The Little Mermaid

Chapter 1

The palace always sounded different in the mornings.
Quieter, but not peaceful.
Princess Arelia noticed it as she stood by the tall arched window of her chamber, fingers resting lightly against the cool stone. The gardens below were just waking — servants moving like careful shadows, dew still clinging to the hedges, the fountain not yet switched on. It should have felt calm.
Instead, it felt like waiting. Everything, lately, felt like waiting.
“For what?” she muttered under her breath, though she already knew the answer.
A knock came—three precise taps.
“Come in,” she said, not turning.
Her lady’s maid, Elin, stepped inside. “Your Highness, Her Majesty has requested your presence at breakfast.”
Arelia almost smiled at the phrasing. Requested. As if her mother ever truly requested anything anymore.
“I’ll be there,” she said.
Elin hesitated. “Shall I help you dress?”
“No.” Arelia turned now, offering a faint, tired smile. “I can manage. Thank you.”
The maid dipped her head and left, closing the door softly behind her. Arelia exhaled.
Breakfast.
Which meant her father would be there. And her mother. And the conversation she had been avoiding for weeks would no longer stay politely out of reach.
She moved to her wardrobe slowly, deliberately, choosing a gown that was simple—soft blue, unadorned except for a thin silver thread along the sleeves. Not too formal. Not too careless.
Balanced.
That was what she had become lately. Carefully balanced between obedience and resistance.
The royal dining hall was already set when she arrived.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching on polished silverware and crystal goblets. The long table, meant for grand feasts, felt unnecessarily large for just three people. Her father sat at the head, as always.
King Edrian looked as he always did—composed, steady, unreadable to most. But Arelia noticed the small things. The way his fingers tapped once against the table before stilling. The slight tightness around his eyes.
He was thinking ahead. Planning.
Her mother sat to his right. Queen Lysara was elegant even in stillness, her posture flawless, her expression serene. But Arelia had known her too long to be fooled by that calm. There was a distance there now. A faint, almost invisible wall.
They weren’t fighting. That was the strange part.
They just… weren’t together the way they used to be.
“Good morning,” Arelia said as she approached. Both of them looked up.
“Good morning, my dear,” her mother said, her voice warm—but just a touch too careful.
Her father nodded. “You’re late.”
Arelia took her seat. “By two minutes.”
“Two minutes can matter,” he replied.
Arelia didn’t argue. She simply reached for the bread, breaking off a piece. Silence settled over the table. It wasn’t unusual. The royal family had never been overly talkative at meals. But this silence felt… different. Heavier. Like something waiting to be said.
Her mother spoke first.
“The gardens are in bloom,” she said lightly. “You should walk through them later, Arelia. It would do you good.”
“I might,” Arelia said.
Her father didn’t comment. Another pause. Then—
“We’ve received word,” King Edrian said, setting down his cup with quiet precision.
There it was. Arelia’s fingers stilled against the table.
“From where?” she asked, though her voice had already gone cooler.
“From the northern kingdom,” her mother said.
Arelia looked at her. Queen Lysara held her gaze, and for a brief moment—just a flicker—something like apology passed through her eyes. Then it was gone.
“They have accepted,” her father continued.
Accepted.
The word landed like a stone. Arelia set her bread down slowly. “Accepted what?”
Her father met her gaze directly. “Our proposal.”
There was no point pretending now.
“You mean,” she said evenly, “the proposal I was not part of.”
Her mother shifted slightly. “Arelia—”
“You knew,” Arelia said, looking at her. “Both of you.”
Her father’s voice remained calm. “This is not unexpected.”
“No,” Arelia said. “It isn’t. That doesn’t make it right.”
Silence again—but sharper now.
Her mother folded her hands. “He is a good match.”
“You’ve met him?” asked Arelia.
“No,” Queen Lysara admitted. “But—”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because his family is respected. Because his kingdom is stable. Because—”
“Because it benefits us,” Arelia finished.
Her father leaned forward slightly. “That is part of it, yes.”
“At least you’re honest,” she said.
“Arelia,” her mother said, a quiet warning in her tone.
But Arelia wasn’t looking at her anymore. She was looking at her father.
“When were you going to tell me?” she asked.
“We are telling you now.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Her father didn’t respond immediately.
And that—more than anything—frustrated her. Because he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t dismissive. He was certain.
“I am not refusing to listen,” he said finally. “But you must understand your position.”
“My position,” she repeated.
“You are the heir to this kingdom.”
“I am your daughter.”
“And those two things are not separate,” he said.
Arelia let out a quiet, humorless breath. There it was. That line. The one that had been quietly growing between them for months.
Her mother spoke again, softer this time. “We are not doing this to hurt you.”
Arelia looked at her.
For a moment, she saw not the queen—but her mother. Tired. Worried. Trying.
“You’re not doing it for me either,” Arelia said.
Queen Lysara’s lips pressed together.
“No,” she said quietly. “We’re not.”
The tension didn’t explode. It didn’t shatter into shouting or anger. It just… stayed. Lingering in the air, in the space between them. That was the worst part.
Arelia pushed back her chair and stood.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
Her father’s voice followed, calm but firm. “You will meet him.”
She paused. Slowly, she turned back.
“Will I?” she asked.
“It has already been arranged.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Of course it has.”
Her mother stood as well now. “Arelia, please—”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t get to say ‘please’ after deciding my future without me.”
“Arelia—”
“I understand duty,” she said, her voice steady but sharper now. “I understand responsibility. I understand what’s expected of me.”
She looked between them.
“But I don’t understand why that means I don’t get a choice.”
Her father’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because some choices are not yours to make.”
Something in her chest tightened.
Not anger.
Not entirely.
Something else. Something heavier.
“Then what is?” she asked quietly.
Neither of them answered.
And that silence—
That was her answer. She left without another word.
The corridors felt colder than usual. Or maybe it was just her. As she walked, her mind raced—not with panic, but with something more controlled. More dangerous. Determination.
A prince. A “lovely suitor.” A meeting already arranged.
They thought this would be simple.
That she would protest, maybe argue… and then accept.
They didn’t know her as well as they thought.
Arelia slowed as she reached a window overlooking the outer gates. Far beyond them lay the rest of the world. A world she had barely been allowed to see. And now—
They expected her to tie herself to someone she had never even met. Her reflection stared back at her in the glass. Composed. Controlled.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were different.
“Fine,” she murmured.
If they wanted her to meet him—
She would. But not as a quiet, obedient princess. And certainly not on their terms. Something was going to change.