He was there.

Ava's breath hitched, her composure wavering for the briefest moment. Her eyes locked onto Jonas, his human form now unmistakably altered. The golden tail, the faint red-tinted scales blending seamlessly into his torso—it was an impossible sight. Her mind raced, struggling to reconcile what she was seeing.

Impossible. The word echoed in her thoughts. Her gaze darted to the other royals, catching their subdued reactions. Conversations had halted, curiosity and caution simmering in the air. She scanned the faces around her, her sharp instincts piecing together the puzzle. And then she saw him—Morgan. His familiar smirk was a silent admission, his green eyes glinting with secrets.

Ava forced a smile, one of the practiced, placid expressions she'd perfected over the years. "Evening, friends," she murmured, her voice smooth as silk, her head inclining slightly in acknowledgment. The other royals returned the gesture, their politeness masking their intrigue.

Yet, for all her poise, Ava felt an unwelcome sensation creeping in—isolation. For once, she felt excluded, the unspoken whispers and glances turning her into an outsider among her peers. It was a sensation she hadn't felt in years, not since she'd claimed her throne with iron will and calculated strength.

Then, a soft pressure in her hand grounded her. She looked down to find Roni gazing up at her, his bright eyes shining with the kind of unconditional adoration that could melt the iciest resolve. His presence was a reminder, an anchor.

She smiled, the warmth genuine, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Family comes first, she reminded herself. Everything she did, every calculated move, was for him.

"Mistress Ava?" Roni murmured softly, slipping into the character of the royal slave he was meant to portray.

Ava's fingers slipped through his hair in a soothing gesture, the motion almost absent-minded. Her thoughts remained on the eyes she could feel boring into her—the curiosity of the other royals. She didn't need to look to know they were studying her, wondering about the slave who followed her so closely, always at her side. It wasn't the first time she'd drawn speculation, nor would it be the last.

But she didn't care. Let them wonder, let them whisper. None of it mattered. Because in the end, family came first. Roni came first.

She straightened in her seat, her gaze drifting back to where Jonas still stood, his figure half-shadowed by the columns and glowing faintly in the refracted light. He looked so out of place, yet at the same time, unsettlingly at ease. His smirk lingered, a touch of cockiness that sent a ripple of irritation through her.

What game was Morgan playing, bringing this human—this spy—into their world? Jonas was a threat, no matter how well he could blend in with the mers. A foreign piece on the board, unpredictable and dangerous. Yet... a small part of her couldn't deny the spark of curiosity she felt.

Ava's gaze flickered away, her hand still resting lightly on Roni's shoulder. Let Morgan play his games, she thought. For now, she would watch, wait, and ensure that her family—her world—remained unshaken.

Because Ava had learned long ago that survival wasn't just about strength; it was about control. And she refused to let her control slip, no matter how unsettling the presence of Jonas Smith might be.

*******

Jonas's gaze lingered on Ava as she took her seat. To the rest of the world, she might appear as a cold, unfeeling queen—someone who kept a child as a slave, shrouded in whispers and scandal. But Jonas saw past the surface. In her eyes, he recognized something deeper: pain, loneliness, and the weight of an unrelenting burden. It clung to her like an invisible chain, dragging down her delicate shoulders despite the regal way she carried herself.

For a fleeting moment, he felt an almost overwhelming urge to cross the distance between them and pull her into an embrace. The impulse was startling—completely unlike him—but it simmered inside, stirring an uncharacteristic longing to ease her unspoken sorrow. Yet, as quickly as it had come, he buried the thought. He didn't have the courage to act on it, nor the right.

"So, who's getting married?" Jonas asked, breaking the silence with an awkward edge. He needed something to distract himself, to shake the weight of emotions threatening to settle.

Atlantis snorted, clearly amused. "The Onyx King and Marcus."

Jonas froze, his mind grinding to a halt. Jesus Christ, how many royals are there?

Before he could voice the thought, a sharp, clear note of trumpets echoed through the coliseum. The sound cut through the hum of the crowd, demanding silence.

All at once, the arena seemed to hold its breath. A deep, steady drumbeat began, reverberating through the massive space, resonating in Jonas's chest. Two grand doors, set on opposite sides of the arena, began to slide open, their ancient mechanisms groaning under the weight.

From one door, a large merman emerged, his presence commanding. His powerful tail shimmered like black gold, each movement fluid and deliberate. Tattoos framed the broad expanse of his back, curling like vines across his rippling muscles. A silver chain wrapped his torso, holding an onyx stone that gleamed against his skin. His long black hair was tied into a severe ponytail, revealing sharp features and black, emotionless eyes. He looked like he could crush anyone who dared challenge him. Yet when the second door opened, his expression softened ever so slightly.

