Mermaid_ A Twist on the Classic Tale - Carolyn Turgeon [62]
She had been reduced, all her power and beauty, to this one perfect human feeling, and she pushed herself to him, felt like she could not get close enough to him. She opened her strange legs, revealed her weakest spot, and then he was pushing inside of her, and a pain flashed through her, but all the pain that pierced her human body, her legs, was worth it, for him, for this, and she loved it then, all of it.
I love you I love you! was all she could think. Your soul, my soul.
THEY LAY BACK on the bed, and his body became a shell as he held her in his arms. She felt so warm, but it was lovely, that feeling, the thin sheen of sweat covering her, the feel of his wet body on hers. After a while, he kissed her cheek and forehead. “We must leave each other now,” he said. “I have to meet with some of my father’s advisers. I will have a servant take you back to your room.”
She looked at him, worried, and though he smiled at her and stroked her hair, something did not feel right.
And the next thing she knew, she was walking back through the corridors in her disheveled dress, her body battered, every bit of her feeling bruised, cut. And in the center of her body, a terrible wound. Blood moving down her legs.
When she arrived in her own room and the servant had left her alone, she stood by the window and stared out at the sea. The sun had set while she was with the prince. She felt a pain inside her—not where he had touched her but somewhere else. Tears dripped down her face, coated her skin in salt.
She didn’t understand why she felt so empty now. She should have felt full, fuller than she’d ever felt. This was everything she wanted. The prince was in love with her. She was human, and would have immortal life.
The moon beat down on the water, which shattered it into a thousand splinters of light.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Princess
MARGRETHE WAITED BY THE WINDOW OF HER ROOM, wrapped in furs and in her warmest dress, left unlaced, with a pair of men’s wool pants underneath. A small bag sat at her side. Edele stood next to her, dressed the same. Josephine and Laura paced in front of the fire. Almost six weeks had passed since she’d come back to her father’s castle, and now, finally, everything had been arranged. Margrethe had spent the last days crazed with anticipation, as her father continued to ready his men for battle. Then, after what seemed like forever but was really only slightly longer than it took a messenger to travel to the South and back again, just under three weeks, the Southern king had agreed to marry his son, Christopher, to Margrethe in a new alliance. Margrethe and Edele would go together to the South, accompanied by two guards, who would be rewarded for their services. Margrethe and Gregor had planned out the route, and he’d arranged for them to stay with various sympathizers along the way. The king and his court would be diverted when they found a note from Margrethe explaining that she had fled back to the convent, having found her true calling there. The king would send men after her directly, there was no doubt, but she would most likely be under the Southern king’s protection—or close enough to it—before they realized what had happened.
It was not very far from the truth, Margrethe thought, feeling guilty for lying to Josephine and Laura, who had been like sisters to her for as long as she could remember. But they could not be put in harm’s way, subjected to her father’s anger. As for Edele, Margrethe had been surprised at how quickly her friend had agreed to this new adventure. Of course, Edele was nothing if not high-spirited, but still. Margrethe had expected her friend at least to have some trepidation about committing high treason and risking her life.
Instead, now, she could see that Edele was struggling to remain calm, she was so excited.
And when she was honest with herself, Margrethe had to admit that for her, too, it was a grand adventure. The grandest adventure