It seemed the Prince, in his prenuptial joy, had completely overlooked sending the little mermaid an invitation to dinner. So she sat in her chamber, once so massive and ornate, now slowly closing in around her like a dark, damp cell. She rocked slowly, her hands pressed against the cavity between her breasts, wondering when her heart would break and thus, the moment that she should die. A double-edged sword had entered her side, a sword that bore unrequited love on its right and death on its left, and the little mermaid did not know which was sharper. Surely her heart would break at any moment. She wondered if a dramatic sign from the elements would mark the occasion – a flash of lightning perhaps, or a rock slide from the limestone cliffs. Perhaps the orange grove would burst into flames. The thought gratified her more that she would admit. But maybe there was more pain to come. The little mermaid shuddered. Any more was sure to kill her.
A trail of human regret left its crumbs along the progression of her thoughts, for she had begun to wish that she had never laid eyes on the Prince and that she had never saved him. She thought of his pale body, restrained by self-tied ropes, sinking beneath the water. Perhaps it would have been better to have left him there to drown, she thought savagely. And suddenly, the hard, cold beauty of the sea-witch swam before her eyes, and she remembered her words: “The person you’re most like is…me”, and repented of her thoughts. For she would rather die than share a bond with that vile creature. She wondered what the sea-witch was doing now, if she were watching her through a crystal ball, like the hired entertainers at the palace, with their shawls and drooping jowls. Perhaps her Sirens were with her, reporting the new events, and the sea-witch and her undeserved Immortal Soul were dancing a frenzied jig of victory.
But she was wrong on all counts. For the sea-witch had mostly forgotten her, and her beloved Sirens were dead.
There was a knock on the door, and the Personal Maid entered the chamber, bearing a tray of dinner and a baleful expression. “I’ve heard the news,” she whispered, and she dumped the tray unceremoniously on the bed, and sat down beside the little mermaid. She rested a hand tentatively on the girl’s back and rubbed gently. “I’m so sorry.”
The little mermaid was all out of tears, and her eyes were small and bruised in her sallow, slack face. So she gave an ironic smile.
“I’ve just seen her, you know. Down the hall. Timid little thing, reminds me of a door-mouse. Won’t look anyone in the eye, spends all her time in her room. Probably getting ready for the wedding, no doubt…not that I know when that is,” she added hastily, seeing the mermaid’s forlorn expression.
“I don’t know what he sees in her. We were all pulling for you. You’re so beautiful it was no wonder he took a fancy to you. But the Prince has always been, well, odd. What attracts most men does not attract him. He prefers the opposite. It’s funny, almost like he means to show everyone he’s different.”
The little mermaid clenched her fists and squeezed tightly, until her nails dug into her flesh. The hands that had pulled him away from death and into the arms of the ordinary, rodent-like creature, she thought unkindly.
“Don’t you worry, miss. There’ll be a settlement for sure. He’ll send you away, they always do, but he’ll give you a gift: jewels maybe, and even a manor house if he really liked you. You’ll never have to serve again. You’re lucky really.”
But she took no comfort in her words, and buried her face in her skirts. “You really loved him, didn’t you?” asked the maid, and stroked her hair. The little mermaid nodded fiercely.
“There’ll be another man. There always is. And you’ll love him more, and forget all about the Prince. Don’t shake your head like that, it’s true. Our hearts are fragile and they break sometimes, but they’re strong too and mend themselves in time. That’s why we live as long as we do. If we all died of a broken heart, why, none of us would ever live past sweet sixteen!”
The little mermaid shrugged, for the words were nothing but prattle, white noise against a burning heart. She wondered where the Prince was now. If he had his ordinary girl backed up against a wall. One hand on her shoulder, restraining her, the other supporting his weight. If he was kissing her, if he was inserting his tongue into her mouth, washing it with the taste of olives.
“What about the Uncle?” asked the Maid pertinently, and the little mermaid jerked back to the present. “I told you I was loyal, and I meant it too. Anyone else stealing the affections of that man, and I’d claw her eyes out! By God, he’s something else. And I hear he’s got an eye for you. More of an eye, if the Upper Housekeeper is anything to go by. I say take the Uncle, miss. He’s about twice the man the Prince is, if you get my meaning,” and she winked at the mermaid like a rakish sailor, rescuing the lopsided tray and setting it down on the floor. “Now eat!”
Tension, like dust particles, fell from the sky and coated the inhabitants of the dining hall until they resembled stiff old museum relics. The Prince ate heartily, often stealing glances at his bride-to-be, who was seated opposite him. When she caught his gaze, she would smile shyly, but her eyes would always slide to the man on her left, who returned her stare with eyebrows knitted together.
“I don’t understand the rush,” began the Uncle. “You want to be married in one week’s time. Unless you’ve already made her pregnant.”
The Prince spluttered in his soup. “No Uncle,” he said firmly, recovering himself. “There hasn’t…well…there’s been none of that, thank you very much. Unlike some of us,” he added, with more venom than necessary, “who have a different chambermaid in our rooms every evening.”
The Uncle eyed him sceptically. “I don’t believe,” he began coolly, “you have any right to comment on my preferred form of entertainment. It displays a lack of propriety. What would your father say to hear you talking like that? And besides, my boy, I gave up those sorts of dalliances long ago. But then again, you’ve been too absorbed to notice.”
The Prince flushed, and the girl stared at her plate as if she had done something terribly wrong.
“Why not wait a year?” continued the Uncle amiably, as if nothing had happened. “Make arrangements, invite foreign diplomats, have elaborate wedding-clothes made, command a fleet of naval ships. Let the entire continent know we withhold no expense for the wedding of our monarch. Let us throw it in their faces. So what if we didn’t choose one of their princesses, eh? We could even accompany it with your coronation, if you wish.”
The Prince and the girl shared a look and he cleared his throat before he responded, “No, Uncle. We wish to have a small, quiet wedding here at the palace.”
The Uncle frowned. “People will talk. They’ll say you’ve acted inappropriately. That there’s a bastard on the way.”
“They will understand, in due time, that there is not,” said the Prince carelessly, while his future bride blushed scarlet.
It was the blush that offended the Uncle the most. It was not that she was possibly the most unremarkable female he’d ever laid eyes upon, but that she was here, and the mermaid was not. He thought of the hot tears that had seeped into his jacket from where her face was crushed into his chest. The time he fell into the shadows when he saw his nephew kissing her – the clumsy fumblings of a greenhorn. He recalled his well-laid plans, his concealed encouragements for his nephew to be united with his companion. He had assumed that the Prince would fall in love with the mermaid simply because he himself had. She was a gold mine and the Prince was a blind mole, scratching at walls for something he was too befuddled to remember.