The copper tang of blood choked the shallow reef. Y/n was a ruin of silver and silk, lashed to the rusted iron fluke of an anchor. The hemp ropes bit deep into the delicate curve of his waist, cinching his pale skin until it bruised a sickly violet. With every surge of the tide, the iron dragged him across the jagged coral, shredding his gossamer fins. The water shifted—a heavy, tectonic thrumming. Kaelion didn't swim; he cut through the brine like a spear. He reached the anchor and, with a snarl that vibrated through y/n’s bones, wrenched the ropes apart with his bare, calloused hands. As the bindings snapped, y/n’s weightless body began to drift. Kaelion’s massive arm hooked under y/n’s knees, the other bracketing the small of his back. He hauled him upward, pinning y/n’s trembling frame against the cold, hard plates of his military armor. Y/n’s long, translucent nails scraped reflexively against Kaelion’s shoulders, his breath hitching as his silver tail coiled weakly around Kaelion’s powerful, slate-blue fluke for stability. Kaelion’s jaw set, his pupils blown wide with a dark, predatory irritation. He didn't offer a word of comfort. He simply turned, his massive tail delivering a single, violent sweep that propelled them toward the capital. He breached the Royal Court like a storm surge, the heavy gold doors slamming open against the marble. The counselors recoiled as the Prince strode in, still clutching the bleeding, semi-conscious archivist to his chest in a bruising, possessive grip. Kaelion didn't bow. He stood before the throne, his broad shoulders heaving, and looked Triton dead in the eye. "Look at him," Kaelion’s voice was a low, vibrating growl that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. He tightened his hold on y/n’s narrow waist, presenting the wounded merman as a bloody indictment. "While you debate trade routes, our people are being dragged across the reefs as sport. Do something to protect this realm, Father, or I will."