we’re not here for fish.”

They stopped in front of a stall strung with glass beads, hand-dyed ribbons, and bits of jewelry fashioned from shells and copper wire. Colin bent low to examine a wind chime made of bottle glass and coral fragments. Humans, it seemed, also loved to make something out of nothing. He smiled, the memory coming back to him of a lamp in his cove back home that looked just like this.

That’s when a shriek sliced through the crowd. “Penny! I didn't think you'd be at the market this early!” Penelope groaned before she turned. Philippa glided through the crowd in a lemon-colored day dress and her eyes locked immediately on Colin. “I see you have company...” she said with theatrical curiosity. “And who is this young man with you?”

Colin looked alarmed and took a tiny step behind Penelope. She was not, however, large enough to shield him.

“This is Colin,” Penelope said. “He’s—helping us around the villa.”

He cleared his throat. "You are?"

"Philippa, her sister." Philippa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She said you were helping us, hmm?" She examined him closely. "Colin, you've got a distinct face but have you considered washing it?”

“Excuse me?” Colin said.

“Ignore her, please, ignore her.”

Philippa was undeterred. She circled them both like a hawk might circle prey. “You know, with a little grooming, some structured trousers, and a trim that doesn’t look like it was done by the wind, he could be… quite presentable.”

“Presentable? He’s not for sale, Pip,” Penelope crossed her arms.

“No, but he’s got potential, Penny. Tell me, Colin—have you ever had a proper makeover?”

“A make… what?” he asked, utterly lost.

“I’ll take that as a no. Come back to the villa after this. I have the oils, scissors, and at least three shades of soap.”

“Three… shades?” Colin echoed.

“Oh yes,” Philippa said. “Lemon. Rose. And sandalwood. But sandalwood’s for suitors only.” She leaned closer to Penelope and whispered far too loudly, “I might want to keep that one for him.”

“Philippa!”

“What?” Philippa batted her lashes. “He’s charming. Odd. But charming. Just wait until I trim his mane.” She turned back to Colin, assessing his curls. “Do you like having long hair?”

Colin looked to Penelope helplessly. "Errrr..."

“Pip, please leave us alone,” Penelope firmly grabbed Colin’s wrist and tugged him away.

They ducked into a quieter lane between two produce stalls.

Colin exhaled slowly. “Is your sister always jumpy?”

“You met her on a calm day,” Penelope said, a little breathless. “Sorry about that.”

But Colin wasn’t upset. He glanced down at where her hand still held his wrist, the bracelet she’d made still fastened there. He smiled faintly. “You tugged me,” he said softly.

She looked down and let go quickly, flustered. “Yeah, cause you were about to be abducted” She glanced up. His eyes were back on her. Bright. Curious. “Let’s get out of here before she tries to exfoliate you.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

But it was too late.

Tony poked a clawed leg out from a damp pocket, examined at the marbled bath chamber in disbelief. He scrambled free of the rumpled trousers with the quiet dignity of someone who had seen too much. Upon spotting the glistening figure of the Crown Prince in a shallow pool of warm water, his beady eyes widened and his jaw dropped in horror. He scuttled up the bench leg, leaned in, and whispered with great disdain, “Why do surface people need to wash themselves every single day? Another proof they are filthy creatures, I tell ya!"

"Hush! Tony! She's just right there!"

The little crab tumbled backward into a rolled towel with a disgusted hiss and disappeared beneath it.

“Scrub harder,” Philippa demanded from her perch just outside the bath divider, her arms folded as steam billowed out. “Colin, dearest, has anyone ever told you that you smell like seaweed, wet rope, and mystery? And not the good kind.”

Colin stood uncomfortably in the bathwater, half-drenched and deeply unsure. “I’ve already scrubbed twice—”

“Not hard enough,” Philippa declared. “Pretend you're scraping barnacles off a boat.”

"She needs to leave barnacles alone!" Tony shot a look.

Philippa tossed a bigger sponge toward him with greater urgency. “We must get you socially presentable before my mother sees you."

Colin dragged the sponge across his chest again. The soap smelled of crushed sandalwood and lemon leaves—sharp, bright. Still, nothing in the sea had prepared him for how much effort it took to be clean on land. “This porifera...er, sponge,” he muttered, peering at it. “Is it… alive?”

“It’s dead and it’s helping you not smell like you crawled out of a tide pool.”

“It’s dead?!” He stared at the yellow lump in his hand with sudden reverence. “The poor sponge is dead.” He stopped scrubbing, cradled it mournfully, then laid it gently on the tile floor like he was returning it to its grave. Tony held the towel out for him and he took it right away.

"Please tell me you're done? We haven't got all nigh—" Philippa stepped closer, wanting to inspect him but then she paused. Blinked. Because now that Colin was clean—really clean—and the steam had settled enough to catch the sharp line of his shoulders and the taper of his waist, and his skin gleamed bronze from the remaining light and heat—Philippa gawked.

Colin caught her stare. “Something wrong? Have I not scrubbed myself enough?”

“Pip, snap out of it!” she barked at herself and slapped her cheeks. “I am a married woman. A widow with boundaries but I have seen a man's form before!” She tossed him a large, fluffy robe and beckoned him over with a flourish. “Put this on—quickly—or not—or yes." She spun around. "Come out so we can go to phase two: Hair.

He obeyed, hesitantly while figuring out another piece of clothing. Good thing he was getting used to these garments that had holes so he fumbled less.

He stepped out and Philippa took her shears like a seasoned stylist. "Sit." She motioned for the little ottoman. Philippa snipped with flourish, curls tumbling to the marble-tiled floor. When she was done, she spun him toward the small mirror. "Tadaaaaaaa!"

Colin stared at his reflection. He looked… clean. And different. Almost like someone who belonged here. “That’s… me?”

“Yes!” Philippa beamed. She placed a folded outfit—earth-toned linen trousers, a soft ivory shirt, and a fitted navy vest on the counter. “Now, wear these clothes I've picked and you’re ready for dinner. Don’t worry—I'll make sure you’re seated right next to Penny. Ohhh, my sister’s going to faint.”

A short while later, Colin emerged from the bathroom fully made up, his borrowed clothes snug but elegant. The bracelet Penelope gave him rested on his wrist, the only thing he’d refused to take off.

"You look edible!" Philippa shrieked. "I am so proud of myself!"

“Edible?” Colin squinted. “You mean humans eat other humans?”

“In a wholesome sort of way,” Philippa rushed to clarify. “Though… sometimes in the ravenous kind too.”

Colin stared, clearly unsettled. “I don’t understand how that could be.”

“From now on, let’s say you’re a suitor for my sister. That sounds much better than being just some helper around the villa.”

“What? I'm going to be a suitor?”

“Let me handle the details,” Philippa said with a confident nod. “You just need to be on your best behavior when we introduce you to our mother. She’ll want to know your birthright, estate, and pedigree…” She waved her hand airily, as if that sort of information could be conjured from thin air. Frankly, if Colin was a wandering peasant, well who cares—desperate times have arrived. Her sister was utterly exhausted from the revolving door of unworthy suitors. No matter how many arrived each week, no matter how wide the smile Penelope forced to keep things civil, it was obvious she was growing weary of it all. So, Philippa reasoned, why not throw a handsome wild card into the process?

Colin’s brow furrowed. “Is your mother really that... strict?”

Philippa chuckled darkly. “Strict? Please. She’s a feather boa in a thunderstorm. Loud, unpredictable, and full of opinions she never asked you for. But don’t worry.” She stepped closer, adjusting his vest. “Penelope can hold her own. She’s always had to.”

“Does she even like… her life here on the island?”

Philippa hesitated, unusually quiet for a beat. “She likes hiding out in some places. It’s not the same thing.” Then she perked up, mischief sparkling in her eyes again. “That makes you, my dear, the most exciting thing to happen to her since that merchant from Moray gifted her a journal with a locking clasp made of coral. Which, frankly, I was quite jealous of.”

Colin smiled. “Hmmm, I don’t know if I’m that exciting.”

“Oh, hush. You look like you stepped out of a romance novel. That's exciting enough." She eyed him again and stepped back. “Now, tell me the truth. You're no helper here are you? Where did you come from?”

“No, I'm not and I did not travel very far.”

“Cryptic. Intriguing. Infuriating. That’ll work.” Then she grinned even wider. “You do like my sister, don’t you?”

He tried to deflect. “I…well...”

“Don’t even try. I saw you look at her like she’s made of sunlight.” Philippa leaned in conspiratorially. “Colin, let me help you. Okay? Let this widow get out of this boring rut.” She handed him a tiny sprig of sandalwood. “Here, tuck this behind your ear. Trust me.”

“Why?”

“Because it shall make you smell nice and desirable, and I said so. Now let's go."

“Where are we going?”

“Where Penny is, you silly prince!”

Colin faltered, thrown off by her choice of words. Had she figured him out? “Do I look like a prince to you?”

“Can’t say—I’ve never actually met one,” Philippa admitted with a grin. “But, maybe we can pretend. Oh, I really want to see Penny’s face when she sees you looking like a snack!”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Penelope sat stiffly across from her mother, hands clenched in her lap. The scent of rosewater and ink filled the room—Lady Portia Featherington’s domain, and one Penelope usually avoided unless summoned. Portia perched behind her desk, papers and calling cards laid out in front of her. “Three gentlemen tomorrow, and two more by the end of the week,” she said crisply, tapping a quill against the edge of her schedule book. “One of them is a solicitor—imagine the security of a man with a pension—and another owns a fleet of carriages. Now, we just have to figure out how to move them between the isles."

Penelope’s eyes were distant. “Do what you want. I don’t care.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said I don’t care anymore,” Penelope repeated, sharper this time. “You can cancel them all if you want, too.”

Portia leaned back slowly, studying her daughter with cautious eyes. “Penelope, you’ve always been... patient with these arrangements. Polite, if not enthusiastic. Why the sudden change?”

Penelope began pacing, something she rarely did when speaking to her mother. The truth was, she didn’t know what was wrong with her. Only that her skin prickled and her chest felt too tight, and the idea of smiling through another evening of small talk made her stomach twist. “To be honest, I’m tired of being someone’s option, Mother. I’m also tired of pretending I enjoy being paraded. I want to choose this time...and I choose to be alone.”

Portia arched an eyebrow. “Choose? My dear, that sounds rather theatrical, don't you think?”

Her breathing quickened. “I just want to be left alone for once. Just for some time. One month? One week, maybe less?” She rubbed her palm over her chest, pressing hard. It ached again. Not pain exactly, but something more like pressure. Something pulling. Something... missing.

Portia walked slowly toward her daughter with a look of growing concern. “Penelope, has someone upset you? Have I upset you? You’ve been irritable since you got here, and now you give me this strange talk of solitude—”

“No one’s upset me!” Penelope shot back. She wasn’t used to raising her voice at her mother but her voice was nearly shaking now. “I’m just... I’m not feeling like myself.”

Portia gently reached for her daughter's hand, but Penelope drew away. “Darling, I am quite concerned.”

Penelope backed toward the window, gripping the sill as if needing air. Her chest pulled again—sharper now. An invisible cord wound tight inside her, and she couldn’t name it.

“Maybe you need rest,” Portia said. “Or some tea. Or perhaps you should go walking by the beach, you like that, right? It clears your head—”

However, the door burst open.

“Mother!” Philippa sang out as she entered, her energy as chaotic as ever. “Look! Look who's arrived!”

Colin stepped into the room behind her, freshly groomed and dressed. His curls had been trimmed, his chin smooth, and his expression uncertain—but his eyes searched for only one person.

Penelope. And she saw him. Felt him. The moment he stepped into the room, something inside her clicked back into place. Her lungs expanded, like she’d been holding her breath and only now remembered how to breathe. The ache in her chest softened. Her fingers unclenched. The tension in her shoulders drained as if someone had lifted a weight. Her entire body reacted.

"What's happening?" Penelope was surprised by the wave of calm that overtook her.

“Philippa dearest, who is this fine young man with you?” Portia said, her voice already shifting into charm mode. “He looks positively... dashing.”

“This is Colin,” Philippa beamed. “A visitor on the island. Isn’t he most handsome?”

Colin offered a polite bow. “Lady Featherington.”

Portia looked up from her papers, visibly impressed. “A visitor? When did you arrive? Usually, I get notified of such things...”

“Oh, he’s been around,” Philippa said airily, stepping further into the room, eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Colin?" Penelope's jaw dropped. She tried to stand but her wobbly legs gave way so she opted to sit back on the bench. "Philippa, no, wait...Mother..."

Portia raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

Colin stepped forward obligingly. He took Portia’s hand and bowed over it gently. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Featherington.”

“Oh!” Portia gasped, clearly delighted. “Such gallantry! Where have the sea gods been hiding you?”

“Right under your roof or maybe under the sea. Take your pick!” Philippa smirked. “He says he's here as Penny's suitor."

“Really?!” Portia’s voice shot up in pitch as her head whipped toward her daughter. “Penelope's?”

Just seconds ago she had told her mother she wanted to be alone. Now, a young man was standing nearby seemingly claiming a place in her heart. “I—suitor?!” she stammered, eyes wide.

“Oh, come now, Penny,” Philippa grinned, patting Colin’s shoulder. “You’re clearly going to be fond of him. He’s polite, and so very easy on the eyes. Look at him, he's practically husband material.”

Portia’s lips curled into something amused and intrigued. “Penny, you insisted on solitude a few minutes ago and now here you are, glowing like a candle left too close to the hearth.”

Penelope opened her mouth to object—only to realize that in her reflection on the glass, she was indeed glowing. Her cheeks were warm and pinkish. Her breath even. The tightness in her chest… finally gone. The drowning feeling she felt disappeared. She pressed her palm over her heart and her pulse, just to be sure. Whatever was pressing on her had lifted—he moment Colin entered.

“Dinner!” Philippa suddenly clapped. “Oh, you must join us for dinner, Colin. It’s only right. Penelope, you don't mind if he joins us right?”

“Oh, I shall not take no for an answer,” Portia cut in brightly, clapping her hands together. “That is final.”

Colin glanced between the women, his smile widening. “I’d be honored.” Then, more gently, he turned to Penelope and offered his hand. “My lady, are you alright?”

She stared at his extended hand—at the bracelet she had tied around his wrist earlier that day. Who was this man, really? And how could he have such an effect on her? Somehow, just the sound of his voice reached into her and softened every jagged edge. His presence alone seemed to quiet the tides that churned inside her. “This... is so strange.”

“Or maybe just hunger messing with you, dear sister!” Philippa quipped, ever unbothered.

Lady Portia gave her a look. “Go fetch Prudence, Philippa. Tell her, we're having a special feast tonight!"

"A feast for the eyes and the stomach? Oh, I'm definitely in!" Philippa exclaimed as she hurriedly left the room. 

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Chapter Text

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The dining room table was uncharacteristically abundant that evening. Steaming platters of food were laid out in a parade of color and scent—no fewer than three types of meat, a tangle of buttery noodles, roasted root vegetables glistening with glaze, golden loaves of bread beside pats of melting butter, and a bright wobbling tower of gelatin crowned with fruit.

What caught Penelope’s attention, however, was not what was there—but what wasn’t. No fish. No shrimp. No clams. Not even a hint of anchovy in the sauces. The Featheringtons were notorious for putting fish in everything. Even pudding, once. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Had someone actually… planned this?

