Then he smiles at me like I am the reason he is floating instead of the waves or his powerful fin. “Before you leave on your adventure, young Emma, I need to tell you about a town called Neptune.”

2

GALEN GRABS an orange from the fruit basket in front of him. If only he could channel his rage into the orange. Somehow inject his fury into the confines of the peel instead of showing his indignation all over his face.

The same way his older brother Grom wears indifference as a second skin.

But I am not Grom, the impervious Triton king. Galen squeezes the fruit so hard it becomes a disemboweled mess of peel, seeds, and juice on the kitchen counter. It feels good to squeeze the innards out of something. Galen can think of a million feelings inside himself right now that he’d like to pour out onto the counter next to the juice of the orange. But it would have no effect on Grom. Grom is immune to feelings.

Grom rolls his eyes, while Nalia casually grabs some paper towels from the cabinet.

“Was that really necessary?” Grom says.

Nalia makes quick work of cleaning up the orange. Galen gives her an apologetic look. He would have cleaned it up eventually, after he and Grom came to an agreement on the matter of this road trip. But then Nalia returns a look of pity. Galen’s so tired of everyone’s pity. But Nalia’s pity isn’t about Rachel. Nalia feels sympathetic toward Galen because she thinks he won’t win this argument. That he is no match for Grom.

Galen decides she can clean up the mess after all.

“Actually, I could think of something better to squeeze than an orange,” Galen drolls. Like his brother Grom’s hard head, for instance. Or maybe his throat. Rachel’s expression “take a chill pill” comes to mind. Galen counts to ten, just as she taught him. Then he counts to twenty.

“You have much maturing to do, brother,” says Grom.

“And you have an entire kingdom to run, Highness. Which is why I don’t understand why we’re still here. And those are my boxers.”

Grom raises a brow, then shrugs. “I thought they seemed small.”

“Grom—” Nalia starts, but he cuts her off with a huff.

“You just graduated from human school a few days ago, Galen. You don’t want to relax for a little while?” Grom takes a sip of his bottled water, then screws the cap back on so tightly it makes a cracking sound.

“High school,” Galen says. “We graduated from high school. If you keep calling everything ‘human’ this and ‘human’ that—”

“I know, I know.” Grom waves his hand in dismissal. “Very well. High school. What is so high about high school, anyway? No, no, don’t bother to answer. I don’t care enough to know. But, little brother, why are you in such a hurry to leave the beaches?”

“For the hundredth time,” Galen grits out, “I’m not in a hurry to leave the beaches. I’m in a hurry to spend time with Emma before we go to college, or before the Archives change their mind about their agreement with us, or before something else catastrophic happens. Can you not handle the kingdom without my help, brother? You should have just said as much.”

This cracks the shell that is Grom’s face. “Careful, Galen. Will you never learn that diplomacy is an asset?”

“So is being direct,” Galen grumbles. He runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I honestly don’t know what the problem is here. We’re taking a two-week road trip.”

“Our treaty with the Archives is still delicate, Galen. It takes time to build trust. Your disappearing with Emma for so many turns of the sun will cause murmuring. You know this. And we’ve just witnessed how powerful murmuring can be.”

Galen rolls his eyes. Grom’s referring to Jagen’s near takeover of the houses of Triton and Poseidon, a conspiracy that started with hushed whispers and speculation, and nearly cost the Royals their freedom and throne. But this is different. “Why would the kingdoms care about our spending private time together?” He doesn’t mean to yell. But he doesn’t regret it, either.

“Well, for starters,” Nalia injects so calmly it irritates Galen, “I’m sure there will be rumors flying about whether or not you’re respecting the law and not mating before your ceremony.”

Galen can’t argue that. And he can’t argue that the rumors would be somewhat founded. He can barely keep his hands off of Emma. And she’s not exactly helping the situation, being such a willing recipient of his frequently wandering hands. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “They’ll just have to trust us. They could give us the benefit of the doubt on this one thing.”

Grom shrugs. “They could. But they’re also eager to get to know the new Poseidon princess. She needs to spend more time in the kingdoms.”

“So they can whisper about the Half-Breed behind her back?” The very thought makes Galen want to pick up another orange. Still, he knows Grom is right. Galen wants Emma to spend more time in the water, too. Dr. Milligan said she may eventually be able to hold her breath for much longer. Right now she’s only able to hold it for hours at a time. Maybe that could be extended to days, with enough practice. And if it could, he and Emma wouldn’t have to alternate between land and sea so often once they had mated.

“The more she’s around them, the less her presence will affect them, Galen. They’re giving her a chance. The least you can do is reciprocate. Someday, they won’t even notice that she’s a Half-Breed. Or at least, they’ll learn to accept it and move on.”