Merlicious 3 Page 5

  Still in a daze, overwhelmed by it all, Paul followed Sargo to their chamber. Inside, a servant placed a dark square of material over the chamber's window to subdue the constant glow outside. With a nod, she left.

  "What do you think?” asked his wife.

  "It's a little too pink for my taste, but it's a big room.” Circuiting the chamber, he fingered items that caught his eye.

  She laughed and settled on the bed. “I meant my parents."

  "Oh.” Spinning around, he faced her. “They're great. They really are."

  "But...?"

  He went over and joined her on the bed. “Try to understand. I spent my entire life feeling like I didn't belong. Now I find myself among people just like me, who accept me and act like they love me. It's a lot to take in."

  She caressed his cheek, love shining from her eyes. “You need time."

  "Yeah. Exactly."

  Her insight humbled him, and her faith that he would excel as king made him believe he could do it. But, unable to sleep in the face of his impending crowning, he tossed and turned through the night. Doubts plagued him until he thought he would go mad.

  A cool hand touched his hot back between the shoulder blades. “Are you having trouble sleeping?"

  He rolled over. “I've never been a leader. I've never supervised or managed. I've never even had to make a decision that affected someone else.” Squeezing his eyes closed, he raked his fingers though his hair.

  She intertwined her fingers with his. “Come with me. I have something to show you."

  Down the hall from their room, she led him through a set of double doors that opened onto a wide terrace. They left the palace and swam out over the city.

  "Aren't you going to ask where we're going?"

  "I'm sorry. I'm still trying to adjust to this.” He scanned the buildings below. “With a whole city down there, it's like flying. So where are we going?"

  "You'll see."

  He smiled with wry humor. “No fair."

  They reached the outskirts of the city, and Sargo pointed down at an architecturally complex building atop a jutting outcrop of rock. The importance of the place became more apparent as he got closer. The structure gleamed, pristine and bathed in golden light. It looked new, yet he understood somehow that the pavilion was ancient. Made of stone instead of coral, flawless columns circled the outside and supported a vaulted roof topped by a simple gold crown perched on a golden spire.

  Sargo approached with reverence and placed a palm on a column. “Touch it."

  Putting a hand next to hers, his eyes widened. “It's so warm."

  "When a king is ready to be born, his birth mother comes here. The mothers used to give birth hovered above this hot rock. But a few thousand years ago, our ancestors built this.” She led him inside.

  They entered a welcome chamber of smooth walls decorated with scenes of merpeople involved in a throne ceremony. She took him through a reflective, golden door into a bright, round chamber lit by holes in the towering ceiling where light spilled onto angled, magnifying mirrors. At the center of the room stood a pedestal bed with a tilted backrest that reminded him of a hospital bed. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined the entire chamber.

  "This is where you were born,” she said, backing against a wall and giving him space.

  He stared at the bed then up at the ceiling so high above. He tried to imagine a mermaid, his mother, struggling to birth him. He pictured her swimming up, using her tail muscles to help push him into the world then settling to the bed for rest before swimming up again. The image moved him.

  "Is she still alive?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you know her?"

  "No. But we will. She'll crown you tomorrow. And afterward, she'll move into the palace and become a member of our household, if she chooses. It's her right. She's family."

  He looked up from the bed and searched out her face, feeling lost and disoriented. Catching sight of his reflection in the mirrors, he froze. “That's me?” He saw the lips move in the mirror image, but he hardly recognized himself.

  Moving around the bed without taking his eyes from the mirror, he swam toward the chamber wall with a strength and grace that could only compare to a lion. His upper body spread before him in massive proportion. Even the angles of his face had changed, the muscles in his jaw and surrounding his mouth creating a wider, harder version of what he used to look like. His blue eyes stared back, more vivid and intense than before. And his tail rippled with muscle, its deep blue bordering on purple and encrusted with transparent scales outlined in pure gold.

  "Yes,” she whispered beside him. “That's you. What do you think?” She came to his side, joining him in the reflection.

  "Holy smokes.” Blinking, he wiped his eyes then stared back at his new and improved physique. “I certainly look like a king."

  She smiled and put slender fingers on his shoulder. “After tomorrow's ceremony, you will be a king."

  "I really have no choice, do I?"

  "No. Like I said before, you were born for it. Just like you're the only one to be my husband, you're the only one who can be king."

  With a solemn nod, he let her take him back to the palace. They made slow, tender love. Later, he fell asleep with little trouble.

  The next morning, Sargo woke him with a gentle shake. Lying on the bed, he waited for dread to overtake him, but it did not come. A knock sounded on the door, and the same mermaid who put a cloth over the window the previous evening took it down and left. The room filled with soft, salmon light.

  "Happy birthday,” greeted Sargo.

  "Thank you, wife.” He smiled. He had not called her ‘wife’ until now, but after last night, it felt right. He was hers, heart and soul. Forever.

  She sent him a blinding smile, her eyes sparkling. “It's going to be a glorious day."

  Another knock sounded, and this time she went to answer. She returned with a tray of beautifully arranged food.

  "Breakfast in bed?” he asked.