Across the table, Colin sat with an expression she could only describe as reverent. His eyes darted from the rack of ribs to the chicken soup to the buttered carrots. Then, with all the ceremony of a man discovering fire, he dipped a finger into a rich, dark sauce and tasted it.

His whole face lit up. “Delicious!” he said, utterly awed, licking the rest of it from his fingertip. “Sweet, but smoky… What is this?”

“Barbecue,” Penelope whispered, amused. “You… you like it?”

“I want to live in it.”

At that moment, Prudence’s fork clattered against her plate. She had been scanning Colin up and down with theatrical suspicion.

“Wait a moment. We aren’t serving fish?”

Portia’s nose tilted upward with pride. “We have a young suitor of yours with us, Penelope. Of course, I couldn’t serve fish. That would be ghastly after everything he’s surely endured.”

Colin blinked at her, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “I—”

“A suitor?” Prudence’s voice pitched higher. She narrowed her eyes again and zeroed in on Colin. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? My apologies for thinking you were part of the household staff.”

“Prudence!” Portia hissed, scandalized, nearly spilling the soup in her hand. She ladled an extra scoop into a fresh bowl and personally placed it in front of Colin with a flourish. “Ignore her, Colin. She was dropped on her head as a child. Twice.”

“It’s alright,” Colin said with a small smile, always gracious. “It was a reasonable mistake. I was rather lost when I arrived.”

Philippa leaned over and stage-whispered, “For sure. You did look like you'd been raised in a tidepool before you got cleaned up. But now those nice arms are out. I mean, those sleeves? Gone. Poof. And the forearms?”

“Pip, snap out of it,” Penelope said, elbowing her.

“What? I’m complimenting our guest,” Philippa sniffed.

Colin, mildly flushed, pretended not to hear and returned his attention to the soup.

Portia clapped her hands once, decisively. “Right. Colin will not be sleeping in the guest quarters. He’ll have the rose room. Penelope, please show him around and make sure he’s comfortable.”

Prudence crossed her arms. “The rose room? You gave him the rose room? You didn’t even give that to your cousin when she visited us last season.”

“Yes, well, Colin is a very serious guest. And he looks like he needs some proper rest,” Portia said, then turned to him with sudden softness. “You’ve traveled such a long way, haven’t you, dear?”

“Quite the journey,” Colin agreed faintly, still marveling at how butter could taste like this.

"Penelope? You didn't give me an answer." Lady Portia asked.

Penelope cleared her throat. “Fine. I shall be happy to make sure he's settled."

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Far beneath the sunlit waves, where light barely dared to venture and silence hung like thick velvet, the sea witch circled her obsidian mirror. In its murky surface flickered images not of the deep, but of the land above—Featherington Isle, and the villa that now housed her most vexing problem.

She watched as Crown Prince Colin—her Colin, her pawn, her bargaining chip—sat at a long table, surrounded by human women and land food. No scales, no seaweed, no proper fish on the plate. He laughed. He reached for ribs. Ribs! His eyes glistened like pearls, but not from saltwater. From joy.

“Oh no,” she hissed, flicking a claw against the mirror’s edge, which rippled at her touch. “No, no, no.”

The prince was not obeying. Worse, he was thriving.

“Send in your status report,” she demanded, her voice slicing through the chamber like a spear of ice.

From the shadows slunk three creatures—her spies. Once sea monsters, now contorted into half-hearted imitations of land animals: a furless marmot with eyes too large for its skull; a dog with barnacle growths along its spine; a chicken whose feathers glittered like wet scales.

The marmot bowed with a sickening squelch. “He eats, Your Deepness. He feasts. He is…very curious.”

The dog whined, “The girl is feeling the curse more than ever...”

The chicken simply squawked, “They call him a suitor now!”

“A suitor?” She slammed her palm into the mirror, and Colin’s delighted face distorted into spiraling static, his laughter swallowed whole by her fury. “So she wants suitors, does she?” she paced before her throne.

“It seems like the mother has been seeking one for her offspring.” The dog added.

"Interesting," she murmured, her grin widening into something feral. “A charming, acceptable, perfect young man. One that even a meddling mother could not refuse.”

"Many have come but none have succeeded." The chicken reasoned.

"Maybe Colin has a chance?" The marmot mistakenly commented.

Her voice turned syrupy with malice. “Then I will give her one.”

The waters rose at her command. Around her, dormant shells cracked open. Currents spiraled in tight coils, drawn toward her like thread to a spindle. Magic, thick as oil, surged upward, encasing her limbs, her face, her smile. She began to shift. The sea witch’s form elongated—taller, broader. Her tentacles receded. Her curves sharpened. Her curls remained, now slicked back and glistening like ink. When she opened her eyes, they were no longer the cold eyes of a creature born of the trench. They sparkled. They gleamed. They lied.

A man now stood in her place. Striking. Princely. Cheekbones looked carved from marble; A jawline that could anchor ships. A cloak that shimmered with the blues of the Mariana. And his smile? Disarming. Dazzling. Dangerous.

“If a suitor is what the human needs,” she said, “then let me give her mother one she cannot say no to.” The witch turned to her wardrobe—an altar of stolen silks and enchanted garments from drowned kings—and selected silver-threaded navy, with a clasp shaped like a shark’s tooth. Regal. Alluring. Lethal.

The chicken—boldest of the three—stepped forward and cocked its head. “You didn't tell the Crown Prince about the kiss?"

The witch stilled. A ripple of silence passed through the chamber. “Tell him? Why would a sea witch like me play fair?” she repeated, turning slowly toward the animal, voice laced with sugar. “He simply didn't ask."

"Two sunsets down, five left. Five left!"

"Precisely. I don't want to spoil the surprise!” Her hand flicked—just once—and the chicken went skittering across the sand. She watched Colin smile again from her mirror, this time at the red-haired girl beside him. Her jaw clenched. “Let the little fool think his presence, his touch and tenderness are enough. Let him bask in his fleeting joy.”

“Let him get close. Let him hope.” The marmot told the dog.

“He’ll never break the spell without a kiss born of true love…because he’ll never know to ask for it! Brilliant!” She turned and let a devious laugh that rippled. “Next stop,” she said smoothly, “Featherington Isle.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Penelope hissed, “Off you two go! He doesn’t need an audience while he picks his sleeping pillow and jammies!”

From the hallway came Philippa’s unmistakable voice, “He can pick mine if he wants!”

“Pip, please!” Penelope snapped. "You've done enough!"

"Exactly, behave yourself, Pip!" Prudence chimed in with a stage whisper, “He might be undressing—”

“Good night!” Penelope grunted and forced the door closed, sealing out the giggles and scandalized gasps of her sisters. She turned and faced the room—and him. “Sorry about my sisters. They can get very excited about things.”

“I like them,” he said sincerely. “They’re… quite lively.”

Colin was standing by the open window, a faint breeze ruffling the edges of his shirt. His expression was calm but alert, like he was studying every corner, every painting, the shape of the bedposts, the glint of light on the glassware on the dresser.

This made her oddly self-conscious. “This is one of the larger rooms because it faces the sunrise. My mother said you looked like you’d appreciate a bit of fresh air.”

“You really shooed your sisters away for my benefit?”

“They were starting to circle you like seagulls.” Penelope corrected, folding her arms. “Anyway, thank you… for distracting my mother as well. I will admit. The suitor parade was getting unbearable despite my patience for it.”

“You’re welcome,” he said sincerely. “Though… I never said I wasn’t your suitor.”

Penelope looked at him, startled. But he grinned—mischievous, noncommittal—and walked past her toward the closet. “Colin, you don’t need to be...”

“Too late. The word’s out.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “You’ve caused quite a stir... no thanks to Philippa.” She said softly.

“As a fair exchange, I’d like to learn more about how your world stirs, then.”

“What?”

“Teach me more of it,” Colin said. “The ways of your world. I want to know all of it. Well, most of it... especially about you.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Why?”

“Because I only have a few sunsets left.”

That caught her attention. “What do you mean, ‘a few sunsets’?”

“That’s all I have.”

Her brows furrowed. “That sounds… ominous.”

“I have a mission on this island,” Colin said seriously, “and the clock is ticking.”

“Because…?” she prodded.

“Because if I fail… I may not have a place to return to.”

The air between them tensed, neither of them blinking.

Before she could ask more, he stepped toward her, voice gentle. “Penelope. Has anything felt… different with you lately?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… have you felt strange? Emotionally? Physically?”

She opened her mouth, then paused. “Maybe. A little… I've been feeling out of sorts.”

He exhaled like he’d expected that. “You may be feeling odd lately, and as much as I don’t want to sound conceited… I think it’s because of me.”

“What?”

“I’m stirring your emotions, Penelope. Well—my presence is.”

“Hold on. You… know?”

“I had suspected it before,” he said. “But now I’m certain. I didn’t think it would affect you so quickly.”

She crossed her arms. “You think being near you makes me feel strange?”

“Not just near,” Colin said, stepping back slightly. “Try this. Go to the far end of the villa. Just humor me. See how you feel.”

Penelope gave him a skeptical look, but something in his tone intrigued her. She spun on her heel and marched toward the hallway. “Fine. I’ll humor you.”

Soon, she walked down the corridor, further and further, all the way to the far wing of the villa where the walls felt slightly colder, the silence thicker. Then, she paused. Something was off. There it was again. That strange ache in her chest. That odd unsettled sense invading inside—like the tide had gone still and the world held its breath.

She waited for a few moments.

It didn’t pass.

Then, she retraced her steps.

Each pace back toward Colin’s room lifted the haze, slowly. Surely. Until, the tension in her bones softened. By the time she stepped into his doorway again, the unease had vanished. Penelope returned with a look of awe. “Wow,” she whispered. “You were right.”

“I know."

“I felt… off. Until I saw you again. And now…”

Colin looked almost apologetic. “It’s not fair, I know. But it’s real.”

“Okay,” she said, still watching him with growing suspicion and wonder. “Who are you really, Colin?”

He held her gaze, didn’t answer right away. 

Then, he just said, “I’m someone who needs you...you can call it help. But, I think you might be the only one who can give it.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Two very out-of-place creatures—one spiny, one flat—emerged from beneath a rock with the careful paranoia of co-conspirators who knew they’d messed up.

Ben rippled nervously, his wings twitching. “We're two sunsets down for this matchmaking madness?”

"Ugh, do not even remind me!" Tony grumbled.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a cool breeze swept across the little patch of beach. Queen Violet materialized from the water with arms folded and eyes sharper than a pruning scissor. “So, this matchmaking madness is true,” she said dryly, gaze fixed on them.

Tony’s claws twitched. Ben gave a mortified squeak. “Y-Your Majesty! We didn’t hear you approach!”

“You know what they say about mothers,” Violet replied with alarming calm. “We always know. Especially when our children are caught in doomed entanglements while being supervised by a crab and a stingray.”

“We—your majesty—we meant no harm—” Ben fluttered helplessly.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she cut in. “They’re irrelevant at this point. What I do want is a progress report. How is the Crown Prince faring?”

Tony cleared his throat. “Well, last I saw him, he looked… more Prince-ly. Straighter posture. Hair's doing a thing now. It’s promising—from my crabby vantage point.”

Violet didn’t blink. “Not fast enough. He needs guidance. Real motivation.”

“We are trying our best!” Tony said.

“Trying is for amateurs. I need results. I have no choice then but to use magic." She closed her eyes. "You need legs. And sentences. And preferably shoes.”

She lifted her fingers from her trident, and a surge of blue magic crackled through the air.

POOF.

Ben was no longer hovering just above the shoreline. He was upright. Clad in the rumpled livery of someone wildly underpaid. He blinked down at himself. Wobbled. Screamed. “I HAVE KNEES?! Your Highness!”

Tony squinted at him. “Are those breeches?”

“AND I HAVE FOOTS-FEETS?!” Ben shrieked, equal parts horrified and awestruck.

Violet turned smoothly to Tony. “You, however, are trickier. I’ll have to work with your essence.”

“My what now—?”

POOF.

Tony hit the ground with a yelp and a bounce. When the glitter cleared, he had… paws. Floppy ears. A muzzle.

Ben pointed. “You have a tail. Ruff?”

Tony’s eyes widened as it began to wag of its own accord. Then came the scream. “AM I A FELINE?! WHY DO I HAVE TOE BEANS?!”

"You are what they call... a dog." Violet offered a regal nod.

Ben snorted, trying and failing not to laugh. “Tony, you’re actually kind of cute.”

“OHHH, I WILL BITE YOU IN YOUR SLEEP.”

“What should I call you now? Paws?” Ben grinned.

Violet raised her chin, mission accomplished. “Gentleman and dog: five sunsets remain. You’ve got a prince to push. A girl to nudge. A mother to impress. There’s no time for bickering. Acquaint yourselves with your new forms tonight. I shall return after two sunsets. Let’s hope something has progressed by then.” With that, she vanished in a puff of glitter and bubbles.

Ben made a face. “Merfolk and their bubbles. Pffft.”

Tony sat, tail curling around his side in pure misery. “Noooooo. Is this what my essence really is?! I’m covered in HAIR.”

“You’re on four legs. I’m on two. I’m calling that an upgrade.” Ben tested his knees with a cautious squat. “Though I may need practice. These thighs are unstable.”

Tony growled. “Fantastic. You get thumbs and thighs.”

Ben smirked. “Want me to carry you, you cutesy little thing?”

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH ME WITH YOUR WOBBLY HANDS, BENEDICT!”

"Oooh, that sounds rather elegant. Hello there, my name is Benedict. Colin's adviser. And you are?" He bowed at the little furry creature.

"Your worst nightmare." Tony barked back.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“Aha!” he exclaimed. “A snarfblatt!”

Penelope, perched cross-legged on her bed with a book open in her lap, blinked. “A what now?”

He held it aloft proudly, like a treasure he’d just excavated from the sand. “You know, a snarfblatt!” He mimed blowing into the pipe’s bowl and immediately coughed on imaginary soot.

Penelope set her book down, biting back a smile. “That’s… a pipe. Specifically, a tobacco pipe.”

Colin lowered it slowly. “You mean it’s not for music?”

“No,” she said, amused. “It’s for smoking.”

His nose crinkled. “Smoking what?”

“Tobacco. Herbs. Sometimes terrible decisions.”

He stared at the pipe. “But why would anyone willingly breathe fire?”

Penelope tilted her head thoughtfully. “I suppose… some people say it’s calming. Or it helps them think. Or it feels good. Pleasurable.”

“Do you like it?” he asked, a little too eager.

“Me? Oh, I hate the smell,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “It lingers. Gets in everywhere. Your hair, your clothes, your lungs. I especially dislike secondhand smoke.”

He held the pipe at arm’s length like it might bite him. “Second-hand?”

“When someone else smokes, and you’re stuck inhaling what they exhale.” She gave a theatrical shiver.

Colin immediately set the pipe back down. “Noted. No snarfblatts. No setting your lungs on fire. I’ll just… breathe the air normally.”

“There are other ways to feel good anyway.”

"Like what? When do you feel good?"

"I feel good when I get to hook something as I fish." He cringed at that thought and she saw his reaction. "I...I feel good when I'm done with a hot bath." He somewhat agreed but obviously wasn't thoroughly convinced. "When... I hug my pillow..."

"When I'm near you?" He added confidently.

Penelope narrowed her eyes. "I.. I just figured that out now."

"Penelope, do you want me to be closer to you?"

"What?" She looked at him, with a questioned face.

He opened his arms. "Come on, let me give you a good embrace...so you can feel better."

