Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 1

you and made a bargain with the sea witch to turn human when my father told her he would permit no such thing until she acted like an adult. But the sea witch being who she is… my sister had three months to make you love her or she would die. Her only other option was to kill you. Obviously, it was not a choice she could make. So I came here and took the curse in her place."
    "So you freed her, then you were going to kill me to save yourself," Aimé said, and it was the calmness in his voice, the way he appreciated the logic, that cut Seree the deepest. "Are you going to kill me now?"
    "No!" Seree burst out, furious. "I would not—I would not do what we just did if I planned on killing you! I'm a man of honor. I do not deny I have my flaws and have made my mistakes, but I still have honor."
    Aimé nodded. "So you… you don't want to kill me? Does that mean…"
    "I am trying to think of another way," Seree said stiffly.
    "Oh," Aimé said, and he seemed to wither. He awkwardly adjusted his clothes and pushed his hair from his face, looking mussed, beautiful, and suddenly a hundred leagues away. "Um. I guess I should go to bed. Goodnight, Seree."
    Seree opened his mouth, but then closed it again and watched Aimé walk away. Why did he feel as though he had proven himself a disappointment? He had nothing to prove to a human, no matter how unusually sweet or intriguing. What was he supposed to have said? Wasn't it good enough that he wasn't going to kill him? What did Aimé expect, for Seree to love—
    Oh, no. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Savior of the Deep spare him the flashflood emotions of young people. They had known each other a week; only a young fool would think that time enough to fall in love!
    Heaving an aggravated sigh, cursing himself for succumbing to a temptation that had done nothing to help the matter— it was clear who the real fool was in the entire debacle— he trudged his way back to his room to try and get some sleep.
    ****
    There were two days left, and Seree was ready just to drown himself and call it done. Worse, he was thinking of contacting his grandmother. Oh, the way she would laugh at him—and set him up to suffer a fate far worse than death. The revenge she had not been able to enact upon her traitorous daughter she would happily enact upon her despised grandson.
    His father would kill him.
    No matter how he looked at it, he was dead. Seree scrubbed at his face in frustration, then dropped his hands and went back to cleaning his knives. They didn't really need it, but the motions made him feel better, reminded him he was not normally so hopelessly incompetent.
    He picked up a clean white cloth and gave the knives a last going-over before tucking each into its sheath: White for healing, violet for calling, blue for exchange, green for deception, yellow for protection, orange for binding, red for pain, black for sacrifice. Each knife took years to earn, longer to truly understand.
    When they were clean, he replaced them on his back and shrugged into his jacket. Three days, and his options were nonexistent. All he really needed to decide was how he wanted to die: the sea, his own hand, a bargain with the witch, or let his father strangle him for acting no better than his sisters.
    He was going to murder Lana; it was all her fault. He hoped father had locked her up and given the key to some dolphins. They lost everything, especially when told not .
    Father…
    There was an idea. Slightly better than the sea witch, anyway. Lectures and being laughed at hadn't killed him yet. At worst it would just make him wish he were dead and that could only help the situation.
    By the Savior, he was never again saving his sisters from anything. The next time one of them blundered into trouble, she was on her own.
    Well, there was nothing for it. He probably should have conceded defeat much sooner, but Savior did he hate looking like a fool in front of his father. Heaving a sigh, Seree left his room and walked slowly through the palace.
    He walked slowly primarily because he kept peering into every open door he passed, hoping to see the prince who had studiously avoided him the past few days. Every time he had tried to inquire as to where to find him, he'd been informed that the prince was busy and would see him when he had time.
    Seree was not certain what to think about that. He was going to die because he couldn't kill Aimé, and the bastard wouldn't even see him? Perhaps he was all too