There is, and it’s a big one.

“If you fail,” I say, keeping my voice steady, “then you are banished from the water forever.”

He lifts his Caribbean-blue eyes to stare into mine. “And?”

“And?” I echo.

“I know that can’t be it,” he says. “Nothing in your world is ever that simple.”

A part of my heart breaks when he calls it my world. I want it to feel like his world, too. But now isn’t the time. He’s right; there’s more to the consequence of failure than him being exiled.

“And . . . ,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to tell him this, “I’ll be banished from land.” I swallow hard. “Forever.”

He stares into my eyes, unblinking, and I can’t read any sort of reaction. His mind is racing, I’m sure, but everything on the outside is a stone facade.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he says, “Then I won’t fail.”

Just like that. He won’t fail. He sounds as sure as he did when he first told me he loved me. No room for doubt, like he’s stated undeniable fact.

I smile and act like that’s all the assurance I need, but as I lean into him and let his strong arms wrap around me, I can’t shake the niggle of fear. The three tests are supposed to be near impossible, even for a human who has spent a lot of time in the ocean. I have no idea how a human with little swimming ability and nothing more than the power to breathe water is going to succeed at three of the toughest challenges the mer world has ever devised.

For now, though, I need to stay positive. I have to believe that everything will work out, because the thought of never stepping on land again—of never seeing or touching Quince again—is too unbearable to even imagine.

I slip my arms around his waist and hug him tight. I won’t let him go, not now that we’ve finally figured everything out. No matter what happens, I’ll find a way to make it work.

Chapter 9

I smile into the wind as Quince races us to the beach after school on Friday. Below my helmet, the frizzy length of my hair whips against my back, and I know it’s getting churned into unbrushable tangles. I don’t care. Soon I’ll be in the water and the bird’s nest will smooth out into silken yellow strands.

Quince turns his head and shouts, “I think you like this, princess.”

In response I squeeze my arms tighter around his waist. I might be a complete failure at driving a motorcycle, but I’ve gotten pretty good at holding on for the ride.

When he slows down to turn into the beach parking lot, I sigh. The worst part of our motorcycle rides is when they’re over.

He steers into a spot at the far end, beneath the shade of a clump of trees, and kills the engine. When he starts to climb off, I hold him in place, resting my cheek against the soft leather of his jacket.

Soon summer will be here, and it will be too warm for him to wear his total biker look. He’ll spend the hot, humid months working construction jobs in T-shirts and work boots. Hopefully he’ll still break out his biker boots for date nights.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he says, wrapping his arms over mine, “but I thought you were in a hurry.”

“I am.” I sigh again but make no move to get up.

“But what?” He leans to the side and twists so he can see my face. “Are you worried? Nervous about going to Tri . . . ?”

“Trigonum,” I finish.

I give him a kind of half nod, half shrug. I’m not sure what I feel. I climb off the motorcycle and, when Quince does the same, start walking to the sand.

“This is all new to me,” I explain. “Except for last week’s disastrous council of kings and queens, everything else I’ve ever done as royal duty has been in Daddy’s shadow.”

Quince takes my hand as we reach the beach. “So last time was a disaster,” he says, and I scowl. “But you learned something, you bounced back, and you have a new plan. That’s what leadership is. Learning, reevaluating, and re­directing. Everyone from the construction manager at a job site to the president of the United States has to do that on a daily basis. You’re doing everything right.”

“I hope so,” I say. “A lot is riding on—”

Squawk, squawk, squawk!

A seagull swoops in from nowhere, screeching and flapping its broad wings wildly.

“Whoa!” Quince shouts, ducking away from the crazy bird and pulling me down with him.

The bird stops squawking and drops awkwardly to the ground. Once on the sand, it shakes out one wing and preens its beak through the disturbed feathers before pulling itself into standard seagull pose. It steps up to Quince, holds out its left leg, and waits.

“They aren’t all this dangerous, are they?” Quince eyes the bird warily.

“No, but some of them are . . . a little eccentric,” I explain. I glance at the kelpaper scroll, and my heart sinks. “You need to take that paper off his leg.”

“How do you know it’s for me?” Quince asks.

“Because he’s standing in front of you. Because the kelpaper is blue, which means it’s from the palace.” I release Quince so he can kneel down to gull level. “And because you’re expecting notification of your first test.”

Quince throws me an inscrutable look before reaching out to unwrap the kelpaper from the bird’s leg. As soon as the paper is clear, the gull spreads his wings, smacks Quince in the face with two big flaps, and takes off over the ocean.