She smiled at his sincerity. Maybe it was the low flicker of the fireplace, or the soft linen beneath her palms, or the quiet hush of the evening tide outside—but something shifted. Something bold. She beckoned him closer. “Alright...Let's... test this even further."

Colin sank beside her on the edge of the bed, legs awkwardly angled to keep a respectful distance.

"I know when I'm near you, something shifts... but I don't know how I'll feel if..."

"If our skins touch?"

"If you touch me." She clarified. "On purpose."

“We can see,” he said instantly. Then, slower, “But I don’t know how to… you know…”

“Touch me?”

"I know how to touch. But... I'm new to touching you properly." He nodded, cheeks flushed but eyes open, waiting.

Penelope reached for his hand, slowly, giving him time to pull away. He didn’t. She placed his palm against her collarbone, over the steady rhythm of her pulse. His fingers twitched. “You can start here,” she said softly. “Don’t rush. You don’t have to fix anything. Just be present.”

Colin’s breath caught. His thumb grazed the hollow of her throat, tentative and warm. She leaned into it slightly, eyes fluttering closed—not from exhaustion but trust.

“I’ll tell you if something’s too much.” His hand slid further. His knuckles brushed the bare skin above her neckline, and Penelope shivered—not in discomfort, but anticipation.

She reached for his other hand and brought it to her waist, placing it just beneath the curve of her ribcage. Her clothes were made of soft cotton, worn in all the right places, and beneath it her body was warm. “Touch with intention. Think of it like reading.”

“Reading?” His voice was a little hoarse now.

“Like you’re learning the language of me.”

She felt more than saw the way his throat bobbed. His hands adjusted, one settling at the small of her back, the other curving to her side. She wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but they were closer now—foreheads nearly touching, breath mingling. With a little more confidence, his hand skimmed upward, fingers grazing along the side of her torso, memorizing her shape through the soft fabric. His thumb found the dip of her waist, the softness of her stomach. Then, he paused just beneath the curve of her breast—hovering there, breath caught in his throat.

Penelope took his nearest hand and placed it directly over her chest. “Try to cup it first,” she said. “Then use your thumb… like this.” She guided his hand, breath trembling.

He followed, cupping her breast through the cotton, thumb brushing across the peak. Her gasp was quiet, but unmistakably real. Her fingers on her other hand clenched at the folds of his shirt.

“Am I... Am I doing it correctly?”

She bit her lip and gave a shaky nod. “You are.”

Encouraged, he stared at the hem of her top. “Maybe it’s better if… this is gone?”

She hesitated—just a second—then nodded again.

He slowly pulled the fabric up and over her head, revealing her bare chest to him for the first time. His eyes widened. “Finally…” he whispered, almost to himself.

“What do you mean, finally?” she asked, voice still small.

“I see you… as you are. Not just what the garments let me see.”

Oddly, Penelope didn’t feel exposed in a bad way. Just… seen. “I’ve never done this before, Colin,” she admitted. “You’re the first man to see me like this. Quite bare.”

Colin’s breath hitched. “Then, I’ll be careful.”

Her fingers found the back of his neck, urging him close. “Go ahead,” she invited.

"Go ahead? What do I do?”

“What do you want to do?”

He looked down to her bare breasts, cheeks flushed. “Something tells me I should… put them in my mouth.”

She blinked—caught off guard—and then laughed, breathless. “You can try,” she said, voice like velvet. “Start with one. Then… the other, when you feel like it.”

“Got it,” he said seriously. "I should taste them one after the other.”

“Not exactly a marching order,” she teased, but her voice broke off with a gasp as his lips met her nipple.

He was warm, clumsy, eager—like everything he did came from instinct, not experience. His tongue traced circles on her tip, once, twice, thrice. More than that. Her back instantly arched and she wanted to get even closer to him. He began to suck more eagerly, her fingers just threaded through his hair.

“Fu—Harder,” she gasped and moaned. “Just a little—ah, yes, like that—wait—why—are you—good at—this?”

His free hand hovered to her other breast. She took it and placed it gently over the untouched one. “Don’t forget,” she murmured, panting.

He looked up, dazed and confused, lips swollen. He stopped and smiled. “Right. I won't forget.”

“Colin,” she whined, somewhere between frustrated and amused, “you’re—driving me—mad.”

He grinned, switching sides, and kissed her other with the same fervent devotion. As he alternately licked and sucked, he saw her whole body respond. She didn't tell him just yet, but the heat was pooling low in her belly as her thighs shifted restlessly.

A minute later, she let her thoughts speak for themselves. "I think... I think I'm wet, Colin." Truly, Penelope wasn’t prepared for how much she enjoyed what he was doing to her. For what he was making her feel. She felt more than good. Better. Suddenly, there was a growing desire in her. "Colin—" She needed him. Oh, how much she wanted more...

"Wet?" He panted and wiped off a bit of strung saliva from her skin to his lips.

"Yes." She could feel something gush in her and it was definitely caused by him. There was no doubt. She gave a little whimper when he unlatched his mouth from her skin and collapsed beside her. 

He was flushed and breathless. "Wet? Where do you say you're wet?"

She used her right hand to hover her pelvic region. "Somewhere here."

“That's odd. My body feels… strange too.” He admitted.

“What do you mean?”

“There are parts of me that are—stiff,” he said, pressing a hand to his abdomen. He looked at her apologetically. “Penelope, look, it’s… hard. I, I can’t help it.”

Penelope followed his gaze—then saw the tented linen at his groin. Her eyes widened.

“This thing—it usually doesn’t do that. Not like this!”

“I think it means you’re aroused,” she said, then added, “Like me.”

“Aroused,” he echoed. “Like how your nipples became stiff…?”

“Exactly.”

He looked down at himself again. “Okay, so how do I make it stop?”

Penelope blinked. No one had ever explained this part to her. Not her mother. Certainly not her sisters. All she remembered were vague phrases like “an insertion and an explosion.”

"What?"

She was thinking hard when Colin leaned over. “You don't look like you have the same thing though."

“A penis?” she asked, amused. “No. Of course not. I have something else.”

"Something else?" He paused. “Can I see it?"

This time, she stared at him. “What? You want to see me? All of me?” she repeated, not angry. Just surprised.

“If you don't have a penis, what do you have?” he said honestly.

Penelope swallowed her breath.

“Penelope? I really want to know." He said sincerely.

"You really don't know?" Penelope wanted to be sure he was just as innocent as her. Though, it pretty much felt that way.

"You can see me too, if you want.”

That line hit her like a whisper in the dark. Wanting to see wasn’t about lust—it was about curiosity. About discovery. About intimacy. About trust. Penelope inhaled, deeply… then nodded. “Alright. But we have to be gentle with each other.”

“I swear it,” Colin said.

She believed him.

A quiet beat passed before she asked gently, “Do you want to do it together?”

His breath hitched. “You mean... I touch you…”

“And you touch me,” she finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, flustered. “No—I mean, you go first. I’m… new to this.”

She smiled softly, her hand finding his. “What if I guide you?”

He blinked at her. Paused at the idea of doing something as intimate as this together. "Sure."

She guided his hand with hers, placing his palm against the bare skin of her stomach, and then pushed lower, encouraging him gently. Their breaths mingled, warm and close, as they slowly explored a closeness that was new to both of them. It was less about pace and more about rhythm—soft swirls of fingertips against heated skin, a dance of breath and sighs, a silent conversation of what it meant to feel.

Both of their hands landed on the band of her undergarment when a sharp knock at the door came.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Penelope? Colin?"

They both froze. Colin pulled back his hand and practically levitated off the bed. Penelope shoved her skirts down over her thighs in a panic and searched for her discarded top nearby, swearing softly. "Shoot, it's my mum!" She cried softly.

Penelope’s wide eyes met his. “How do I look?” 

His heart was racing. “Flushed. How about me?”

“Smug?” she offered with a sheepish grin.

"Smug?!" His voice cracked from how much effort it was taking to hide the evidence of their recent activities beneath his clothes. He shifted uncomfortably, still achingly hard beneath his trousers. Every movement was a test of willpower. "I'm still hard." He told her.

And Penelope walked slowly toward the door.

"Penelope!" He whispered. "How do I make this go away?"

“Colin? Penelope?” Portia’s voice called sweetly through the door.

Penelope turned around and instructed. "Breathe in and don't exhale. And maybe take a cold bath before you go to bed! That should help!"

"I am coming in, you two!"

He thought grimly, but forced out a polite, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Portia Featherington breezed in, as though she hadn’t just interrupted something that could've rewritten the course of her daughter’s entire life. She gave the room a once-over before her gaze settled on Colin. “Ah, there you are. I trust you’re finding things… likeable, Colin?”

Colin cleared his throat, legs clamped awkwardly. “Very much. Penelope’s been of… great help.”

Penelope choked on a cough, redder now than her hair.

“Has she now?” Portia mused, eyes flicking between them. “My goodness! Penelope, why are you blushing so hard? You look like a ripened tomato.”

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

Portia shook her head fondly. “You must be exhausted from playing tour guide, darling. Look, Colin needs time to rest. There will always be, tomorrow. Right?"

"Right." Colin's eyes widened. "Of course, tomorrow!"

Portia reached out and tugged Penelope by the arm toward the door. "Good night, Colin. Sleep tight."

With Colin's door closed, Penelope soon realized that her room was all the way on the other side of the villa. Far from him and that meant only one thing—the further she was, the worse she’d feel again. The weight on her chest, the nausea, the emotional whiplash would come creeping back.

So, an idea struck.

Philippa’s room. Just two doors down from Colin's.

Portia steered her down the hall but Penelope suddenly twisted out of her mother’s grasp. “Darling, where are you going?”

“Um—Pippa's!” Penelope exclaimed, turning sharply. “I forgot to tell her something! A very important thing!”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Back in Colin’s room, he sat on his mattress, trying very hard not to smile. Or shift. Or combust.

Sleep? Impossible. His mind was churning like the tide, dragging in every memory of the past hour with the force of a riptide. He had learned a significant deal about Penelope—her body, her reactions, the way she said his name when she wasn’t trying to hide how much she wanted him.

Colin realized he loved sucking on her breasts. On her skin. On everything that made up of her. At the same time, he’d also discovered a shocking amount about his own body, which still felt like a foreign land but one he was suddenly very eager and open to explore.

A fresh surge of excitement pulsed through him. This was only the beginning.

What truly floored him, though—what left him staring at the ceiling in utter awe—was the revelation that he could make her feel and act like that. That he could touch her in a way that made her go soft and slick with want.

"I'm wet."

The words echoed in his head like a spell. What did that even mean?

He was bound to find out. Maybe tomorrow. Yes. Definitely tomorrow.

For tonight—he let a loud groan as he felt his penis throb once more. He finally knew what that was called. The member that erected at various times during the day. And throbbed hard when she was allowing him to do things to her.

Colin quickly padded to the bathroom, still flustered. His eyes landed on the porcelain tub. A cold bath, Penelope had said, biting back a grin when she offered the suggestion. That should help, she’d said sweetly. He turned the tap on with a sigh, watching the water run cold, the steam-free surface doing little to soothe the ache still pulsing insistently on his fully upright member.

"Oh, penis." Then he stepped in with a wince. “Calm down, won't you?"

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Chapter Text

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Penelope shifted under the quilt, staring up at the ceiling beams. The faint scent of Philippa’s pillow was oddly comforting.

Philippa, however, had her brows knit in sleepy suspicion. “Good morning to you too, missy…” Her yawn tugged at the corner of her lips. “Did you sleep well, Pen?”

“Uh-huh…” Penelope tucked the blanket up to her chin.

“And still, you did not answer my query as to why you wanted to sleep here last night,” Philippa said, eyes narrowing playfully.

Penelope forced a casual smile. “I figured I never get to snuggle up next to you anymore.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Aaaaaand, I just… well, it brings me back to our younger days... when were still young girls...”

Philippa’s expression softened. “I suppose it does. Things did change after I got married… and even after I became a widow…”

“Yes. You did.” Penelope hesitated, then leaned in. “Speaking of which… can I ask you something? Sister to sister?”

Her sister propped herself on an elbow. “You can, but I’m already intrigued by the tone you’re using.”

“What… exactly… happens between a husband and wife? You know… during their wedding night?”

Philippa’s eyes widened. “Ohhh. Why are you suddenly wanting to know?”

“It’s just…” Penelope fiddled with the edge of the sheet. “I’d like to understand. Properly. Not the half-whispered nonsense one hears.”

“Really?” Philippa closed her eyes for a moment, as if weighing her words. “You want to speak of such things this early?”

“Is there a specific time to?” Penelope asked softly. "I think I'm old enough."

“You’re right,” Philippa said, tapping her chin. “Well then… I might as well let you in on some of the ins and outs. Especially since I have a feeling you’re about to say yes to a suitor soon.”

“I might as well be ready.”

Philippa’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Okay, think of it as… finding a pearl."

"I'm sorry. Did you say pearl?"

"Yes. You see, every virgin has a hidden pearl,” Philippa explained, tracing an invisible circle on the quilt. “Quite precious. And if you’re patient—and handle it just right—it will appear. But you don’t get it by rushing. And you certainly don’t get it by being clumsy.”

Penelope blinked. “So… it's... it's inside me?”

Philippa collapsed onto her back. “Oh, Penny. One day you’ll understand. But yes, preferably with the help of your husband."

"What does he have to do with it?"

Her sister blushed. "Well, he's the best person to help you find it."

"So he's gonna have to touch me?"

"Frankly, yes. And when you both do… you’ll treasure it. The whole process of being found, of being sought after, of—” she wiggled her fingers dramatically, “—the grand reveal and the release!”

“What in the heavens are you talking about, Pip?!”

“Just be open to anything, Penny. That’s the secret. Actually—that’s a good one. Be open. Spread your legs wide so your husband can locate it without getting lost.”

"Now, you're talking about what?" Penelope covered her face with both hands. “You are insufferable! I don’t know if you’re pulling my leg or giving me riddles fit for a sailor’s tavern.”

“Oh, I’d never joke about pearls, Penny. Especially this one.”

She peeked at her between her fingers. “You’re mad.”

“And you,” Philippa shot back, “are going to thank me later...”

Penelope threw a pillow at her. “If I ever repeat this conversation to anyone, I’ll deny it.”

Philippa caught the pillow and hugged it. “Deny all you want, sister dear. But just you wait—you love sea pearls, don’t you? I know you've got yourself a collection over the years.”

“Yes…” Penelope admitted cautiously. "I've probably got a plenty."

“Then,” Her sister whispered dramatically, “you’ll treasure this one the most.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Colin stepped into the drawing room, hesitating at the threshold. Prudence and Portia were already there, their posture crisp and elegant, and for a moment he froze when he caught sight of the pair they were entertaining. His gaze lingered, until recognition finally clicked. Ben... and at his side, waddling proudly on stubby legs, was a round little animal with floppy ears, bulging eyes, and a curly tail that wagged furiously.

“Colin, thank goodness, you’re awake!” Prudence’s face lit up at once.

“Ben?” Colin asked, almost disbelieving.

“Yes, Mister Benedict arrived at our gate with what he claims is your… family pet,” Lady Portia said, gesturing delicately toward the wriggling creature.

"Mister Benedict?"

Prudence tilted her head, studying the creature with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “A strange-looking pet you have, Colin. I’m fairly certain that breed is called a pug.”

