The Reef.
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## Chapter 1: The Reef
"Beatrice! Beatrice, where are you?" a shaky voice called out, deep in the sea.
"Beatrice, the king is at the gate. We need to return now, please," the voice came again, more urgent this time.
"I'm coming, Mom. Just hold on, I'll be there," Beatrice replied, kicking harder against the current.
"We can't anger the king again," Mom whispered, grabbing her arm the moment Beatrice surfaced. Her fingers were cold and desperate. "And Beatrice — 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 eighth grade. The boy who shared his lunch when I forgot mine."
"Fine," Mom said, though her voice shook. "But we'll come back for your silver comb later, I promise."
She didn't know Beatrice already had it — tucked in her belt, hidden beneath her tunic, the metal cold against her skin with every movement.
"Here I am, Mother. Let's head back. I'm sorry for the delay," Beatrice whispered, wiping at her puffy eyes. She hadn't been crying over the comb. She'd been crying because Raft had looked at her like he used to, before the crowns and the titles.
They rushed back to their post, fins cutting through the water. Moments later, the king and his guards swept in, the water churning with their anger. Armor gleamed. Spears dipped low.
"How dare King Reo step into my territory?" the king roared, his voice vibrating through the water. "Has he forgotten who owns this sea? Abel, Dove, Ruff — and you, standing behind Dove looking like an i***t, what's your name?"
Everyone turned to see who he meant. Silence fell, heavy and sharp.
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, son of the late Elder Nate II. I serve you. Always."
Beatrice's breath caught.
*Bale.*
Mom never spoke his name at home, but Beatrice had seen the way she looked at him when she thought no one was watching. Her mother's old lover. A good man, once — before greed got to him and cost him everything.
Bale's eyes flicked to Beatrice for half a second. Something like guilt flashed there, then vanished. He knew. He always knew too much.
The king stepped forward, water parting around him. His voice dropped low and dangerous.
"Bale. Tell me why King Reo of Nopoline was staring at you several times during the council. What's your relationship? What's your business with him?"
The water went silent. Even the current seemed to hold its breath.
Mom's hand tightened around Beatrice's arm until it hurt. Beatrice didn't dare breathe.
If Bale talked, he'd drag Mom down with him — they'd been at the outer reef together that night. 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 had slipped into her hand back in eighth grade, when he was just a quiet boy with kind eyes and no crown.
Her breath caught.
*Raft.*
*Prince Raft.*
And Bale was about to decide whether they all lived or died.
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