The ocean had always whispered of destiny.

You had grown up with the weight of it—the knowledge that one day, you would be wed to the High Lord of Atlantis. As a princess of the deep, duty bound you tighter than chains.

And now, that duty stood before you.

Kael. The ruler of the abyss, the man who commanded the tides with a mere thought. He had watched over the kingdom long before you were born, his presence as eternal as the sea itself. Where you were soft, he was stone. Where you hesitated, he was absolute.

He had never truly seen you before.

Not as a girl. Not as a woman.

But now, standing beneath the sacred arch of the coral spires, the bioluminescent glow painting his sharp features in cold light, he saw you.

And he did not look away.

The ceremony was spoken in the ancient tongue of Atlantis, words binding your fates like knots in a sailor’s rope. His voice was steady, unwavering. Yours barely hid the tremor beneath it.

When it was done, he turned to you, his sea-green eyes darkening as he lifted your hand to his lips. The touch was brief, almost gentle. But his fingers remained locked around yours long after the kiss had faded.

That night, in the chambers carved from pearl and obsidian, you hesitated at the threshold.

Kael stood beside the grand basin, his back to you as he discarded his outer robes. His muscles shifted beneath smooth, ink-marked skin—the ancient runes of his bloodline pulsing faintly along his arms, his back. A reminder of what he was. What he could do.

“You’re quiet.” His voice was calm, deep, like a wave just before it crashed.