"A pug!" Ben tapped Tony’s rounded head. “Allow me to present: Anthony, the pug. We call him Tony at times.”

"Anthony? A manly name, indeed." Prudence hid her giggle.

“I’ve seen such dogs with Asian traders,” Lady Portia remarked thoughtfully. “Flat-faced, stubby little things.”

As if taking offense, Tony gave a low, gravelly grumble, then scrambled up onto Colin’s boot and began pawing at his leg. He crouched slightly. “You’ve changed as well?”

Tony leaned close to give a conspiratorial whisper between soft huffs. “By no less than your royal highness.”

Colin swallowed hard. “My mother knows?”

“Why yes! Your mother, sire, is worried about you,” Ben said with his usual dry nod. “It has been a few days since you went ahead of us to Featherington Isle.”

“So this island truly was your chosen destination. How perfect!” Lady Portia echoed. “Well then, we are honored to have you and your…” She extended her hand toward Benedict, clearly expecting him to kiss it.

Ben merely stared at it. “A mere right-hand, Madame.”

"Ahhh,” Portia pursed her lips and folded her hands together. “His right hand.”

“Who is tasked with making sure… well, that things proceed as they should for you, Sir Colin,” Ben continued, his gaze sharp but measured. “How are we doing so far?”

“So far?” Colin’s ears burned crimson. He fumbled for words, acutely aware of the two ladies watching him with amusement.

“So far, we just discovered his real intentions for my sister!” Prudence announced with a grin.

“Yes,” Portia agreed smoothly. “And we could not be more glad.”

At that, Anthony barked loudly, then clipped Colin’s shin with a paw. “Woof! Your face is bright coral pink, sire!”

Colin nearly tripped over him. He clapped a hand over his cheeks, muttering, “Are they… really?”

“You are rather flushed, Colin,” Prudence observed. "Maybe it's the weather. It's been stuffy lately."

“Were you able to sleep well? Have a nice bath?” Portia added. “Do let us know if everything is to your liking.”

Colin cleared his throat, fumbling for dignity. “No, everything is… well and good, Lady Featherington. Trust me.”

The pug sat squarely at Colin’s feet, tongue lolling, eyes bulging with an expression that was both loyal and unbearably smug. Colin shot him a look that said, You’re the worst. Tony only wriggled happily in place, curly tail vibrating with delight.

“It seems patience will be required, sire,” Ben said dryly. “But you’re managing admirably under… unusual circumstances.”

Colin groaned inwardly. Unusual circumstances was putting it very mildly.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The dining room was alive with chatter. Ben was regaling the Featheringtons with an overly dramatic tale about a painting commission gone horribly awry—something about finding inspiration at the very bottom of the sea. Tony, of course, knew exactly what he meant. “It was the first time I’d ever seen humans with the reddest of hair!” Ben proclaimed, gesturing so grandly he nearly upset his teacup. “I mean, I’ve seen sea anemones with pigments that could rival sunsets, but this—” He stopped himself abruptly, realizing he’d drifted too close to dangerous waters. His gaze darted to the redheaded ladies at the table. “Ah. Pardon me. I’ve been babbling. Babbling terribly.”

“Nonsense,” Prudence said with unusual earnestness. “This is the first time our guests have ever told stories worth listening to.”

“I know. Most just bore us half to death,” Philippa added, stabbing a pork sausage with far too much enthusiasm.

Colin, however, barely registered half of their conversation. He sat across from Penelope, and though they hadn’t exchanged a single word yet, he found himself more aware of her than of anyone else in the room. Every time she laughed softly at one of Ben’s quips, her gaze flickering to him as if to see whether he’d caught it too, Colin’s stomach twisted. And when she smiled—shy, sweet, knowing—it was as though they were sharing a secret no one else at the table could see.

Penelope, for her part, hid her nerves by keeping her attention fixed on her plate, or on Tony’s antics, or on whatever Ben was waving his hands about. But whenever she dared to glance up, Colin’s eyes were already there, waiting for hers. And then they’d both look away too quickly, cheeks warm, smiles tugging despite themselves. It was unbearable and wonderful all at once. Because whatever had happened between them last night—it wasn’t something easily brushed away. It lingered now, heavy between them, and neither seemed to know what to do with it.

Finally, the meal wound down and Colin and Penelope found themselves slipping away into the garden.

“Did you—did you sleep well last night?” Colin asked at last, his voice careful.

“Should I ask you the same thing?”

“I…” He faltered, running a hand through his hair. “I fell asleep as soon as I was done with my bath. You were right—a hot bath does wonders.”

“Good.” Her smile softened. She didn’t press about the rest of his… troubles. That was private, not her business. “So, what are your plans for today?”

He opened his mouth to answer—then caught the faint glimmer at her throat. A strand of pearls, delicate and pale blue, rested against her skin. His words stalled. “You know those pearls are rare, don’t you?”

She lifted her fingers to them, as though only just remembering she wore them. “Jesse dove for these when he first started working for us.”

“He’s a brave man. Those come from a rare abalone, found in somewhat the deepest part of the sea—each pearl takes nearly a decade to form.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you say, ten years for just one?”

“They’re quite valuable. But I suppose it makes sense they’d suit someone like you.”

She gave a wistful little sigh. “I might never take them off, then.”

"Do you like pearls, Penelope?"

"I, I prefer them more than anything."

Colin cleared his throat. “Did you know they were once believed to be the tears of gods fallen into the sea?”

“I did, actually,” she said, smiling. “I’ve read how sailors used to carry them for protection. Some swore pearls could keep storms at bay.”

“Ooh, that’s new to me,” Colin admitted with a quiet laugh.

“Really? And here I thought I’d learn all the sea’s secrets from you.”

He exhaled, the sound slipping out more heavily than he intended. If only you knew the truth. Would she still look at him this way if she knew what he truly was? If she knew he wasn’t merely a man but something born of the sea? Would she smile and chat with him—or would she shrink back, frightened, as so many humans would?

He hadn’t dared tell her. Perhaps he wasn’t even allowed. The sea witch had never said whether revealing his nature was forbidden but then again, Colin had scarcely read his contract at all. Foolishly, he’d only cared about two things: the seven-day deadline and the curse that bound her to him. He’d signed his name in a heartbeat, thinking only of her.

Here he was, on the third day: three days since he and his companions had washed ashore, three days since he’d set foot on this island. And now—miraculously, impossibly—he was breathing the same air the girl he had sought from the beginning, trading stories and smiles, his heart filling with so much hope that he could actually do it: make her fall for him before the sun sets on the last day.

"Col?" She snapped him out of his trance. "What's wrong? You look so deep in thought."

He shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. "I... I was just thinking too much."

"Oh."

"Why oh?"

"I realized I do the same." She paused. "Think too much, that is."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She nodded.

"Why do you prefer being alone so often?"

Her brows drew together. "Huh?"

"I heard you that day we first met—you said you wanted to be alone." He gave a lopsided grin. "And now? Funny how things have turned, isn’t it? You seem to need me around."

Penelope kept her gaze on the horizon. "I guess... I enjoyed my solitude. It used to feel safe."

"Is that all?" he asked softly, though he knew his own answer mirrored hers.

She spoke more candidly. "I've met many men over time... and almost always, after knowing them, I realized I'd rather be alone. It felt easier. Better, even." She turned her eyes to him. "Maybe it’s simply because I hadn’t met the one person who could make me feel otherwise."

"And now?" His voice was lower now, weighted with hope.

Her lips curved faintly. "What do you mean, now?" As if she didn’t already know.

"Now that we've met?"

She let out a breath. "Now... it feels rather different."

He studied her profile, taking her in.

"I enjoy your company, Colin. I don't even think about wanting to be alone," she said at last. "So no, it doesn’t hurt to spend my time with you."

"Really? And it’s not because of the fact that—"

"—that I feel strange when you’re not around?" she finished for him, her eyes flicking briefly toward his before retreating. "While I don’t know why or how that happens... I can say that I enjoy your company, Colin. I really do."

"And it is reciprocated, Penelope. I enjoy you—your company, too."

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Portia and Prudence strolled past stacked crates and bustling sailors. Seagulls cried overhead while the clamor of the harbor blended with the calls of laborers loading barrels and checking manifests.

“Mother,” Prudence began cautiously, “are you really halting your search for Penelope’s suitors now that we’re hosting one?”

“Maybe,” she said, “Did you notice Colin’s right hand? He carries himself with such… regality.”

“Then why haven’t we heard where he’s from? Don’t you want to know?”

Portia turned her gaze back to the busy docks. “At this point, as long as Colin is a decent man, I am willing to accept anyone for your sister.” Her voice carried a hint of relief. “After all, once she is married, I can turn my attention back to you and Philippa.”

“Oh, I don’t think I want to marry again.”

Portia shot her a sharp, playful glance. “Careful, Prudence. You say that now, but one day you might be singing a different tune when the right gentleman comes along.”

“Right, because apparently I’ve just been waiting around for some gentleman to sweep a widow like me off the quay,” Prudence replied, “Must you always have to think about marriage and husbands? Remember, Philippa and I have done that already.”

“It’s in the job description of being your mother. And besides,” she added, “one must always prepare for the unexpected. Please don't think that being a widow is the end of things.”

Prudence realized that, for the moment, Colin and his peculiar entourage had given Portia something else to consider—and perhaps a brief reprieve from the constant orchestration of her daughters’ futures. Maybe that's why she was more accepting of him.

Just then, Jesse came running, his face pale and hurried. “Madame Portia! Madame Prudence!” he called, waving a hand to get their attention. “There’s been… a shipwreck this morning—just off the northern cove. We’re trying to assess the damage and any possible survivors.”

Portia’s smile vanished, replaced with a crease of worry across her brow. “A shipwreck?” she repeated, her voice steady but sharp. “Who might be aboard?”

“We don’t know yet, milady. The crew is organizing rescue parties, but it looks serious.”

Portia’s mind immediately switched into action. “Very well, alert the local fishermen and gather all hands for assistance. Prudence, stay close—I don’t want you wandering near the water while this is happening. Shipwrecks are not a common occurrence in our waters so this must be something else.”

“Yes, Mother,” Prudence said, though she felt the twinge of nerves gnawing at her. Usually, the docks give off exciting energy but now it carried the tense weight of urgency. “Oh no… could anyone have been hurt?”

“Let’s hope it’s not as dire as it seems, but we will do everything we can to be of help.”

Prudence suddenly realized that even amid suitors, the unpredictability of life—and the sea—always had the final word.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“Penelope, darling,” Philippa called from the terrace, “why don’t you come help me check the garden arrangements?”

Penelope shook her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “I think I’m rather occupied at the moment.”

Philippa arched a brow, clearly unsatisfied. “Occupied with what, exactly?”

If only Penelope could tell her the truth, the weight of the secret that burned inside her chest. But she remained silent, allowing just enough ambiguity to keep her sister guessing.

Ben, noticing the growing tension, leaned toward her. “Madame Philippa, I'd gladly check the arrangements with you!"

"Oh, would you?" Philippa exclaimed. "Thank you, Sir Benedict. I guess, we can leave my sister and her suitor alone."'

"A wise choice." Ben smiled.

Penelope sighed, “Don't you see? Colin and I have something important to do.”

Colin’s brow rose. “We do?”

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Whatever we didn’t finish last night.”

Heat rose immediately to Colin’s ears. Snippets of memory from their night together flared, and he quickly shifted, trying not to betray how flustered he felt.

"Fine. Let's go, Sir Benedict!" Philippa turned around and led the way to the other side of the villa.

Tony glanced between Colin and Penelope as if calculating the best course of action. "Woof! I wonder whom I should trail..."

Colin cleared his throat. “Leave us alone.”

Tony cocked his head, tilting it with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “But sire, a third sunset is bound soon... and you haven't done a thing!"

"What do you mean? I haven't done a thing—"

Penelope's lips parting slightly in confusion because of what she saw him do. Colin was speaking to his dog as though it were a trusted advisor? She cleared her throat, drawing both of their attention. They turned toward her, grinning cheekily. “Col?” she asked, suspicion and amusement twining together. “Let’s go? Anthony can come with us, no worries.”

Colin’s eyes narrowed. “I shall blow on a shell should I need your help…”

"Blow on a shell?" Tony's eyes stalled.

"Yes." Colin sighed. "Now, stay. Anthony, stay."

For some reason, when Tony was told to stay, he never resisted. It was as if it was animal nature to do so. He plopped his head on the ground and gazed out at the sun dipping toward the horizon. Another day and another sunset. Another day passed and still Penelope seemed to not have fallen in love with His majesty. The little pug let out a quiet sigh. “I suppose,” he frowned, “love and romance cannot be hurried. Now… if only we could figure out how to slow down time.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Minutes later, Penelope turned the lock on her bedroom door with a soft click. The sound alone seemed to thrill her.

Colin’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the knob. “You mean,” he asked slowly, genuine fascination in his tone, “you can control who enters the room? Just by that twist of your hand?”

She smiled faintly, as though his wonder was childlike and endearing. “Yes. Just by turning that little knob.”

He tried to lean past her shoulder for a peek, but she stepped into his line of sight and gave him a firm push toward the bed. “Hey—wha” he stumbled back, landing against the edge of her mattress. His lips curved with mischief. “We’re doing this now? Right away?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice sure but soft. “Unless… unless you don’t want to.”

He studied her, the way her chest rose and fell, the flicker of nervous determination in her eyes. She climbed onto the bed, sitting upright, a sigh slipping out before she spoke. “I mean, I thought... I thought you wanted this too.”

Colin blinked at her candor. “I am curious. About a lot of things.” His eyes lingered on her mouth, then lower. His voice grew huskier. “Um, most especially… how I uh, made you wet.”

"I thought about it and um..." A flush colored her cheeks, but she didn’t shy away. Instead, her honesty deepened. “My sister said it has something to do with me needing to be patient."

"You got wet because you were patient?"

"No...I... that doesn't make sense. The truth is—I don't really know how... and why... but, maybe it had to do with the fact that it was you,” she drew in a breath.

"Me?"

"It never happened with any other man," her voice low and charged— “I think you're, you're different."

"I'm different?"

She nodded and then took a breath, as if preparing to say something she was too shy to disclose. "Colin, ever since I saw you this morning… I’ve wanted to get you alone."

"You... what?"

"So—we could continue… exploring...learning about each other.” She managed to say. 

His lips parted, a slow nod following. “That’s reasonable,” he said gently, “Because, I want to do the same.”

For a moment, silence held between them, pulsing like a drawn bowstring. Then Penelope shifted, fingers sliding down the folds of her dress. With a tug, she drew the fabric higher and higher, baring the pale softness of her thighs. Colin’s eyes widened, transfixed by the revelation.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “My sister says… I have a hidden pearl.”

His interest was immediate and sharp. “A pearl you say?” His brows knit, then lifted with innocent intrigue. “Where?”

“Inside me.” Her breath quivered. “Maybe… maybe you can help me look for it?”

Something primal flashed across his features—desire cloaked in curiosity. He shifted closer, his knee brushing hers. “Sure."

Slowly, Penelope lay back with her hands slipping beneath the hem of her skirts to spread herself wide—unguarded, vulnerable, achingly open. Colin instinctively leaned forward, drawn in as though the secret was calling him closer.

“Touch me.”

His throat bobbed. “There?”

“You wanted to, last night,” she reminded him, her voice trembling with memory. "Remember?"

His hand hovered. He nodded, murmuring, “With my fingers?”

