Now one thing that she had learned from her Personal Maid in their illuminating discussion was that it never hurt to lie to the one you love. So she nodded enthusiastically. “Excellent,” said the Prince, although he did not look as if he found anything excellent this morning. He eyed the little mermaid studiously, but made no comment about her appearance.
He turned away from her and continued reading an enormous volume. The little mermaid rose and ran her fingers lightly over the spines of books in the nearest shelves before she selected one. It was full of alien markings, so cramped and confusing that it gave her a headache to look at it. But at least there were pictures, albeit strange ones of circles and lines and little else. She examined them carefully.
“See here,” interrupted the Prince suddenly, “this author is full of contradictions! Here he is saying one thing, and now he changes his mind! He is denying his very thesis!” He began to read aloud from several passages, during which the little mermaid closed her book on her lap and watched his lips as he spoke. She understood something about a canal, and a bit about uncivilised people living somewhere in large groups. “Water Resources in Southern America,” mocked the Prince. “If my father had used these methods, we would have dried this kingdom out long ago.” And with as much careless abandon as he demonstrated with the shoes, he pitched the volume over his shoulder. Believing this to be some sort of ritual, the mermaid quite happily did the same with hers.
The Prince looked amused, if not a little surprised. “And what did that book do to offend you so?” he asked, craning his head to see the cover of the volume from where it had landed, spread-eagled, on the ground.
“Pythagorus’ Theorem,” he read aloud. “Perhaps your tastes are not so strange after all.” And his face opened up like the sky after a day of sleet, and he smiled.
The rest of the day continued in a similar fashion, the little mermaid pretending to read whilst secretly observing the Prince under lowered eyelids, and the Prince interrupting frequently to read aloud or make a comment. The time ticked by rapidly, for the little mermaid never tired of looking at her companion, as every moment revealed a new shadow or detail. Like how there were several coarse dark hairs connected to the regal sweep of his brows. And how the ball of his throat bobbed up and down like an apple in water every time he swallowed.
The Prince, on the other hand, enjoyed the girl’s company, for there was something about her presence that calmed him. It wasn’t that she was mute, for several times already he had guessed correctly what she was trying to communicate. Her facial expressions, he found, were accurate and easily read. There was no guile or artifice hidden behind her eyes. She was an excellent listener, too. Her attention was focussed entirely upon him when he spoke, and her gaze did not flitter off here or there as if she were growing bored, or thinking of other things. Neither did it hurt that she was nice to look at.
It did not occur to him to probe his new companion for her history. He was not the sort of infuriating lover one sees on a daily basis, who milks his partner relentlessly for useless background information. The type that wants to know all the intimacies of their beloved’s childhood, every small, miniscule inclination, and how many lovers they’ve previously had. There was no misguided satisfaction to be found in that, and the Prince was practical, if not unimaginative. He understood that the girl could not speak, incapable of telling him her own name, let alone chapters of her past. He did not wonder about her family or origins. all he cared was that she was pleasing, and she was here for however long he wished her to be.
He was so gratified with her behaviour in the library that he decided he may as well invite her to dinner. As she took her leave of him, radiant with delight, to make ready for the evening, he returned to his book. But he found he could not concentrate. There were two faces in his head and they were beginning to merge into one another, to make a whole new, unfamiliar face. It frightened him.
When the mermaid had finally located the royal dining room, a visually stunning hall adorned with French windows that invited the view of the sea on the left side and the mountains on the right, she was greeted first by the tantalising aroma of exotic dishes. There were at least twenty of them, all set out down the length of the table in single file. They were covered with silver lids, the reflections of the candlelight burning within them. When she had inhaled the spectacle, she noticed that someone was sitting at the foot of the table, in the semi-darkness. She approached him with anticipation.
She could see his broad shoulders now, covered by a heavy velvet cloak. The light moved and she could see his eyes, piercing and thrilling and watching her every move like a hawk watches prey. She could see the curls that fell against his forehead. As she drew close enough, the candlelight flooded him entirely. But she sucked in her breath sharply when she saw the large, frightening animal upon his face.
Diverting her eyes, she fumbled for the nearest chair, and threw herself upon it. What was she thinking? Was she so in love that she thought every man was her Prince? And now she’d made a fool of herself in front of him. Her cheeks burned scarlet, for she had just endured her first brush with shame. She was aware now of the sounds of breathing all around her, and realised she had failed to notice the presence of the servants, watching and waiting, in the dark sleeves of the hall. She coloured further, determined to keep her eyes on her plate until something came along to rescue her.
“Am I that bad?” drifted his voice across the table.
The little mermaid continued to gaze at her plate but shook her head in response.
“Do I frighten you?” he continued.
She shook her head furiously, although she could not account for the hairs on the back of her neck standing up and clinging to the static in the air.
“There is no need to lie to me,” he said. “I have no intention of harming you.”
And it occurred to her then that his voice was like the golden stuff her Personal Maid spread her toast with, the substance made by those little black-and-yellow flying creatures.
“Won’t you look at me?”
The creature in the little mermaid’s chest thudded, and she was sure the invisible servants could hear it too.
“Please?”
Slowly, she lifted her gaze off the table to meet his eyes. Something akin to a lighted fuse of dynamite seared through her. They stared at each other for a long moment, long enough for the two serving girls in the back to nudge each other and wink.
“Sorry I’m late,” came a voice behind them, “urgent business.” Instantly, the spell was broken as the Prince strode into the hall, falling elegantly into the chair opposite the little mermaid. “I’m starved. Uncle, you should have gone ahead without me.”
“No meal is to go ahead without the presence of His Majesty,” replied the Uncle.
The Prince ceremoniously lifted the lid off the nearest dish, and the feast began. The little mermaid busied herself with studying the food, for she did not want to meet his eyes again, nor the Prince’s, for that matter. She did not know why.
She was pleased to note that the menu tonight was an array of sea-food, from stuffed octopus to steaming, aromatic lobster. With a comforting sense of familiarity, she nodded to the staff who appeared at her elbow serving portions of food. After her experiences in the palace, she was proficient with cutlery and other such utensils, and used most with skill. The Prince watched with amusement as she ate without common restraint.