  "Looks that way,” she replied with a sweet smile. Setting the tray on the bed next to him, she settled with the food between them. “Are you still having doubts?"

  His brows lowered over his eyes then rose into arches. “Strangely, no. I'm actually looking forward to the ceremony so I can meet my mother."

  "That's a good thing."

  "Will my father be there?"

  Looking taken aback, she sat up. “There's no father."

  "I don't understand."

  "There's no father, Paul. Only your mother knows how you were conceived."

  Sitting in silence, he tried to absorb her words. Suddenly, he shrugged and accepted, defying his own character. Part of him took alarm, wondering if his personal identity was subject to transformation in addition to his physical form. Yet on a grander level, the acceptance liberated him from senseless worry. In the blink of an eye, he let go of everything he understood from a human viewpoint and decided to embrace this new, wonderful world.

  Tilting her head to the side, Sargo studied him with a serious expression. “Something's happened. You look different."

  "I am different. I'm a merman. I'm your husband. And soon, I'll be king."

  She said nothing, but he saw admiration in her eyes. They ate without speaking. However, the silence held intimacy rather than awkwardness. Later, attendants joined them and adorned them with robes and scepters. Hand in hand, they followed the Master of Ceremonies to the throne room.

  Thousands of merpeople filled the cavernous space. Heads bowed when they swam in. At the far end, the king, queen and a group of attendants waited near an elegant platform. The importance of this ceremony, transferring power from the old king to the new, hit him full in the face. A blast of adrenaline kicked his heart into a hard beat. The swim seemed to last hours, though it took less than a minute.

  When they arrived, the master of ceremonies waved him to the throne, and Sargo settled into the smaller seat next to him. He reached over and wrapped his fingers
around hers, pulling strength from her calm familiarity while looking into the sea of faces before him.

  "These are my people,” he said, his voice quiet.

  A gorgeous mermaid, almost as beautiful as his wife, swam forward holding a large silver crown. His mother. He gulped back tears of recognition. In her face, he saw a piece of himself staring back. Excitement tensed the muscles that ran up the back of his neck, and he fought the desire to reach out to her. The heaviness of the ceremony kept him rooted to his seat, but he drank her in with his eyes. With a tender smile, she placed the crown on his head.

  Sargo said, “You are their king."

  Her father came forward holding a smaller crown and placed it on her head. Paul squeezed her hand. “Now you're their queen. And I love you."

  "I love you, too."

  He looked deep into her eyes and smiled. “I'm home."

  The End

  Somewhere Between Worlds

  by

  Susan Anthony

  Prince Troidan needs Samantha Singer to find the remedy that will save his father and his throne. Will she help him find love as well?

  www.members.cox.net/santhonyromance

  santhonyromance@cox.net.

  To my family, for their enthusiasm.

  Somewhere Between Worlds

  by

  Susan Anthony

  Chapter One

  Prince Troidan removed the crimson-soaked cloth from his arm. Within seconds, blood began to flow again from the jagged tear, and he covered the wound with a fresh bandage.

  The prince's escort shook his head. “This was a bad idea. You're too big a target. If that spear had come any closer, we could kiss our last chance at peace goodbye."

  "What are you afraid of, Kurt? Is it Diel's men? Or Jen?"

  "This is no joke, Troidan. We need a new plan. You should go back to the island. Let one of us get the medicine."

  "And risk everyone being discovered? No. It has to be me. I have no ties to the surface world.” Troidan muttered an oath. “Besides, this is my responsibility, my mission. I will save my father."

  Kurt glanced at the red stain creeping across the recently placed dressing. “Just as soon as you're done bleeding."

  "Right."

  * * * *

  Samantha picked up the chart and read the triage report. Dan Jacobs. Upper arm laceration. Patient reports fall from ladder. She turned to the nurse. “Fall from a ladder? You don't see that every day around here."

  "Darn shame, too. The guy is hot."

  "Now you're trolling for dates among the patients, Carol? Very nice."

  The nurse grinned. “Go in and see for yourself. And let me know if you need someone to assist."

  Samantha shook her head and pulled back the curtain to room four. Inside, two men conversed in hushed tones. They both looked up at her approach.

  Samantha's breath caught at the sight of the man on the table. Carol was right. Muscular build, hypnotic blue eyes shown off perfectly by his longish brown hair. His skin looked a little pale, probably due to blood loss. Samantha held out her hand to the man.

  "Hi. I'm Dr. Singer. What happened today, Mr. Jacobs?"

  The patient's companion stepped forward. “This is my, uh, cousin. He fell off a ladder. Landed right on a broken board."

  Samantha turned. “Thank you, Mr—"

  "Davis. Kurt Davis."

  "Thank you, Mr. Davis. But it helps me if the patient tells me what happened. Mr. Jacobs?"

  "Call me Dan. There's nothing left to tell. I fell off a ladder and landed on a broken board."

  The man's voice moved over Samantha like warm caramel. She tried to focus on his words, to ignore the timbre of his voice and the intensity of his eyes. What's the word for that deep rich blue? Ultramarine, maybe? Man, Carol really was right. This man is beautiful. He probably has women waiting by phones all over town.