Her silence was her answer. A silence that spoke louder than words.

Colin’s hand settled, tentative at first, then emboldened by the soft, heated slickness beneath his touch. Penelope gasped, her fingers curling into the blanket as her body welcomed him. First, he glided his fingers alongside her thighs then up toward the slit between her legs.

“Like this?” his face inches away her core, as though studying the most precious treasure.

Her breath broke, her hips shifting toward him. “Yes...like that...”

"You're wet, Penelope." His voice was low, almost reverent, as his fingers entered her, deeper.

"I know," she breathed, biting down on her lip. Her cheeks were flushed, her body arching into his touch. "Must be... a reflex or something."

"A reflex?" Colin’s eyes locked on hers, as he moved in steady rhythm. Two fingers in and out. Then, she couldn't take note of how many. She was warm to his touch and was noticeably pooling, "You mean you can get this wet right away?"

"I... I don’t know..." Her words tangled into a sigh, her mind unraveling. His fingers were all over her folds. "Colin!"

"You're getting wetter, Penelope."

"Col... wait..." Her body gave a sudden, involuntary jerk. It was at that certain depth that his fingers reached something sensitive in her. "Oh!"

Colin froze, startled by the sound. "What?" His brows lifted in wonder. "Did I just—did I find it?"

With his free hand, he gently parted her folds, searching with deliberate care until his thumb brushed against the small, bud at the apex of her heat. His breath caught. "Wow, I think... I think I found it."

"What..." Her voice was slurred with pleasure, half a moan, half a question. She was too far gone to finish. "I'm so hot, Colin,"

Colin’s lips curved, part in awe, part in boyish pride. “Your pearl. I found it.” His thumb lingered, teasing the air before brushing ever so lightly across it.

“Colin!” Penelope gasped, her fists clutching tighter at the fabric of her skirt. “Please!”

His brows lifted. “Please what?”

“I—I don’t know why I said that!” she blurted as beads of sweat slipped down her neck. Every nerve in her body felt stretched taut, strung between ache and fire.

Colin studied her, torn between wonder and worry. The sounds spilling from her lips, the flush painting her skin—she looked caught between agony and ecstasy, trembling as though she couldn’t decide which would claim her. His thumb stilled, hovering, as his gaze searched her face. “What… what do you want me to do?”

She parted her lips, but whatever answer she tried to form tangled into breathless moans. He couldn’t tell if she spoke or simply gasped. Something inside him snapped—the need to understand, the need to know her in every way. Guided by instinct more than thought, driven by the most primal urge of all, he couldn't gaze at her little bud any longer. He wanted to taste it and so...he did.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Chapter Text

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Penelope’s fingers knotted in the sheets, knuckles whitening, as Colin’s mouth explored her hungrily. His tongue teased, flicked, circled the hidden pearl he’d uncovered, every stroke sending her higher, every pause leaving her aching for more.

“Colin—”

Her voice cracked, her body arching toward him, trembling on the edge of surrender.

"Colin!!!"

She clamped her lip between her teeth, but he was relentless, patient and merciless all at once, his mouth fastening, his tongue coaxing her. Her thighs quivered around his head as a rush of heat and wetness flooded her senses. The cry that tore from her throat was his name, raw and broken, and helpless. At one point, she knew she had spilled or unknowingly gushed fluid on his tongue. It oozed from within but he was there to take it all in.

"Aaahhh!!!" Her moans filled the room and his head.

Colin held her through her release, tasting every tremor, drinking in every shudder until she finally collapsed back against the pillows. She was panting and he was smug. He wiped off her cum from his mouth. He took note of her taste. More than sweet and a bit salty, she was intoxicating.

The silence afterward was thick and heavy with the rhythm of their shared breaths. Penelope nestled against him, her body soft and languid. His arm was draped around her waist, his lips brushing her hair in absent affection. Neither spoke for a minute. There was no need. But then she shifted, slightly, and froze. She realized what pressed insistently against her thigh. Her gaze darted up just in time to see Colin’s eyes widen, his expression caught in horror. "Col, your..."

“Penis! Ah—oh, good Poseidon,” he bolted upright so fast the sheets tangled around his legs. He staggered, arms flailing like a startled sailor, before tripping over her rug and half-collapsing against the bedpost. “Excuse me—I must—I must...!”

“Colin?”

He backed toward the bathroom door, fumbling for the handle.

“What are you going to do about that?” she asked sweetly.

“What do you think?!” he yelped, vanishing inside. A moment later, his voice rang out, muffled by the splash of running water. “I shall have to take a cold bath in your tub! I hope that is okay?”

"Of course!" The image was too much. Penelope buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with laughter. When she managed to peek up again, she called, breathless, “There’s a good soap if you need it!” She collapsed back onto her pillows, laughter still spilling from her, her cheeks hot but her chest lighter than it had felt in years. “Oh, what am I gonna do? He's such a silly, silly man,” she giggled. “It’s no wonder I like you.”

"Penelope, did you say something?" Colin’s voice drifted from inside.

"I… uh… I said, I have good soap. Use it if you like," she stammered, biting her lip, unsure if he had actually heard. She shook her head, hugging her pillow tightly. "How do I even tell him that I like him?"

Just then, her bedroom door creaked open. Tony waddled in, ears perked at her words. “Wait—SHE LIKES HIM?!?!” he wagged his furiously, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Penelope squeaked and buried her flushed face in her hands.

From his vantage point on the floor, Tony noticed her toes curling in delight and he wondered. What does that even mean?

"Noooo.... this couldn't be... we've only just met!" She told herself. "But... oh, maybe I do. Maybe I really really do."

Oh, she does like him! He pranced in an enthusiastic circle before plopping down with a triumphant huff. This... is... progress! Ruff! 

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

That afternoon, news of a shipwreck had sent the men scattering in a frenzy. At the center of the commotion was a man, draped in seawater and half-slumped against a sailor’s shoulder. His garments—tattered, but undeniably regal in cut—clung to his frame. His hair dripped, his eyes glimmered oddly, and when they found Portia, he smiled with uncanny calm.

“Oh my goodness!” Portia let out a gasp. “The man is injured. Quick, let our doctors see him right away!"

The man straightened suddenly, no longer looking quite so weak. His voice was smooth, deep, threaded with something too polished to be entirely human. “My lady… forgive my intrusion. I owe my life to fate for washing me in your shores. Might I… rely upon your generosity for shelter? Until my crew is able to fix my ship?”

Portia bobbed her head eagerly. “Of course, of course, we must help! A man of your stature should not be left in the cold! Come, come, we’ll have you tended to at once.”

Prudence blinked. “Mother… stature? You don’t even know his name—”

“He is clearly of noble birth, Prudence! Can you not see it in his bearing? He even owns a decent sized ship,” Portia chided, already fussing everyone to fetch blanket and dry clothes at once. "Quick, lead them back to the villa immediately."

The stranger’s gaze lingered on Portia a fraction too long, and then, almost imperceptibly, his eyes flashed—a gleam like the darkest depths of the sea.

Portia’s fluttering stopped, her expression softened into an almost dazed smile.“Anything you require, my lord, we shall hand it to you.”

Prudence stiffened as she saw the shift. That was not her mother’s usual tone. Something surely felt off.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Colin stood at the shoreline, clutching the conch shell that shimmered faintly in his palm. He lifted it to his lips and blew. The sound that emerged was not merely air, but the voice of the sea itself—deep, resonant, as if the ocean had answered his call. “Are you sure she will come?” 

“Patience, sire,” Benedict replied calmly. “You summoned her, did you not?”

After a few minutes, the water stirred. From the foam rose a woman draped in silver and pearl, her crown glinting faintly with coral and kelp. The air around her seemed to bend and shimmer.

“Your Majesty,” Benedict breathed, bowing low. "We come to see you."

"Ruff!" Tony barked. "I mean, greetings, Queen Violet."

“Mother.” Colin mirrored him.

Queen Violet’s eyes softened at the word. “My son. At last, you found it in your heart to summon me.” She reached out, brushing his cheek with fingers that smelled faintly of salt. "Look at you, look how your cheeks have sunk a bit."

“I, I also came to thank you,” Colin said. “For sending help, but mostly to apologize for bringing upon to our family, this... this predicament,”

“Oh, Colin, how can you think I am not reachable? You are my son. I may not have agreed to this bargain, but it is too late for reprimands when the tide is already turning.”

“I will admit that I was stubborn.” He nodded. “But I do think I have things under control.”

“Under control? How would you, when you don’t even know the full weight of what you’ve bargained for?”

Colin stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I must tell you the truth of the contract.” Her voice lowered. “Regardless of how dire it is.”

“I was told I have seven days to make Penelope fall for me. If I fail, I shall belong to the sea witch forever. But—it doesn’t feel impossible. Mother, she… Penelope laughs with me. And she listens, even when I don’t understand her world. She doesn’t treat my curiosity like strangeness. In only a few sunsets, she’s become—” His chest swelled painfully. “She’s become my everything.”

Violet’s gaze softened. “Yes, you were told about the days. But the sea witch never told you the other part of the spell.”

Colin’s pulse spiked. “There’s more?”

“How can you trust a creature like that with black magic?” Violet pressed a hand over his heart. “So what if she says she's fallen for you? How would you know it is true?”

“Through her words?” Colin asked, already uncertain.

“Words are but one current, the other is sealed only by true love’s kiss.”

Colin blinked. “True love? You mean… I just kiss her and—”

“She must kiss you. Not the other way around. Love cannot be claimed as it must be freely given to the other.”

The realization struck him like a wave. His breath hitched, hope warring with panic. “Then that’s good—because I do feel she likes me already.”

“Are you sure?” Violet warned softly. “I would not have you build hope on sand.”

At that moment, Tony trotted forward. “Ahem! If I may, Your Majesty!” he barked, “I can confirm… the human girl does likes the Crown Prince!”

Colin spun. “What? How do you know?”

“Just trust me,” Tony said, “When have I ever been dishonest? Never! Right, Ben?”

Ben looked dubious. “Uh… I suppose?”

“You suppose?” Violet’s eyes narrowed.

“Cross my crustacean heart in this soft pudgy body!” Tony declared.

“I am curious, is she aware of your true self?” Queen Violet asked, her voice careful, probing. “For someone to claim true love, Colin, they must know all circumstances. Only then can they choose freely.”

“Not yet,” he admitted, his gaze dropping for a moment. “But I do plan to tell her—when the right moment comes.”

Queen Violet’s lips twitched, as though she were suppressing a smile. “Very well. Then may I meet her, when this is all over?”

Colin bowed deeply, “I promise, I shall gladly introduce you to her.”

Unseen until then, Philippa had trailed after Benedict, her curiosity tugging her toward the shore. From behind a boulder, her eyes widened at the glowing figure rising from the sea. She sucked in a sharp breath. “What on earth…? Half human, half fish?” Her gaze flicked between Colin, the pug, Benedict, and the shimmering queen. Each of them glowed faintly, otherworldly light glancing off their forms. Philippa’s lips parted, her wonder mounting. “I knew there was something magical about them!”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

“Penny—are you in there?!”

“Pru is that you? What on earth—I'm in the tub.” Her tone carried annoyance, irritation—clear signs she was nowhere near Colin.

“Right,” Prudence puffed, exasperated. “What time do you think you'll be done? Because… we have a situation.” Prudence began pacing near the bathroom door, hands fluttering in distress. “Ooohh, what to do, what to do?”

“What kind of situation?”

“For one,” Prudence said, “there’s a new man in the villa's grounds. He’s from the shipwreck… and Mother says he’s a prince.”

She almost dropped her sponge. “A what?!” 

“A prince, Penny! From where? Nobody knows. I did see a crest in the ship but that can't always mean royalty." She sighed, "However, Mother’s already… hinting that he might wed you instead.” She shook her head, baffled.

Penelope sat up straighter in the tub. “Wed me? But I already have Colin as my suitor...and I plan to say yes to him soon.”

“You do?!” Prudence exclaimed. “I did hear her mumbling things on the way home. Oh, I don’t know, Pen… I have a very, very strange feeling about this.”

Penelope hastily wrapped herself in a robe and padded out where she found Prudence frowning. “Did I hear you right?” Her heart thudded uncomfortably. A shipwreck… a stranger er a prince… and now her mother behaving oddly. She ran a hand through her damp hair. "Are you certain of this, Prudence?"

“We can go downstairs and you can be the judge for yourself!" She leaned against her sister's bed. "Also… I’ve searched almost half the villa. Where are Philippa, Colin and Mr. Benedict?"

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Philippa’s sandals crunched against the sand, unable to contain herself any longer. “Ohhh! I knew it! I knew there was another world out there, and now—oh my, look at you! Half-human, half-fish—you, look glorious!”

“Philippa—” Colin tried, but she swept past him.

“Are you the Queen of the merfolk?” She asked.

“I… I am Queen Violet, Ruler of the Bridgerton Seas. Who is this human, Colin?"

Colin inhaled sharply, “She… she is the sister of Penelope.”

“Wait a minute. The Bridgerton Seas?” Philippa blinked. "You mean Featherington?"

“Well, my dear, that’s because you’re used to calling the waters that surround your islands,” Violet said with a knowing smirk. "Meanwhile, we've ruled, managed, and taken care of these waters for hundreds of years."

“I’ve only ever read about your kingdom in folk tales, sometimes hearsay from the fisherfolk… but now—seeing you in the flesh, or in your glistening scales… this is...this is unbelievable!” Philippa’s eyes widened as she took in Queen Violet. “Your Majesty… may I call you that? Look at you! The crown! That trident! Your hair—oh, your long, flowing hair! Like kelp woven with starlight… oh my heavens!”

Tony barked sharply. “She’s spiraling! She’s spiraling! Someone stop her before she turns into sea foam!”

Queen Violet, serene and unshaken, raised one pale hand. “Child,” she said gently, her voice carrying the hush of waves. “Peace.”

A soft shimmer spread through the air, brushing over Philippa like cool saltwater. “Oh,” she sighed as if she hadn’t just been seconds away from shrieking herself. “What happened?”

“Hmmm, you say you are Penelope's sister?”

"I am," Philippa replied.

“Very well, then. Maybe you can prove to be more useful to us.”

Philippa blinked again. “Do you need combs to brush your locks?”

“I beg your pardon?” Queen Violet asked, a faint crease of confusion on her brow. “Combs?”

“What in the world is she saying?” Tony muttered.

“Forget what I said, Your Majesty,” Philippa’s words tumbled out, earnest and frantic. “I—I am here to be of help, especially to Colin… who, by the way… is—”

“My son,” Violet supplied calmly.

“If he is your son… then he is also… a—”

“A merman? Yes,” Colin confirmed, nodding.

“Perhaps you can reacquaint yourself while you plan your next move? As you can see, the third sunset is here, and I’d hate for us to reach the seventh with no success. I shall bid you all goodbye for now,” Queen Violet said, her voice fading as she spun gracefully—and then, suddenly, she was gone.

“She… I mean, your mother… the Queen… just vanished!”

“She’ll be back,” Benedict said with a shrug. “Merfolk tend to turn into sea foam more than necessary.”

Philippa turned to Colin, her excitement barely contained. “If Colin is a merman,” she said, pointing to him, “that makes you…” She looked at Benedict.

“A sting ray.”

“Interesting,” Her mind whirled with fascination. She crouched slightly to peer at Tony. “And what marine animal would you be?”

"He used to be a cute little red crab,” Benedict answered lightly.