Jonas blinked in recognition at the second merman. It was Marcus. His pale, almost fae-like appearance stood in stark contrast to the Onyx King's imposing figure. White hair framed his delicate features, and his translucent skin seemed to glow in the muted light. But it was the black tattoos that marred his arms and the twin blades strapped to his back that shattered any illusion of fragility. Marcus might look ethereal, but there was no doubt he was just as dangerous as the larger merman.

"This doesn't look like a wedding," Jonas muttered under his breath.

"That's because the Onyx don't do your typical wedding march," Morgan whispered, his hand slipping into Atlantis's as they both leaned forward to watch the unfolding ceremony.

The drums stopped abruptly, leaving only silence in their wake. The tension was palpable as the two mermen circled each other in the center of the arena. Their gazes locked, the rest of the world falling away. It was almost intimate in its intensity.

Then the fight began.

Jonas flinched as the Onyx King unsheathed a massive blade and swung it toward Marcus with startling speed. The sound of metal slicing through water sent a shiver down his spine.

"Don't worry," Morgan said softly, as though anticipating Jonas's alarm. His voice was calm, almost soothing, even as Marcus deflected the strike with a fluid motion, his twin blades flashing in a blur of steel.

Jonas hissed, his fists clenching and unclenching as he fought to contain his temper. The barbarity of the scene churned his stomach. "Why are they fighting?" he demanded in a harsh whisper, his voice sharp with indignation.

"It's tradition," Morgan explained, his gaze fixed on the combat below. The clash of swords echoed in the space between his words. "The Onyx god fought his lover when they first met. It was a test of strength and trust."

Jonas scoffed, his frustration boiling over. "Talk about love at first sight."

Morgan chuckled quietly, his amusement lightening the tension. "The story goes that the mer tamed the god's rage and turned it into love. A battle is how the Onyx show their devotion—by proving they are equals."

Jonas muttered under his breath, "They could at least wear armor."

"Not wearing armor is part of the ceremony," Morgan replied. "It's a sign of ultimate trust. To lay themselves bare to each other's strength."

Jonas's gaze snapped back to the arena just in time to see the Onyx King's blade graze dangerously close to Marcus's chest. Marcus twisted at the last second, his reflexes sharp enough to make Jonas wince. "Caspian is twice his size," Jonas deadpanned, his voice laced with disbelief.

Morgan stifled a laugh, his lips twitching with amusement. "Oh, Jonas," he said, patting his arm in mock consolation. "You have so much to learn before you play your part."

Jonas turned sharply to Morgan, his brow furrowing. "What does that mean?" he asked, his voice low and suspicious.

Morgan didn't answer, his focus already back on the arena. His silence left Jonas unsettled, the cryptic comment gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

Below, Marcus and Caspian continued their deadly dance, oblivious to the turmoil their spectacle had stirred in Jonas.

And Jonas couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

******

Ava watched the ceremony, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her chest ached as she took in the scene before her. The love and trust between Caspian and Marcus were palpable, shimmering in the air like the magic that swirled around them. Each tender glance, each precise movement of their blades, spoke volumes. It was raw, pure, and unspoken—a language only the two of them could understand.

When the ceremony ended with a simple kiss and the ceremonial crossing of their blades, the crowd erupted into cheers, their joy echoing through the grand coliseum. Ava felt tears pricking her eyes, her emotions threatening to spill over. She blinked quickly, willing them away.

"It's so beautiful," Roni whispered beside her, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Ava turned to her nephew, her expression softening as she reached out to stroke his chin. "It is," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to soak in his innocent awe before pulling herself back to the present.

As the guests began drifting toward the reception, Ava floated gracefully along, her composure as queenly as ever. Yet, her gaze kept finding its way to Jonas.

He no longer wore his human clothes, the casual attire replaced by the warrior's garb Morgan had chosen for him. The golden helmet and thin leather straps left his broad chest and sculpted muscles exposed. Ava shivered involuntarily, quickly suppressing the treacherous heat rising in her cheeks. She clenched her hands, forcing herself to focus on the banquet ahead.

When the newlyweds made their entrance, the atmosphere grew even more electric. Caspian and Marcus moved together with an ease and radiance that spoke of their bond. Their faces glowed with happiness, their connection undeniable.

Ava felt a pang of jealousy twist in her chest. How long had she searched for someone of her own? Years of disappointment had dulled the yearning, leaving her to scratch the biological itch that surfaced with every full moon. But true companionship, a connection like theirs—that dream had long faded, buried under the weight of her responsibilities.

