I lie awake on the dry bed and stare out of the window into the night. The winds have stopped beating on the house, and from the sound of things, both Brendan and the manservant have retired.
The ocean, however, never sleep. Instead, they call me; beckon me; taunt me.
Once, I was queen of the waters, and the currents directed me where I willed them to. Perhaps it still will again, and I'm letting fear over the curse dictated by a usurper control me.
Climbing out of bed, I search around in the darkness until I find where I folded my dress. Still clutching it, I open the heavy object Brendan called a door before rushing toward the stairs.
By some kind of miracle, I don't trip and fall as I rush down them too fast in the dark on my new feet.
The outside door is a little harder to open and keep quiet at the same time, but no one comes running down from above, so I must be somewhat effective.
Then my feet take me across a hard, scratchy surface, the ticklish sensations of their plant life, and finally to the sand that is both hard and soft; wet and dry.
Lingering in the shadows, I change back into my dress before approaching the shore. The waters are still a bit choppy, but nothing like they were before. But still I hesitate at the edge.
What magic will take hold of me if I move back into my watery home? Hopefully, only my own.
Changing back into my dress as quickly as possible, I try not to focus on my humiliation at changing in the open, something a queen would never do. It isn't hard, because my fear that Cerce has truly banished me from my home is crippling. At least, before now, I had a glimmer of a hope.
Now I'll learn the truth of whether I'm a fool for listening to her in the first place, or a fool for not believing her.
But a queen doesn't let her emotions govern her.