"Yet still particularly crabby in this form, according to our Majesty." Tony replied.

Philippa drew a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out slowly. “All of this… is real. I am not hallucinating. I am not spooked. I am not in a trance. This is all real.” she whispered to herself than anyone else. "This. Is. All. Real."

"Philippa—are you alright?" Colin broke her thoughts.

Her eyes shot open and an awed smile tugged at her lips. “Quite alright. Anyway, Colin, your mother said something about a plan?”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Chapter Text

Philippa had hardly stopped talking since they left the shoreline. She trailed at Colin’s side, hands clasped like a child bursting with secrets. “You’re telling me—no, wait—you’re actually him. The prince of the sea!”

“Philippa—”

“And you walk on land... because of a deal?"

"A deal he made with the sea witch." Tony added.

"Oh, those blasted sea witches!" Philippa frowned. "I've heard of witches on land and we basically avoid them but to hear that there are same nasty creatures under the sea? How can you come to them for help, Colin?"

"Well, I had no other choice then." He sighed. "I didn't really think of the consequences when I struck that deal."

"All because you fell for a human? And that human is my sister? Oh my! I never thought it would be possible!"

Benedict groaned, running a hand down his face. “Well, it already is happening, isn’t it?”

Philippa froze. “Of course! Of course it is! Oh, wait until Penny hears this—”

“Wait!” Colin turned sharply, his voice firmer than she had ever heard. “She doesn’t know yet. And I plan to tell her myself, in my own time... well, soon.”

“Right. Right.”

Colin’s shoulders eased. “You have to promise me this stays, Philippa. You saw for yourself how my mother can be... persuasive. And demanding.”

Philippa bobbed her head quickly. “Absolutely! Absolutely! I wouldn’t want to disappoint the Queen of the Seas!”

Benedict smirked. “Careful. You might start sounding like you want to join her court.”

They followed the path back toward the villa and as they drew near, a warm, flickering glow caught their eyes.

“Hmmm, it’s late. Why is the library light still up? Is my sister up?”

Philippa darted ahead before anyone could stop her. She pressed herself against the window and peered inside, her breath fogging the glass.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Penelope stood at the far table, robe pulled close, and hair damp from her bath. Prudence hovered near her.

“Penelope, there you are,” Lady Portia said, her voice strangely bright. She looked... different, like a woman possessed. “You must meet him.”

“Meet who?” Prudence asked warily. “Mama, surely it can wait until morning, Pen and I are—”

“It cannot!” Portia declared, soon tugging Prudence closer as though she needed a witness. “Prince Alfred is just outside this door, He is from the wreck. He is here. For you.”

"Prince who? Alfred?" Penelope’s brows knit, irritation sparking in her chest. “For me? Mother, he is injured, plainly in need of rest. Why parade him about at such an hour? This is madness.”

Portia only beamed, as if deaf to all sense. “Penelope, a prince cannot wait. A future cannot wait.”

The door opened and a figure stepped forward. His posture was regal though stiff, and part of his face was obscured—whether by the gauze wrapped across his brow or the low angle of the light, Penelope couldn’t tell. All she saw were his eyes, pale and gleaming like panes of glass reflecting moonlight.

He moved toward her with a careful grace and when he reached her, he bowed low. “Lady Penelope, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Though I will admit that it could have been on better circumstances."

The instant his lips brushed her skin, the sharp edge of her irritation dulled. The tension coiled inside her chest softened, unraveling into something startlingly calm. Her bad mood—the annoyance she had clung to all evening, worsened by Colin’s absence—seemed to melt away. Her eyes widened, startled by herself. It was the same kind of quieting she only ever felt around Colin.

Portia clasped her hands in triumph, sighing like a maiden at a ball. “There now! Do you see? It was fate that he washed up on our shores. Fate that he should meet you.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Colin’s stomach dropped. “That man, he has the same effect on Penelope?”

Benedict frowned beside him. “What do you mean, sire?”

Colin didn’t answer at once, only leaned forward. That was when it happened—Alfred lifted his head ever so slightly, the shadows shifting, and his eyes glimmered unnaturally. Not glass. Not human. A shimmer of dark teal rippled across them, the same inky glow he had seen once before.

Recognition slammed into him like a wave. His chest seized. “Oh no, it’s the sea witch!”

"She shape-shifts too?" Philippa spoke loud. "Well, of course! She's a witch!"

“Your Majesty! Do you think she came because you’re so near to breaking her spell?” Tony asked from the bottom of the glass window.

“Possibly.” Colin’s throat was dry.

Before he could form another thought, Philippa blurted, “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

“What—no, Philippa, wait—!” Colin tried to catch her arm, but she was already in motion.

She darted past them and pushed open the heavy library doors with a dramatic thud. All heads turned. Penelope startled, her hand slipping from Alfred’s. Prudence gasped. Portia’s smile faltered. And Alfred lifted his head slowly.

“Philippa?” Lady Portia blinked, “What on earth are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? Well, I could ask the same of you—sitting up this late in the night entertaining strange men with… bandaged faces!” She fluttered her hands toward Alfred, “Honestly, this is indecent.”

“Indecent?” Lady Portia squeaked.

“Yes, indecent!” Philippa pressed. “And completely improper for a young lady’s reputation. She is not properly dressed to meet anyone, let alone a stranger!” Of course, her sister was in a robe!

“Philippa—what on earth are you talking about?”

“Mother!” Philippa turned to Lady Portia. “I cannot believe you. Allowing Penny to meet in the dead of night with a stranger who just washed up on our shores! Injured, no less. Shouldn’t he be resting in his chamber? Not accosting my sister in a library as if this were some seaside romance tale?”

“Accosting?” Alfred’s voice was smooth but tight. "I...I..."

“Yes, accosting!” Philippa said. She slipped behind Penelope, hands resting firmly on her sister’s shoulders. “You must be exhausted, sir? Truly, it would be best if you returned to your room to sleep.”

Portia bristled, eyes narrowing. “Philippa—”

“No, no, Mother, I insist!” Philippa clapped her hands together. “Also, Penny is already promised to another... and he is respecting the space and courtesy we have offered him. You wouldn’t want your daughter's reputation in tatters before breakfast, now would you? Imagine the whispers! Housing two men in a villa. Introducing a virgin who isn't properly clothed! Imagine the scandal, Mama! How dreadful, truly dreadful.”

For the briefest flicker of a moment, Portia's eyes glazed again, as if struggling against some invisible tether. “Perhaps… you are right.”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed—only that dark flicker beneath his lashes. “As you wish.”

Philippa straightened with a bright, false smile. “Well then! Sleep well, everyone. And don’t worry about Penny. She’ll be just fine without—” she glanced quickly at his shadowed face, her voice dropping, “—company.”

With that, she all but herded them all out, trailing after to make certain the doors closed firmly behind them. Only then did she lean back against the paneling, whispering breathlessly, “Oh, Poseidon below, that was so close.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

A gentle knock came at the library doors, breaking the hush that had settled after Philippa’s whirlwind exit. Penelope turned toward the sound, relief sparking in her chest. 

“Is it… alright if I come in?” Colin asked.

“Of course—you’re always welcome here, Colin.”

The door opened, and there he was—slightly flushed from the evening air, curls mussed, eyes flicking over her as though to confirm she was safe. "Hello, Penelope."

“Were you with Philippa?” she asked, curious.

“Saw her by the shore… and we walked back together.”

Benedict, who had lingered near the shelves, cleared his throat. “Sire,” he said, “perhaps it’s time you hand over your present to Miss Penelope?”

“My… present?” He looked genuinely lost.

“You have something for me?” Penelope’s brows rose in surprise.

Benedict stepped forward, extending his open palm. Resting there was a small lavender coloured seashell, smooth, with a delicate natural engraving on its surface—a P-E-N.

"Pen." She gasped, clasping her hands to her chest. “Wait—this is… I’ve never seen something like this, ever!” Her fingers trembled slightly as she accepted it.

Colin stared at the shell as though it had appeared from nowhere. “I…” he began, but her sudden joy silenced him.

“Oh, it’s perfect,” she breathed, then threw her arms around him. The hug was warm, unguarded, and filled with a gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Truly.”

His hands hovering a moment before it settled gently against her back.

When she pulled away, still smiling, he found himself blurting, “Pen, would you… maybe… want to spend the day together tomorrow?”

Her eyes lit even brighter. “Of course! I’d love to.”

The word—love—caught him off guard. He froze, straightening instinctively, as though bracing himself. Love. She had said it so easily, so naturally, even if it wasn’t meant the way he longed for.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow then,”

On an impulse, his heart hammering, he leaned in and brushed a quick kiss against her cheek. The moment stretched, fragile, as he searched her face but she only looked back at him the same way—warm, trusting, unchanged.

"Do you have anything to say to me?"

"Hmmm... thanks for the little something, although I doubt if it was really little." She smiled. "Oh... and see you tomorrow? I can't wait!"

Right. Kissing her did not break it. And though the thought cut sharp, Colin forced a small smile, as if nothing had faltered at all.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The next morning, Penelope adjusted her straw hat as Colin led her down the winding path away from the villa. He hadn’t said much, only tossed her one of his easy smiles and grins. “Pen, just trust me.”

After a short climb down a rocky incline, Penelope gasped. Before her stretched a hidden cove, tucked away by jagged cliffs. The water was impossibly clear, calm as glass, and the sand sparkled pale like scattered diamonds.

“Colin…” her eyes wide with wonder. “I’ve lived on this island my whole life and never knew this place existed. Is this… a magical cove?”

“Maybe.”

They waded through the shallows, toes sinking into soft buttery sand. Colin’s laughter rang as he began pointing out silhouettes in the waves. “That one’s a dolphin. Mischievous little things. Did you know they’ve saved humans aplenty from drowning before?”

“I’ve read that,” Penelope said, “They’re very clever… playful.”

“What about sharks?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Terrifying to most, but… not me. I stay away from them though,” She shrugged. “They’re predators, yes, but they keep the balance. If there are too many fish, the sea suffers.”

Colin stared at her as if she had just spoken poetry. His grin softened into something warmer, steadier. “You respect the balance,” he said quietly. “Most people would rather curse the shark.”

“Why curse what was created with purpose?” she asked simply, brushing her hand against the water’s surface.

There was amusement flickering in his eyes—tinged with something deeper. She wasn’t afraid. Not of the sea, not of its mysteries. Maybe she won't be afraid of him, of his real form, too.

“And octopuses?” he pressed.

Her lips curved knowingly. “Genius creatures. They can escape almost anything. They adapt. And they’re not monsters, no matter what the fisherfolk and sailors say.”

Colin chuckled. “You’ve truly thought of all this.”

“Well, books only tell you so much. The rest you have to… feel.”

That tugged something inside him. So he asked, carefully, “Have you ever heard about merfolk?”

"Merfolk?"

"You know, those that are half human who have fins?"

Her eyes flicked up to him, wary but curious. “I've only read one book. And even then, it wasn’t much. There were mostly illustrations of them...but less narrations. They’re hardly written about.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Possibly because they’re elusive.”

“Elusive?” Colin echoed, pretending to think.

“I interpret it as...they don’t want to be seen.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, leaning against the side of her little rowboat, which they’d tugged into the water. “Or maybe… they just know when to get out of humans’ way?”

“You always have an answer, don’t you?” She replied.

“Not always,” he admitted, his voice lowering as he reached for one of the oars. “Not for the things that matter most.”

They pushed off, the boat gliding gently across the cove. The silence between them was comfortable and punctuated only by the lapping water and the occasional cry of seabirds.

At last, Colin set the oars aside and turned toward her. “Pen, you must know,” he began, “that I like you...I like you very much. I thought it was… just an infatuation at first. When I saw you for the very first time, I couldn’t breathe. But this feeling—” he gestured helplessly between them, then at the world around them—“I don’t think it can be called that anymore.”

She bit her lip, her cheeks warming up. “I like you too, Colin. You’ve shown me there’s so much more to think about… to feel, to experience. After meeting you, there's so much more to dream about than I ever thought possible..." She smiled at him. "More importantly, that I don't always have to be alone in all this.”

"You'll never be alone when I'm around."

Slowly, carefully, he leaned in. The world seemed to hush—the breeze, the distant sound sloshing, even time itself pausing as though waiting for the inevitable.

Her eyes fluttered shut and his face drew closer. The distance between them soon reduced no more than a whisper.

Before their lips could meet, a violent surge struck the side of the boat.

"What?!"

“Ahhhhhh!”

Another strike followed—harder this time—sending them scrambling to clutch the sides. From beneath, shadows twisted and writhed, slick shapes circling with malicious intent in the water. The boat lurched, more water came and Colin caught Penelope in time.

"Pen, hang on!"

Through the froth and bubbles, Colin’s eyes snapped open—and there, darting just at the edges of vision, were the unmistakable forms of the sea witch’s creatures, their eyes glowing.

Colin's lungs burned, but his heart burned hotter. The sea witch, regardless of how desperate she was becoming, wasn’t going to take Penelope from him. Not now. Not ever.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Chapter Text

Penelope and Colin dragged themselves to the shore, coughing and laughing, water dripping from their hair, sand clinging stubbornly to their skin. Her dress stuck to her knees, strands of hair plastered to her cheeks—but she didn’t care.

"Are you alright, Penelope?" he asked

"Yes, yes," she replied, settling onto the warm sand with a sigh. "Aw, too bad the boat turned over."

"Why?"

"The view was getting… interesting," she said, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

Colin nodded quietly, watching her. "Do you... do you want to go back to the villa?"

She stayed silent for a moment. "Hmmm… maybe later?"

"Sure."

“Colin… can I be honest with you?”

"Of course."

“I’m… actually wary about going home. My mother—you see, she’s not herself. I can feel that she's planned something...”

“Whatever it is, things always work out."

"You are the most positive man ever, aren't you?"

He gave a snicker. "Do you remember the shell I gave you?"

Penelope felt the shell in her skirt's pocket. "I still have it."

"Good. Just keep it close. Whenever you hold it, it will feel as though I’m there with you.”

Her smile faded. “What's with that tone? Are you having second thoughts of being my suitor just because that Prince Alfred suddenly arrived?”

“What? Of course not. I'm not having second thoughts. And I must tell you, I am not bothered about that Prince."

"Really? Then why are you speaking as if you're leaving?"

“Well, it’s just… that.... there are things beyond my control. Things I haven’t told you yet. Things that could… make it quite dangerous for you if I’m by your side all the time.”

“Dangerous? Colin, what do you mean?”

He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to ground himself. “I can’t explain it all yet…but maybe in a day or two I can tell you."

A pause lingered between them, filled with the sound of waves lapping the shore and their own shallow breaths. Penelope’s fear softened into something tender, a fragile trust. "Alright then, I'll wait patiently until you're ready to tell me."

"Thank you." 

She glanced at him—then caught it. A shimmer darting across his legs, like sunlight caught on scales. “Wait…” Her breath hitched. She reached for his calf, fingertips brushing warm skin. For the briefest instant, she could have sworn she saw glowing scales but when she blinked, it was only flesh.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She forced a smile. “The light—must be playing tricks on my eyes.”

Colin gasped at the horizon. “Oh—look at that!”

A sudden plume of water shot skyward, catching fire in the fading light.

“What in the world—?” Penelope's eyes widened. "A whale?"

The massive creature broke the surface with a thunderous sneeze, sending a glittering spray into the air. Both of them toppled onto their hands with laughter bubbling up.

