Quince pushes out of the chair and tries to paddle across the room to the door. But, as he said earlier, he can’t swim. So he just floats slowly across the room, propelled by his shove against the chair. It’s painful to watch. When I can’t take it anymore, I kick out of my chair and swim to his side.

“You have to cup the water,” I explain. “Like this.”

I demonstrate a simple pull stroke. He copies me, but the water just slips between his fingers.

“Keep your fingers together.” I take his hand, molding it watertight so he can actually get some propelling motion going. “Now try.”

This time when he pulls, he moves—in a circle, because he just pulled one hand, but it’s still progress. He tries again with both hands, sending himself floating toward the door. He looks back over his shoulder as he strokes away, flashing me an inscrutable grin. “Thanks, princess.”

I’m not sure how I can tell, but I don’t think he was mocking my title. I watch until he makes it to and through the door, where Graysby and Grouper try to carry him again. The last thing I see before the door shuts is Quince shrugging them off, saying, “I got this.”

I don’t realize until I turn back to Daddy that I’m smiling. My face immediately goes blank.

“Daddy, you can’t really expect him to—”

“This isn’t about your young man,” he says, swimming out from behind his desk and pulling me into an embrace. “As soon as I perform the separation, you will go rushing back to the surface. I’d like us to spend some time together before you go.”

Leave it to Daddy to say the one mushy thing that makes me okay with his decision. His request reminds me just how long I’ve been gone, how much I’ve missed the sea. If only it had been Brody in the library, then we could stay permanently.

I wonder briefly what Daddy’s reaction will be when I finally bring Brody home. Will he be just as surprisingly enthusiastic as he has been about Quince?

“Tell me something.” I lean back, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Anything,” he says automatically.

“Why do you like him?” I have great faith in Daddy’s judgment, so it’s a total mystery why he’s treating Quince like his long-lost son-in-law. A tiny niggle of doubt at the back of my mind wonders if maybe Daddy sees something in him that I haven’t seen. “Why did you welcome him with open arms when you worked so hard to scare away every merboy in the sea?”

Daddy nudges aside a lock of blond hair that’s drifted into my eyes. “Because I thought you’d chosen him,” he says. “All those silly merboys pursued you, so I could never be certain of their intentions. But you brought this boy, a terraped who could have no real concept of your position in our society. He couldn’t be just another title chaser.”

“Oh,” I say quietly. I don’t know why a part of me is disappointed. It’s not like I wanted him to tell me Quince was some kind of magically perfect mermate or anything. Besides, this is good news, because the situation will be the same with Brody. I should feel relieved.

No, I do feel relieved. This is great. The blowfish and I will stay the night, I’ll get to hang out with Daddy for a while. Then I can go back to Seaview knowing that when I finally bring Brody home, he’ll get a celebratory welcoming.

As I snuggle back in against Daddy’s neck, I ask, “Will you take me to Bubbles and Baubles?”

He heaves a big sigh, but I know it’s just pretend irritation. Daddy loves spoiling me whenever I’m home.

“Only if you promise to leave some stock in the store this time,” he says. “You can’t possibly take that much back to your aunt’s.”

“That’s okay,” I tease. “I’ll just leave anything I can’t carry in my room here.”

Daddy clears his throat and pulls back. “Yes, we need to discuss your room.”

My room? What’s to discuss?

“With all the guests in town for Dosinia’s ball, we’ve had to”—he pauses, like he’s looking for the right words—“be creative in our accommodations.”

“How creative, exactly?” I ask, not liking the sound of this.

“After some necessary rearrangements and last-minute guests, all but one of our guest rooms are full. Quince will obviously have to stay in the available room. Unfortunately,” he says, “you will not have yours to yourself.”

11

“Let me stay with you,” I beg Peri. “We can have a sleepover like when we were guppies.”

“Can’t,” she says. “The whole extended family is in town for the ball. I’m already sharing my room with three of my cousins.”

I roll over and bury my head in hot pink sea anemones—a special stingless variety cultivated by the royal seascape artist exclusively for the palace gardens. They don’t have a scent, but their velvety-soft petals feel like satin against my cheek. I’m in desperate need of some serious Zen. Just when I thought my weekend couldn’t get any worse.

“She’ll kill me in my sleep,” I complain.

“No, she won’t.”

“You don’t know that, Peri,” I insist. “She hates me. This is the opportunity she’s been waiting for all her life.”

“You’re royalty,” Peri says, as if that makes everything better. “Dosinia knows that killing you would be high treason. She might dye your hair purple, but she won’t kill you.”