  Dan removed the cloth from his arm then, and the sight of blood snapped Samantha out of her daydream. The gash, long and deep, would need staples. Quite a few of them. She excused herself and went to get the supplies she needed to clean and close the wound.

  * * * *

  Dan regarded the doctor as she told him how to care for his arm and instructed him to return in ten days to have the staples removed.

  Then she handed him his discharge papers. Their fingers touched, warming Dan's skin in a way he never felt in his human form. He caught Samantha's slight pause and knew she felt it, too. That was no surprise. Surface folks always responded strongly to the mer-people's touch. But he did find it interesting, and disappointing, that Samantha did not attempt any further contact. Instead, she gave a professional goodbye and headed toward the exit.

  Just as Samantha reached the door it swung open, and another female doctor stepped inside. She aimed a wide smile at Dan before turning her attention back to Samantha.

  "Hey, Samantha. I have a favor to ask. My shift isn't over until ten, and the girls are going out. I hate to miss it. Can you stay late?"

  Samantha paused, and Dan thought he saw her shoulders droop slightly. But then she straightened up and spoke. “Sure. Have a good time."

  "I knew I could count on you. Thanks.” Then both women walked out the door.

  As Dan got down from the examining table, he turned to his friend. “Cousin,” he said, drawing out the word. “I think I have a new plan."

  * * * *

  The clinic's glass door pressed heavily against Samantha's aching muscles as she left the building, a perfect metaphor for her emotions. Day after day, she pushed against the tide of patients coming through that door, struggling to help people. To make a real difference in their lives the way her father had done with his clinic. Had her father ever felt so overwhelmed? So lost? If he had, he kept it secret from his family. She wished she could ask him about it.

  Taking another move from her father, she paused just outside and took a deep breath. She held it for a moment and looked up at the sky as she exhaled. The ritual was intended to leave professional concerns at work, clear her mind before heading home. It was effective, too.

  Her problem was that she had no personal life to fill the vacuum. When had that happened? At what point had Samantha allowed Dr. Singer to become indispensable? To be all there was to her?

  Samantha swallowed against tears that threatened as self-doubt washed over her. She'd dreamed of a career in medicine since she was a teenager helping out at her father's office. She'd worked to the point of exhaustion to earn scholarships for college and worked harder still through medical school and residency. And she'd made it. Why wasn't it enough?

  A wailing siren pierced the night, yanking Samantha back to reality. Why was she wasting time on self-pity? She had a good life. She was a doctor. Her skills and dedication saved people. She was needed.

  Samantha made up her mind not to lose sight of that fact again. She took another deep breath and started toward her apartment.

  "Dr. Singer.” The words reached her ears at the same moment her brain registered the rapid thump-thump of approaching feet.

  "Dr. Singer. Wait. Please, I need your help."

  Samantha stopped at the sound of that familiar voice and slowly turned to face Dan Jacobs. “What kind of help? Is there a problem with your wound?"

  "No. It's not me. It's my father. He's very sick."

  "The clinic is closed. It'll open again tomorrow at eight o'clock. Bring your dad in, and we'll be happy to take a look at him. If it can't wait, go to the emergency room."

  "You don't understand. He's already seen the best doctors. No one has been able to determine the cause of his illness. They've tried countless remedies, and his condition just gets worse. It's up to me. I need to identify his illness and find a cure. If I fail, he'll die."

  Samantha sighed. It wouldn't be the first time a desperate family member tried to find a diagnosis that had eluded medical professionals. Occasionally they even succeeded. “What do you want from me?"

  "I want you to tell me where
to look for answers. How to get started."

  "I'll need to see him."

  "It's too far. He wouldn't survive the journey. Please."

  Samantha weighed her options. She was insanely busy with her own work. Plus it would be next to impossible to diagnose a patient sight unseen. On the other hand, if she had plans, no one could guilt her into covering their shift while they went out with the gang. And maybe a special project would shake her out of this funk.

  "There's a coffee shop at the end of the next block. Meet me there tomorrow at six-thirty. Be prepared to tell me everything you know about your father's symptoms."

  Chapter Two

  Dan sat alone in the stacks at the college library. Shortly, Samantha reappeared, a slip of paper in one hand, and began scanning a nearby row of shelves. She stepped onto a small stool and reached for a volume at the top. Her t-shirt inched up as she stretched, revealing her midriff. The image of cool blue cotton sliding over her fair skin ignited a slow burn inside Dan, the same sensation he'd been fighting since they met.

  "Can I help you with that?"

  "No, thanks. I got it."

  After a few minutes, she closed the book and looked across the table. “There's nothing in here. Are you making any progress?"

  "No, and I could use a break.” Dan's education in surface languages hadn't prepared him for searching medical texts. Especially when that search was mostly a ruse. The healers back home thought they knew what was wrong with their king, Resistant Aquaic Pneumonae. It was the remedy they needed.

  "Sorry. Sometimes I forget this isn't medical school. Let's talk about something else. You never told me where you're from."

  Dan recognized dangerous territory and changed the subject. “I'd rather hear about you. When did you decide to become a doctor?"