The merfolk royal swam over toward me. I stood very still, continuing to grip on Nicholas’s arm.
The merfolk cleared his throat. I braced myself, unsure if he would speak in a language I would recognize. Despite any potential awkwardness here, I certainly didn’t want to be rude.
“My lady,” the merfolk royal said, eliminating my worry. The merfolk, it seemed, were trained in English better than we were trained in their language. “My name is Prince Ronan. I am the eighth son of our Queen Sonal.”
I placed my hands on either side of my neck, covering my imaginary gills in a shortened form of the traditional greeting, the same form he had just given me.
“An honor to meet you Prince Ronan. My name is Piper.”
“A beautiful name that fights a beautiful woman,” Ronan said. His eyes flashed in