"Congratulations," she said with a polite smile as Marcus approached her. His silver eyes sparkled, and the simple white cloth draped over his torso contrasted beautifully with the thin black crown resting on his white hair.

"Why thank you, Queen Ava!" Marcus said warmly, taking her hand into his. "I'm so happy you came all this way to attend my wedding."

Ava blinked at the harmless gesture, momentarily caught off guard. She had expected him to mention her behavior the day before, to perhaps tease her for her sharp words or cold demeanor. But Marcus's joy was infectious, his mood so light that it swept away any lingering awkwardness.

"You seem... different," Ava said softly, her lips curving into a genuine smile.

Marcus chuckled, his grin boyish. "Marriage suits me, I suppose."

For a moment, he lingered, his demeanor so gentle it reminded her of Roni. But eventually, he drifted away, joining Caspian and leaving Ava alone with her thoughts.

She sighed, the weight of the evening pressing heavily on her. The festive atmosphere no longer appealed to her, the laughter and chatter only amplifying her sense of solitude. Quietly, she retreated from the banquet, slipping into the shadows of the grand corridors.

Tomorrow, she thought, her mind already turning to the matters of state. Tomorrow, I'll meet with the Onyx King to finalize the alliance.

The banquet hall buzzed with laughter and conversation, the warmth of the festivities clinging to the air like a thick haze. Ava sat at her seat of honor, her gaze wandering across the room. It was loud, crowded, and stifling—everything she despised about these formal gatherings. Her thoughts drifted, her eyes unconsciously seeking out one figure.

Jonas.

He stood near the far wall, dressed in the warrior's garb Morgan had provided, his golden helmet tucked under one arm. His broad shoulders and lean frame were a striking contrast to the merriment around him. Jonas looked as though he didn't belong, and yet, he seemed at ease, his green eyes scanning the room with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

Their gazes met.

The tension that had lingered between them all evening flared to life, a spark that was impossible to ignore. Ava's breath hitched, her cheeks warming as Jonas's lips quirked into a subtle, knowing smirk. She glanced away quickly, her fingers gripping the edge of her goblet.

She couldn't deny it anymore. The pull between them was magnetic, unrelenting, and it was becoming harder and harder to resist.

Moments later, she felt a presence at her side. Jonas had closed the distance between them, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. "Getting tired of the royal fanfare?" he murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

Ava glanced up at him, her hazel eyes narrowing. "You have no idea," she replied, her tone clipped, though her pulse quickened at his nearness.

Jonas leaned closer, his voice a soft rumble. "Then why not take a break?"

Her brow arched. "Are you suggesting we... leave?"

"Maybe," Jonas said, a mischievous glint in his green eyes. "I think we both could use some air."

Ava hesitated for a moment, her mind racing with the implications. But the tension between them was unbearable, and the prospect of escaping the prying eyes of the court—even for a little while—was too tempting.

"Follow me," she said quietly, rising from her seat with a regal fluidity that betrayed none of her inner turmoil.

Jonas followed without question, his strides silent and purposeful. They slipped out of the banquet hall unnoticed, weaving through the grand corridors of the Onyx palace. Ava led him deeper into the maze-like structure until they reached a secluded balcony overlooking the vast underwater city. The bioluminescent glow of the coral cast a soft, ethereal light across their features.

She turned to face him, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "This is far enough," she said, though her voice wavered slightly.

Jonas stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers. "You sure about that?" he asked, his tone laced with both teasing and intensity.

Ava's resolve faltered under his piercing stare. She felt the heat between them grow unbearable, the space shrinking until there was nowhere left to run. "Jonas," she began, but her words died on her lips as he closed the distance between them.

His hands cupped her face, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

She didn't.

Instead, she surged forward, her lips crashing against his in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and longing. Jonas responded instantly, his arms encircling her waist and pulling her flush against him. Ava's hands tangled in his hair, her fingers threading through the soft strands as she lost herself in the moment.

The kiss deepened, their movements growing hungrier, more frantic. Jonas's lips trailed down her jawline to her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her shiver. Ava clung to him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as he explored every inch of her exposed skin.

"We shouldn't..." she whispered, though her actions betrayed her words.

"Then stop me," Jonas replied, his voice rough with desire as his hands slid along her waist.

She didn't stop him.

The moonlight filtering through the water cast them in a pale glow, the world beyond the balcony fading into oblivion. For that stolen moment, there was no court, no crown, no responsibilities—only the raw, unspoken need that had been building between them.