“Oh my goodness!” Penelope gasped between giggles. “I’ve never seen one so close to shore before! That was… spectacular!”

Colin brushed sand from his palms. “Seems someone wanted to join our little moment.”

She shook her head, still laughing. “Oh, would you look at that sunset? It’s gorgeous!”

At her words, Colin’s smile faltered for just a beat. “Yeah,” his gaze fixed on the streak of gold dissolving into the waves. “The fourth one.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

They returned to the villa that evening hoping to steal another hour together. But at the gate, Lady Portia was waiting, “Where have you been, the two of you?”

“Mother, we spent the day at a cove—” Penelope began, only to be silenced by a brisk wave of Portia’s hand.

“Inside. At once. We’ll discuss this later.” Her tone allowed no argument.

“Lady Portia, I apologize for returning so late,” Colin said politely. "Time must have..."

“The important thing is that you are both home,” she replied, dismissing him with a tight smile.

Penelope cast a pleading glance over her shoulder while Colin gave her the faintest nod of reassurance—before servants guided him toward his quarters.

Except, he never arrived. From the shadows of the corridor two figures slipped forward, silent as predators. One moment Colin was walking; the next he was seized. The torchlight glinted off their eyes—unnatural, not really human. “What is this?” Colin barked, struggling. “Unhand me! Unhand me this second!”

Thankfully, Finn lingered somewhere in the first floor and heard the commotion. "Colin?" He lunged, but his father's hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Stay low, son,” Jesse hissed. “Don’t let them see you or else, we'll be in the same predicament.”

From a distance, both father and son followed the men as they hauled Colin across the grounds to an old hut at the edge of the island. They shoved him inside and dropped a heavy bar across the door. The sound of the bolt falling was final.

“Help! Someone—help!” Colin’s voice tore.

Finn waited until the footsteps receded, then crept to the hut’s window. “Colin? It’s me, Finn.”

“Finn?” Colin’s muffled voice came back, steady but strained. He pressed a palm to the sill, eyes searching until he found them. “You, you followed me?”

"Yes, father and I happened to be in the right place at the right time." The boy admitted.

“Sire, the lock is… strange,” Jesse muttered, running a hand over the bar. “Not like anything I’ve seen before.”

Colin drew a ragged breath. “Listen carefully. Those men—they’re not ordinary humans. They...they serve the sea witch.”

“The sea witch? Wait, so… she’s real!?” Finn inquired.

“What do we do, Your Highness?” Jesse asked.

“Your Highness?” Finn whispered, his jaw dropping. “Father, are you saying—”

Colin’s gaze flicked to him, startled. It was the first time anyone on land had spoken to him with both awe and respect. “Jesse, you… knew?”

“That you're the Sea Prince? I’ve watched you from the surface for years. Sometimes, when I dive in the deep, I would catch a glimpse of you and your tail.”

"You have a tail?" Finn’s hands trembled. “Wait a minute. You’re… one of them merfolk!”

“But titles don’t matter right now." Colin explained. "What matters is that everyone at the villa is in danger. The sea witch has come ashore and she’s wearing the face of Prince Alfred to get close to Penelope. This is all my fault, I didn't mean to involve so many humans in my own selfish desires.”

“Prince Alfred,” Finn spat. “Oh, I knew he was too good to be true. Barging out of nowhere in a ship like that!”

“Then… the keys, your Highness? They’d be with the sea witch or Prince Alfred, or those strange men?"

“We’ll get you out, I swear it.” Finn said, confident as a young boy could be.

“Please—hurry. My time on land has been ticking."

"What do you mean? You're leaving us?" Finn’s voice was barely a whisper. “How...how much do you have left?”

Colin sighed, “I'm afraid, only three remain.”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Portia swept Penelope up the staircase. “We’ll have words in your room.”

“Mother, please—what is wrong with you? Are you unwell?” Penelope pleaded, but her mother only pressed a hard hand to her back.

“How dare you run off all day with a man,” Portia hissed.

“Run off? A man?” Penelope blinked in disbelief. “You very well know that Colin is no stranger—he is my suitor. Don’t you remember?” They reached Penelope's chamber and the door slammed shut behind them. Penelope’s breath caught. The air itself seemed charged, pressing close around her. “What is happening?”

“What's happening is that I am tasked to keep you here—until the wedding.” Portia’s voice was flat, her eyes gleaming a sickly green.

“Until the wedding? Mother? Your eyes—what’s wrong with your eyes?”

As though guided by another’s will, Portia’s hand slid into Penelope’s dress pocket and closed around something small and smooth. She drew it out—the lavender shell. “I think you won’t need this little thing anymore,” Her mother strode to the window. With one unhesitating motion, she flung the shell into the night.

“Nooooo!” Penelope pressed to the window, eyes straining for the faint sparkle as it vanished into the darkness. Previously, Colin had told her to keep it close. And now—it was gone. Lost. As distant from her as he was. Just like that, a terrible weakness seeped through her veins. The world tilted. A chill swept her body, rattling her bones as if she’d plunged into icy water. Her knees buckled and she clutched the sill for support. “Mother…” 

Portia caught her by the arms, holding her upright with unnatural strength. “You will no longer marry Colin,” she said, her voice hollow. “For he is gone, Penelope.”

Penelope’s head lolled, her body limp. “No… no, that cannot be…”

“You are to wed Prince Alfred,” Portia said, her enchanted eyes glinting, “Be grateful that a man of his station is even interested in you.”

She sagged against her mother’s grip, her body giving way, until she could no longer fight the sickness sweeping over her.

Outside Penelope’s chamber, Prudence and Philippa lingered. 

“What do you suppose is happening?” Philippa whispered.

“I don’t know, but Mother sounds furious...” Prudence shook her head, "Which is so strange because not so long ago, she liked Colin for Penelope."

Moments later Benedict rounded the corner, followed by Tony. “What’s this commotion?” he asked. “We heard raised voices.”

Philippa straightened quickly. "Sir Benedict, we don’t know… just that Mother’s in there with Penelope.”

“Penelope is back? Oh, but where is Sir Colin?” Benedict asked, scanning their faces.

Prudence frowned. “Right. He was supposed to be with Penelope. He came back with her, didn’t he?”

Alas, the door creaked open and Lady Portia emerged with her eyes strangely bright, her expression unnervingly calm.

“Mother!” Prudence blurted. “Is Penny inside?”

“Ladies, ladies, I'm afraid that your sister is already resting. She is exhausted from a long day and I hope you do not barge in and disturb her.”

Philippa tilted her head. “But where is Colin? We know they spent the day together but we haven’t seen him return.”

“I...I have not seen him either,” Lady Portia said smoothly, her gaze sliding past them. Then her attention fixed on Benedict. “I suggest you look for your master as I have some matters to discuss with him.”

Benedict’s brows knit. “What kind of matters, Lady Portia?”

“Important ones,” Her tone clipped. “At the top of my head—that his stay here at our villa will be cut short.”

Prudence and Philippa gasped together. “What do you mean?”

"Because your sister doesn't need suitors anymore. She has already chosen her groom." Lady Portia’s lips curved into a smile. It was too smooth, too deliberate, sending a shiver through the air. “In three days, there will be a wedding. Penelope is to wed Prince Alfred.” The words fell like a stone into silence. Portia glided down the corridor without another glance, leaving behind a heavy, stifling air that none of them could shake.

“She can’t mean it… can she?”

“Something’s very wrong here, Madame Prudence.” Benedict’s voice was low, disbelieving. “Colin is missing. And if your mother meant what she said… then Penelope may be in more danger than any of us realize.”

“We have to find Colin. Immediately.” Philippa said.

“Let’s split up,” Benedict decided. “I’ll search for him, while you two guard your sister’s chamber.”

“Right,” Prudence agreed quickly.

“What day is it again?” Benedict asked, frowning as if counting in his head. “I mean, how many sunsets does he still have?”

“How many sunsets?” Prudence blinked, baffled. “What are you talking about?”

Philippa realized her sister knew nothing. “Pru, let’s go inside Pen’s room first. There are… some things I need to tell you.”

“Three sunsets remain,” Tony said—or rather barked.

Prudence stared down at the little pug. “Wait—did that dog just speak to us? Or, am I bewitched?”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

That night, Colin tossed restlessly, the rhythmic crash of waves carrying him into uneasy dreams. Shadows thickened and lengthened around him until they solidified, shimmering into the unmistakable form of the Sea Witch. “The Crown Prince—so clever, so bold, and yet… so very trapped.”

Colin sat up, “Trapped? Hardly. A cage does not make me a prisoner."

“You think your wit can free you? That clever words can undo the barriers I’ve built?"

“Tell me, then, what is the use of keeping me imprisoned? Are you afraid that I might succeed? Afraid that I might remind Penelope… what she truly wants?” Colin pressed on. “Now, I know that love is not about control. You may claim her, force her into your mold—but the moment she is free… your triumph crumbles like sand through fingers.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And what makes you so certain she will choose you?"

“I am not certain—but I trust in her free will. That is what you cannot command. The decision must come from her, or nothing you do matters.”

“Bold words. But words are fragile. I can bend her, twist her mind like clay. While you… you are still riding the fleeting tide. Soon, the seventh sunset will come, you will have failed and you shall belong to me, forever.”

“Therefore, I shall risk the tide,” Colin meet her gaze. “Here is my proposal... release me on the seventh day. I will come in peace. I will attend the union—but the choice must remain hers."

“Perhaps… perhaps you can play this game longer than I expected.” Her smile curved, slow and sharp. “You must truly care for this human, to strike yet another deal with me.” The smile widened into something almost feral. “Very well, Crown Prince. On the seventh day, the lock on this gate shall release you. Attend the ceremony—and the choice… will be hers alone.”

“Then, we have an agreement.”

When he awoke, Colin could still feel the chill of her presence pressing against him. He could hardly believe his new plan had worked—that he had dared strike a bargain with the sea witch once more. His breath was uneven, but he knew he’d had no choice. Yet, he could not tell which was worse: waiting for the days to pass, or tormenting himself over the choice Penelope would soon have to make.

He drew in a steadying breath, his fingers brushing against his wrist. There it was—the bracelet Penelope had given him days ago. She had offered it freely, without expectation not so long ago. Memories soon flooded his mind, one after another.

The way she had tended to his clumsy wound...

The afternoons she shared her books and knowledge, eager to give a glimpse of her world...

Their shared intimacies of pleasure, taste and touch...

Their moments by the cove and the shore...

And of course, her words...her own precious, unguarded words, “I like you too, Colin.”

Of course, Colin had no choice but to cling to the truths he knew.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Chapter Text

Jesse and Finn had scoured the Featherington villa, searching for a magical key, but instead they met Sir Benedict and Tony and they had no choice but to bring them where Colin was. Benedict went pale at the sight. “Your Highness, what have they done to you?”

Tony didn’t waste a second. He pressed himself against the railing and with a grunt and a scrape, forced his shoulder and slipped inside. “Should we summon Queen Violet? Two sunsets have gone. You know your mother is powerful enough to—”

“No.” Colin’s reply was firm. “I already made another deal with the Sea Witch. Interfering will only make it worse.”

“You, you can’t mean to face her alone.”

“This is my burden to bear, Ben. I just need it to be tomorrow so that I can finally end all of this."

"All of this." Tony echoed. "But, tomorrow will also mean, that it's your final chance."

"Penelope's hurting, I can feel it.” Colin replied. "I'd rather have her well and good more than anything in this world. Even if she doesn't end up choosing me, I'd be okay knowing she's happy with her decision."

Meanwhile, in the villa, Penelope continued to lay on her bed. She had not stirred since the day she collapsed. Lady Portia continued to busy herself with preparations for her youngest daughter’s wedding, fussing with flowers and decorations. With Prince Alfred beside her all the time, there was no chance for her to snap out of the spell.

"Oh, what are we to do, Pru? Our sister's not in a state that's able to walk, let alone get married to anybody! If only mother could snap out of the trance she's in." Her eyes landed on the lavender shell that lay on her sister's bedside table. She had the urge to pick it up and enclose it in Penelope's palm.

"The shell is enchanted, isn't it, Pip?"

"It has her name on it." Philippa explained. "If that's not a sign that it's beyond human, I don't know what is."

"I'm glad you found it the other day."

"Well, I was lucky to have been wandering out in the gardens." Philippa sighed. "I didn't expect it to sparkle at me from a distance, that I won't deny."

"You say Colin's mother is the Sea Queen? What if we summon her for help? Given the state of our sister, I'm not sure the wedding will be such a glorious affair."

"I have met Queen Violet, but I do think only her subjects can call for her," Philippa replied, "I do hope Mister Benedict and Tony arrive the soonest. Didn't they say they were coming back to help?"

“Until they do, we must play along.” Prudence leaned close to Penelope. “Or maybe, just maybe... we can sneak her out, what do you think?”

Philippa stared at her sister. "We can do that... but we should hope she even wakes from this slumber."

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The next day dawned bright, a day everyone on the island seemed to anticipate. Inside his hut, Colin heard the click of the lock and the door creaked open.

Tony peered curiously at the latch. “Well, would you look at that? Who knew the Sea Witch would actually keep her end of the bargain?”

Colin stepped forward immediately. “Where are Jesse and Finn?”

“They’ve returned to the villa,” Ben answered. “Lady Portia has summoned every member of her staff to prepare for the wedding.”

“Then, I must go.” Colin pushed past them.

“Wait, sire—” Ben caught his arm. “You’re not just going to barge into the wedding, are you? That would be walking straight into the Sea Witch’s net. We need to be cautious. Methodical. She’ll have tricks waiting or a trap.”

Tony’s ears twitched. “Perhaps it’s time to summon your mother. The last sunset is nearly here. If we’re to have any chance, we’ll need her.”

Colin stilled, torn, but finally gave a firm nod. “Then hear my order: run to the shore as fast as you can, and seek my mother's aid in my name.”

“It will be my honor, Your Highness.” And for the very first time, Tony was grateful he was in a form of a mutt with four legs, as he was quicker than any crustacean could be on land.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

That same morning, Philippa and Prudence were startled awake by movement in the room. Penelope was already up—unsteady, pale, but thankfully on her feet. “What… what happened to me? I feel like I’ve been asleep for ages.”

“You have,” Philippa said softly. “For nearly three days now, Penny...”

“What? Three days?” Penelope echoed, “No wonder my locks are in desperate need of tending.”

“Penny, do you remember anything at all?” Prudence pressed, exchanging a nervous glance with Philippa.

“What do you mean? Why are you both looking at me like that?”

Before anyone could answer, the door swung open and Lady Portia swept inside, radiant in her finest dress despite the early hour. “Ah! He was right—you are finally awake, my dear Penelope. I'm glad you're finally up and about.”

“Mother,” Penelope’s brow furrowed. “Why are you dressed so early?”

“Oh, you silly girl.” Lady Portia tutted, shooing away the question. “Philippa, Prudence, girls—please help your sister get ready.”

“Get ready?” Penelope asked. “For what?”

“For what?!” Lady Portia repeated with a laugh. “Why, for your wedding, of course. You’re to be married today, before noon I may add.”

“What?” The three Featherington sisters cried at once.

Penelope dared to ask. “To whom?”

Lady Portia’s smile faltered. “What sort of question is that?”

“I mean it,” Penelope said, “Whom am I supposed to marry?”

“He shall be the one you choose, naturally!” Lady Portia declared, clapping her hands with finality. “Now hurry along—we mustn’t keep your groom waiting.”

