The Mermaids Madness

true what they’re saying?” Nicolette had turned to watch the cart carrying Beatrice to the chapel. “Did the merfolk try to assassinate the queen?”
    Other voices drew Danielle’s attention from her son. While she had fussed with Jakob, others had approached, forming a loose ring around Danielle and Armand. Peter, the apprentice falconer, cleared his throat and said, “I’ve a brother who sails on the Virtuous, Princess. If the merfolk have declared war, will they—”
    The gardener, Laurence, slapped Peter with a dirt-crusted hand. “The undine have been friends to Lorindar for a century. Isn’t that right, Your Highness?”
    “They say this was a rogue mermaid, an assassin hired by Allesandria to avenge some imagined slight,” said Rebecca, one of the women who worked in the laundry. “They mean to—”
    “A lone mermaid did attack our ship,” Danielle said. Rumors would spread regardless of her words. At least this way the rumors would have some basis in truth. She glanced at Armand, uncertain how much more to say. “She escaped, and we don’t know why she attacked. The undine . . . they appear to follow her.”
    “Will the queen live?” asked Peter.
    They never would have pressed Armand this way. Even now, they carefully avoided his gaze, trying to close in around Danielle while dodging the prince. An impressive trick, given that Armand stood with his arm around Danielle’s shoulders.
    But until a year ago, Danielle had been a servant, not a royal. Though she wore her crown when the chamberlain forced her to, she still thought of the palace staff as friends and equals, far more than the nobles at court.
    “That’s enough,” Nicolette snapped, shooing the crowd back. “Jakob’s just beginning to settle down. Anyone riles him up again will answer to me.”
    “Thank you,” Danielle smiled as she watched Nicolette chase the crowd back. “We’ll be all right. You should go and rest. Stop by the kitchen and tell Simon to give you whatever you’d like, on my orders.”
    “Thank you, Highness,” Nicolette said.
    Danielle hummed to her son as she and Armand walked toward the northwest tower, where the royal family resided. After only a few steps, Jakob began to struggle. By the time they were halfway across the courtyard, he was screaming loudly enough to draw stares from atop the walls. His pudgy fingers reached for Armand.
    “Looks like it’s my turn.” Armand’s expression was a blend of fondness and exasperation. The prospect of fatherhood had terrified him in the beginning. He still tended to treat Jakob as though he were made of glass, but there was no mistaking the love in his smile. “I’m sure I was never so fussy, but when I tell that to my mother, she merely laughs.” He reached out, but Jakob kicked so hard Danielle nearly lost her grip.
    “He’s pointing past you,” she said. “Toward the chapel.” Toward Beatrice.
    Danielle tightened her hold on her son. Queen Beatrice had been known to sense things. One of her premonitions had alerted them to Armand’s kidnapping the year before. Perhaps Jakob had inherited that gift.
    Or perhaps he had received something darker. Despite Snow’s assurances, Danielle still worried. She had been surrounded by so much magic while carrying Jakob. It was possible Snow had missed something.
    “Maybe he spotted his grandfather,” Armand offered. “You know how they spoil him. Is it any wonder he wants to follow?”
    Danielle tried again to take Jakob to the tower, but he jabbed his tiny fingers at the chapel, kicking with all his might. With a sigh, she turned toward the chapel.
    Armand chuckled. “My father may sit on the throne, but little Jakob is well on his way to ruling Whiteshore Castle.”
    Jakob raised his head, studying his father for a long moment, then turned and blew a snot bubble onto Danielle’s shoulder.

    A wooden cross inlaid with polished silver topped the steeple of the small church. A single step at the front led through a stone archway. The air inside was cool and still. Past leather-padded benches, Danielle spotted Father Isaac arranging dried palm fronds around the base of the altar. The king sat in the front bench, his head bowed in prayer. Queen Beatrice lay on the altar with her hands folded over her chest.
    Danielle’s throat tightened at the sight. She knew the queen still lived, but seeing her laid out as if for a funeral . . .
    Jakob twisted in her arms, staring first at the altar, then turning