Father."
Caysen entered the sacred circle—a chamber deep within the palace where King Tedros and the seven elders of the council, dressed in their cloaks gathered. They sat around a massive, round table where only the most pressing matters of Erston were discussed.
He took his seat, amongst them, setting his sword down on the table as he always did.
"I heard the news," Caysen began, his tone sharp. "Is it true?"
King Tedros sighed heavily, running a hand through his greying hair. His usual calm seemed shaken. He paced back and forth.
"Chaos, my son," he said grimly. "They've attacked us again."
Caysen didn't look like his father. In fact, he didn't resemble anyone in the court, which only made the mystery of his mother—whom he'd never seen—even more haunting.
"The werewolves have struck again," said Vance, the eldest among the council. His voice was hollow, heavy with fatigue. "Fifty lives, gone. Bodies—decapitated—hung on the city's walls."
"Those monsters…" Caysen seethed. His jaw tightened.
The wolves had been at war with Erston for as long as he could remember. Led by the elusive Alpha Larson, they moved like ghosts—never seen, yet always felt. The kingdom bled from the wounds they left behind.
"They've also destroyed farmlands and taken villagers," Tedros added, his voice thick with frustration. "We can't keep turning the other cheek. We must end this bloodshed." He said firmly.
"I agree, Father," Caysen said, voice firm. "Those beasts have bitten off more than they can chew."
"But how, my prince?" one of the elders asked. "They have the advantage of walking under the daylight. Unlike us."
Unlike the rest of them, Caysen was the only known daylighter in the entire kingdom—a rare and strange trait among vampires, and one that had always made him feel different.
He leaned back in his seat, thinking.
The walls had been doubled, the patrols increased—yet the werewolves still broke through. Maybe, there was a spy in rhe kingdom? That seemed like the logical explanation. A new strategy was needed.
"We recruit more humans," Caysen proposed. "Fortified by the witches. Train them, alongside our finest warriors. We strike at night, move fast, and vanish before sunrise."
The elders murmured their approval. Tedros nodded solemnly. It seemed like a good idea.
"Then it's settled. We will map the routes through the forest and launch from a fortress—one the wolves won't easily find. I know just the place."
Caysen stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His voice rang with purpose, and determination to shed blood.
"By sundown, I will gather the men. We march before the moon reaches its peak."
With the battle plan agreed upon, King Tedros shifted the conversation. "Caysen."
He spoke gently now, almost cautiously. "You've come of age, and soon, the throne will be yours."
Caysen frowned. He knew where this was going, and he didn't like it one bit.
"I know," he replied flatly. "But what does that have to do with the kingdom's pressing matters?"
"Everything," an elder interjected. He pulled back his cloak, revealing tattooed arms—symbols of ancient wisdom. "A man needs a woman by his side. A queen to support him. To birth an heir."
Tedros nodded in agreement. "Our lineage must not fade. You need to take a wife."
Caysen's gaze drifted between his father and the elders. A wife?
A companion? No—more like a burden. His priority was clear: Find the Tears of the Mermaid. Break the curse, nothing else mattered to him.
He rose from his seat, lifting his sword and sliding it back into its sheath. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to retire for the night."
With a stiff nod, he turned and exited the chamber.
Back at the servants quarters in the palace…
Althea knelt beside the earthen pot in the center of the servant's quarters. Sylvia had complained—again—that she reeked and had ordered her to bathe.
She filled the pail with water and carried it to the bathing chamber.
Inside, she stared at the water, like it would develop hands and swallow her.
Memories assaulted her—Ervin, the punishment, the freezing tap water beating down on her fragile little body. Her hands flew to her temples, trembling.
She hated water. No—she feared it. Feared that it would make Ervin come here and melt out his ill-treatments.
Still, she had no choice. Hugging herself tightly, she backed into the wall, breathing heavily.
A sudden bang on the door made her jump up in fear. "You giving birth in there?" someone snapped. "This isn't your bedroom, princess."
"I… I'm almost done!" Althea called out.
She splashed water onto the floor to fake it. "I'll be out soon!"
"You'd better come out smelling like roses!" the voice echoed as footsteps retreated.
Althea inhaled deeply, slowly removing her dress and hanging it on the rack.
The water won't hurt you, she told herself.
You're safe now. Just a bath, a quick one and she'd be out.
She scooped the cold water and counted, "One... two… three…" and she poured it over herself.
The cold hit her like a shock—but it brought an odd relief, soothing her aching limbs.
She reached for the soap on the dish—only that her legs… wouldn't move.
"What is this…?" she grew apprehensive as she looked down. Her legs—conjoined. What was happening?
Her knees gave way and she crashed to the floor, gasping as her lower body began to shimmer and shift.
A tail. A green, glittering, terrifying tail. Where was her legs, and why did she look like a fish?
"No… no, no, no…" she whimpered.
She shut her eyes tightly. This is a nightmare, Althea muttered to herself. Once she opened her eyes, she'd be back on her thin mattress with Petri and her minions glaring at her.
"One… two… three." She slowly opened her eyes. The tail was still there to her horror.
"What's happening to me?" she cried, trying to crawl away, but the weight of her tail made it impossible, and she pushed down the bucket of water.
The door suddenly flung open, and Petri walked in. She was last person she wanted to see.
Althea froze. Tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered, "Please help me…"
"Who's screaming in there?" Sylvia's voice rang from outside.
Petri quickly slammed the door shut before Sylvia could take a peak, and she turned back to Althea.
The shock on her face wasn't because she'd never seen a mermaid. No—she'd seen a few. She didn't mean to brag. She was only shocked that this sickly, beaten-down girl… was something so beautiful.
Althea's emerald tail shimmered in the dim light. "You have to help me," Althea pleaded. "I don't know what's happening…"
Water splashed everywhere from her panicked tail.
"Stop moving!" Petri snapped, shielding her face. "You're getting bathwater in my mouth."
Petri grabbed a towel. "First, we need to get you dry." She crouched and began wiping off the tail, her movements quick but focused.
"If anyone sees you like this, you'll be the royal family's next dinner." Althea swallowed hard.
Once the last drop was gone, the transformation reversed after some seconds and her tail disappeared, and her legs returned.
She scrambled to her feet and threw her arms around Petri in gratitude—only for Petri to shove her aside.
"Don't think I helped you out of kindness," she sneered. She leaned in with a smirk.
"I want to be the one who kills you myself."
Althea could care less, her legs were back to normal and she was thankful for that.