The Current Between US

*Chapter1 Beatrice, Beatrice where are you?" called out a shaky voice deep in the sea. "Beatrice, the king is at the gate. We need to return now, please," the voice said again, more urgent than before. "I'm coming, Mom. Just hold on a bit, I'll be there," replied Beatrice. "We can't anger the king again," Mom whispered, grabbing her arm. "And Naomi... stop sneaking off to that reef. I know you like him, but he’s the prince. Nothing can come of it." Beatrice looked away, cheeks burning. "He’s not the prince to me, Mom. He was just Raft in 8th grade." "Fine. But we’ll come back and look for your silver comb later, I promise," Mom said, not knowing Beatrice already had it tucked in her belt, hidden under her tunic. "Here I am, Mother. Let's head back now. I'm sorry for the delay, I'm sorry," Beatrice whispered, wiping at her puffy eyes. They rushed back to their duty post. Immediately, the king and his guards swam in, water churning with their anger. "How dare King Dave step into my territory?" the king roared. "Has he forgotten who owns this sea? Abel, Dove, Ruff— and you standing there behind Dove looking like an i***t, what's your name?" Everyone turned their heads slightly to see who the king was talking to. A man in his forties, malnourished with green eyes and red curls, scrambled forward and dropped to his knees three feet from the king. His voice was rough but familiar. "Your Highness, my name is Bale, the son of late Elder Nate II. I serve you. Always." Beatrice’s breath caught. Bale. Mom never spoke his name, but Beatrice had seen the way she looked at him when she thought no one was watching. Her mom’s old lover. A good man, once. Before greed got to him. Bale’s eyes flicked to Beatrice for half a second. Something like guilt flashed there, then vanished. The king stepped forward, voice dropping low and dangerous. "Bale. Tell me why King Dave of Nopoline was staring at you several times during the council. What’s your relationship? What’s your business with King Dave?" The water went silent. Mom’s hand tightened around Beatrice’s arm. Beatrice didn’t breathe. If Bale talked, he’d drag Mom down with him. And if the king started searching the slaves, he’d find the comb. Beatrice’s fingers brushed her belt. The silver comb was still there—cold against her skin. The same comb Raft slipped into her hand in 8th grade, when he was just a quiet boy with kind eyes. Her breath caught. Raft. Prince Raft. And Bale was about to decide if they lived or died. -