Philippa and Prudence traded uneasy glances. Their mother’s eyes still glimmered with something unnatural, and yet… Penelope began gathering herself, almost eager at the thought of the ceremony.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

Colin and Benedict emerged from the path just as Jesse and Finn hurried toward them. Relief flickered in Jesse’s eyes at the sight of the prince free, though his expression quickly turned grim. “Your Highness! You’re finally out! Thank heavens but there’s no time to waste. The wedding—it’s been moved earlier. It’s to happen before noon, not late afternoon as planned.”

Colin’s jaw tightened. “Of course. The Sea Witch was never going to keep her word. This is just another twist in her schemes.”

Jesse shifted nervously. “What are we to do, sire? There are armed guards from Prince Alfred's fleet everywhere."

He drew a steady breath, “Then we wait. I do think it's going to boil down to that specific moment.”

Back in Penelope's room, she couldn’t explain why her heart beat faster at the thought of her sudden wedding, or why her hands trembled with eagerness instead of dread. She found herself urging her sisters to hurry, to smoothen her hair until it shone and dab powder over her cheeks, to press a tint of balm onto her lips as though she truly longed to look the part of a bride.

“Penny, are you certain about this?” Philippa asked gently, watching her. “Not long ago, you swore you wanted more time—days by yourself.”

“Marriage isn’t the answer to everything,” Prudence said, “Wed or not, you can still live as you please. You can take your boat, go fishing, read, explore—be your own person, your own woman.”

Penelope let out a weary sigh, her gaze dropping to her hands folded in her lap. “But didn’t you hear what Mother said? I can marry the man I choose. Oh, that makes such a difference, now.”

Her sisters exchanged a loaded glance, a silent question passing between them: should they tell her that those words might not mean what she thought?

Prudence asked her carefully, “And who is it, then, Penelope? The one you expect at the end of the aisle?”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

The atmosphere at the deck was thick with incense and expectation. Guests craned their necks and whispers fluttered through the seats as the bride entered. Penelope’s pulse stumbled when her eyes landed on the man waiting at the end of the aisle. His posture was regal, his smile sharp—but totally wrong.

“Alfred?” she whispered, her feet locking to the floor. Her heart plummeted. “It’s… not Colin?”

Lady Portia, draped in emerald silk, reacted, “Nonsense, child. Colin has left the island.”

“What?” Penelope’s voice cracked. “He left?”

"Of course, he left!" Alfred’s lips curled in tandem with Lady Portia’s words, as if she were nothing but a vessel. “Do you truly believe he would stay for you? He departed three days past, my sweet. He made his choice. Now, you must make yours.”

The walls seemed to close in, her vision narrowing to Alfred’s smirk.

"No, he couldn't have left." She shook her head.

Lady Portia sighed, "Penelope, listen to me. Colin..."

"Did—not—leave." Colin out of nowhere stormed in, breathless. "I did not—leave, Penelope." Every nerve in his body screamed with desperation. He spoke, loud and clear. “Pen, you cannot marry him.” 

"Colin!" She bit her lip and nodded. "Of course, I won't. Ever."

As if some form of retribution, the floral arrangements that lined the aisle spun out of control. Alfred’s face started ti convulse, his polished mask shattering. His skin rippled, twisted, warped—half-man, half-monster. Tentacles came through flesh, teeth sharpened into jagged rows.

Everyone screamed, including Penelope.

Colin dashed forward, intercepting the blow, his body colliding with Alfred’s. The two men tumbled across the marble floor. Alfred's strength was brute—he flung Colin aside like driftwood, slamming into the foot of the altar.

“Nooooooo! Please, don't hurt him!” Penelope surged forward, but Prudence and Philippa caught her arms.

He struggled to his feet, chest heaving. Alfred lunged again and Colin braced himself, but as they grappled, with one flick of now the sea witch's loose tentacle, a tore ripped through Colin's pants. Suddenly, scales gleamed through the tear, iridescent in the morning light. A hush swept over the crowd. The Crown Prince froze as the enchantment broke fully. His legs shimmered, blurred—then transformed into a long, powerful emerald tail, sleek and magnificent. It lashed once, scattering misty droplets like diamonds through the air.

Lady Portia’s voice sliced through the uproar, shrill and furious. “What is this?! He—he was not human? He is a merman?”

Penelope's breath caught in her throat. “Colin, what is happening?”

Colin's gaze never wavered from her. He shut out the gasps, the horrified whispers, even the monster circling nearer with a voice desperate for her to hear him. “Penelope… this, this is who I am. A prince of the sea. A creature who has tried to exist between two worlds but fits in neither. When I found you, I knew—I finally knew—where I belonged. Not in the water, not on land… but with you.” His throat tightened; he swallowed hard, fighting the tremor in his voice. “I, I never meant to deceive you. I only feared losing you.”

The Sea Witch's sneer cut through the silence, cruel and sharp. “This? This is the human you want, Penelope? You don’t even know what he truly is. Pathetic.”

“Colin,” she breathed, her gaze fixed on him, hearing the unspoken plea in his eyes.

“Penelope.” His lips curved into the faintest smile, a quiet surrender, as if to say: whatever you choose, I shall accept.

The deck seemed to still. Every breath, every whisper hung suspended.

All eyes were fixed on them—the bride and the merman—their fate balanced on the edge of her reply.

Chapter Text

“I already made my decision,” Penelope declared, fire blazing in her eyes. She turned to Colin, her voice ringing with unshakable conviction. “I choose Colin. Scales, fins, and all.” Her veil streamed behind her as she ran to him.

Colin’s breath caught. “Me? You choose me?” His eyes shone with raw disbelief—until Penelope’s arms found him and she kissed him on the lips, firm and fearless, before the entire deck.

When she drew back, her lips curved into a grin, daring the world itself. “Of course. I love you, with all of me!”

The Sea Witch’s shriek split the sky, ragged and furious. “Nooooooo! Not that blasted true love!”

Colin’s chest heaved, his voice breaking, “Say it again, Pen.”

“I love you, Colin.”

The words struck like lightning. The curse cracked and shattered, a sound like breaking glass. Light surged from their kiss, pouring through Colin and Penelope.

The Sea Witch convulsed. Her skin blistered into shards of shadow until her voice tore into a thousand broken screams. “This was not how it was meant to end! Noooooo!!” she howled, before collapsing into the waves. The bubbles writhed, hissing violently, until the tide swallowed her whole. Her guards faltered too, screeching as their bodies burned away into nothing. Soon, the dark aura that had smothered the Featherington villa peeled back. In the place where terror had reigned, only the hush remained of two beings that found love.

At the altar’s edge, Queen Violet radiantly appeared. “Finally, a love that anchored you, my son. That is the greatest magic of all.”

"Mother." Colin, still holding Penelope.

"Mother?" Her cheeks warmed up.

Colin proudly said, "I'd like to introduce to you Penelope Featherington, the love of my life."

"Hello, Penelope Featherington." Queen Violet’s gaze softened. "I am Queen Violet, Colin's mother."

Penelope realized she was in the presence of royalty so she took a bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Queen Violet."

Everyone present also did the same, even a very disoriented Lady Portia, who was held by her daughters after the spell casted on her broke. 

Queen Violet lifted her hand. “Now another decision is yours to make, Colin,” she said, her voice carrying both authority and tenderness. “You may remain as you are—of the sea—or you may take legs, to walk the land at her side.”

“Penelope and I can be together?” Colin blurted.

“No force, no spell, only your will shall shape your form for you, my dear son, are no longer bound. Know this, my son,” she continued softly, “I have always held the power to grant you freedom to walk on land whenever you wished. You never needed a witch’s bargain—only to heed my voice.”

“Whatever you choose, Colin, I'm here for you.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Colin sat up straight, holding his tail firm. “But, I don’t want to choose between these two worlds any longer.”

“You don’t?” Queen Violet asked, one brow lifting in surprise.

“I’ve come to see how both our worlds can co-exist. There’s no sense in wanting to be in one more,” he said, “Besides, I know that, as Crown Prince, I shall one day take your place. Therefore, I cannot leave our people for my own interests.”

"Spoken like a true prince." Queen Violet nodded.

Colin tugged Penelope and she scooted down to meet his eyes. “Pen, are you certain about your love for me?”

"Always," Her answer came without hesitation. She laid her palm over his heart, steady and sure. “I love you, Colin. Land, sea—it doesn’t matter. If you’re there, that’s where I shall belong.”

“Then, so it shall be. My son and the woman who has chosen him… I grant you this, in front of all these witnesses: the sea will always welcome you, and the land will always open its arms. Wherever you wish to dwell, the tide will answer, the path will clear. You are free to walk or swim in both realms, together.” Her blessing washed over them like a tide, warm and vast.

Colin lowered his forehead to Penelope’s. “You’ve given me more than I ever dreamed possible.”

“And you,” she whispered, “have given me everything I never dared to hope for.”

Queen Violet’s eyes glimmered. “For now, my son, I shall give you back your human form, so that this union may properly commence.” She let the words linger, then tilted her head knowingly. “That is—if you both still wish to be bound to each other.”

“Oh, I still want to!” Penelope burst out.

Colin cupped her cheek, pressing the softest kiss there, his eyes alight. “And I want nothing else.”

At Violet’s graceful motion, the trident flared like molten sunlight. A ripple of gold and sapphire light spiraled down to Colin, encasing him in a prism of sea-magic. The scales of his tail shimmered brilliantly, dissolving into sparks that drifted away. In their place, his legs emerged once more, steady and strong upon the deck.

He caught Penelope’s hand. “Well then, my dearest love—shall we wed this very moment?”

She nodded, drawing her veil across her face. “All set!”

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆

And so, the ceremony that morning carried on. They exchanged vows, held each other’s hands, and shared few tender kisses before family and guests. It was simple, quiet—a heartfelt exchange of promises between two souls. One may be human, the other merfolk, but together, shared affection and love.

That afternoon, as the sun was about to set, Colin walked along the shore with Penelope, fingers intertwined, the sand cool beneath their feet. The sight before him was one he never thought he would see again but there they were... together, whole, free.

“Thank you for loving me,” Colin said, smiling down at his wife.

“Thank you for revealing yourself to me,” Penelope replied, her eyes shining.

“Did you know not long ago, I saw you over here, conversing with some shells? You were talking to them as if they were alive,” he laughed softly.

She kissed his lower lip, and he savored it fully. She stopped to give him a playful, questioning look. “Where were you hiding, watching me?”

Colin pointed toward a distant formation of boulders. “See that huge rock? I used to swim nearby.”

“I see…” She squinted against the sun. “I think I remember that morning… I didn’t see your face… but I caught a flick of a tail. I thought… oh, it must be a whale.”

“A whale?!” Colin’s eyes widened in shock. “A whale is ten times my size, love.”

“I jest,” she said, “Though, what I told you is true. Any shape or form, Colin, it shall always be you.”

Benny and Tony emerged at the shoreline, the salt spray catching their forms as they revealed their true essence before Penelope.

“And who might these lovely subjects be?” Penelope asked. “Are you… Benedict? Ben?”

“In my most majestic form, no less,” Benny said grandly, spreading the elegant sweep of his stingray-like wings. "You can call me, Benny."

"Now, this form very much suits you." Penelope laughed softly, but her attention was soon caught by a scrabbling sound near the rocks.

A little red crab clambered up, coughing and clearing his throat. “Ahem—excuse me!”

Colin nudged Penelope’s shoulder. “Someone wants his presence known.”

Tony puffed out his chest, clicking his claws with pride. “Not only am I glad to be back in my original form—”

“Which is crabby,” Ben cut in smoothly.

Tony shot him a withering glare before continuing, “—but I officially welcome you, Miss Penelope, to our world. May your highness-es live happily, whether on land or under the sea, when you care to join us soon, all the days of your life.”

Penelope’s smile warmed. “Why thank you, Anthony.”

“You can call me Tony from now on,” he replied with a wink.

"So, when are you coming to visit us?" Ben asked. "We have tons to show you. Coves, trenches, wonderful underwater discoveries... mysteries, anemones, oooh, the Bridgerton Sea Palace is exquisite too..." He wanted to keep on going but Colin cut his excitement.

"Ben..." Colin paused, "We haven't even spent a day on land as husband and wife. We'll have plenty of time to get her acquainted with our world."

"That, I am mostly intrigued and thrilled to see." Penelope agreed.

Then, with a mischievous gleam in his eye, Tony added, “I don't know about you, but our highness still needs to properly kiss his wife."

Colin arched a brow. “Wait a minute, was our kiss at the ceremony not good enough for you?”

Tony shook his head vigorously. “You didn’t even pucker properly. I did not see you look—like this.” He scrunched his mouth exaggeratedly. "You gotta bat your eyes, like this!" And he fluttered his eyes in an over-the-top way. 

Ben groaned and hooked his wing around the little crab. “All right, that’s enough nonsense, Tony. Down we go. Down we goooooo!” Tony squawked in protest as he was dragged back toward the water, claws waving in indignation. “See you later, love-creatures!” 

Both creatures laughed at the sight until they again settled against each other.

“Shall we go back to the villa?” Colin asked. "Aren't you getting cold?" He noticed that her dress was thin and he didn't bring a coat to keep her warm.

“You’re not enjoying your alone time with your wife?”

“Actually, speaking of alone time,” his lips twitched into a grin, “I heard from your mother and your sisters that a husband and wife must perform their duties.”

“Oh? What kind of duties?”

"I only remember Philippa saying I must insert myself." He looked utterly confused.

"Insert yourself?" Penelope's cheeks turned pink. “You already found my pearl, remember?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I have found it, but… they were speaking of consummation, and I think you know a thing or two about that.” He coughed, half-shy. “Admittedly, you may have to give me more lessons on that, Pen.”

“I don't know everything, Colin,” She nodded. “Although, there may be books in my library we can read for sure."

"There are books about that?"

"Uh-huh. Books that we can both explore and learn from—together. Two heads are better than one, you see.”

“Oh, stop being so naive,” Colin murmured, nudging her playfully. "I know you know more than you care to think."

“Fine, but before that,” she said softly, eyes drifting the water, “can we at least admire the sun as it sets? This marks a significant day for us, you see.”

He followed her gaze. Soon, they were both watching the scene before them—the water stretched endlessly and the light rippled like liquid gold. Unexpectedly, the seafoam danced along the tide, shimmering as the glow spilled across the horizon, turning the sight into a living painting.

“Oh, wow. Did you see that? There—over the horizon line.” He pointed.

“Tell me.”

“The seafoam… it touched the light. I know that only happens at a certain hour... when the tide rises just so, and the sun strikes at the perfect angle. It’s said to be a blessing from the ocean, a moment when two worlds meet. Just like…”

“…Just like how our worlds touched,” she finished softly.

He nodded. “Our worlds touched because you let me touch you.”

“Figuratively and, well, in the most literal sense,” Penelope nuzzled against his chest, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Colin, you must know something.”

“What is it, my love?” he asked, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles.

“You must know… that even before you touched me,” she whispered, “I already belonged to you.”

His brows lifted, eyes soft and searching. “Really? How is that possible? I just looked at you.”

Her gaze locked with his, unwavering. “Precisely that. All you had to do… was look at me.”

A hush seemed to fall over the world around them, as if even the waves paused to listen. With a shaky breath, Colin tilted her chin upward and kissed her—slow and delicate, a promise sealed not by magic, but by love itself.

⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