Grom finds his mother in her private chamber, right in the middle of her usual routine of caring for her human relics. She uses her finger to gently swipe off a layer of silt from a tall clear cylinder which she claims the humans use to contain fire for light. After it’s spotless, she moves on to a small white box, her favorite of them all. “I can’t touch this one anymore,” she says without looking up. She puckers, then blows a gentle stream through the delicate flowers carved on the lid. A slight cloud of black wafts up, just before the surrounding water absorbs it. “Last time I chipped one of the small green pieces, see?”

Grom swims forward and squints, more in a show of interest, rather than actual interest.  “Are you sure it wasn’t already like that? You did recover this from a wreck, after all.”

She bites her lip. “I’m sure. I cried when I did it.”

“You and your human treasures,” he says, not unkindly.

“Oh, not you too,” she says, waving her hand. “Do I not get enough complaints from your father? Is it so wrong to want to preserve beauty, even if it’s made from human hands?”

“Of course not,” Grom smiles. “Otherwise, the Cave of Memories would be outlawed. Besides, I didn’t come here to complain.”

“Excellent! I do get weary of having to defend myself. What can I do for you, my son?”

“It’s about Nalia.”

The queen groans. “Oh, Grom. You know that’s the one thing I can’t—”

“I want her for my mate,” he blurts.

“I…You do?” She clasps her hands together. “Because I was certain that you’d rather mate with a rock fish. In fact, I think you’ve said as much on several—”

“Things changed. She changed. But I want her to want me too.” Sort of. He wants her to want him, so he can reject her the way she rejects him. But that explanation won’t convince the queen to help him.

“Truly? Do you…do you love her, then?”

“No,” he says, even as he feels Nalia’s pulse thrum through him. Ever since their meeting in the Ceremony Chamber, he can’t shake it. Sometimes it’s light, almost like a phantom tickle, easily brushed aside. Other times it’s maddening, strong and intrusive, so that he can’t think of anything else but her. And apparently talking about her triggers the madness. He doesn’t like that. Not at all.

“Then why?” His mother’s lips press into a line.     

Grom chuckles, hoping it doesn’t sound as fake as it feels. “Have you seen Nalia lately, mother?”

The queen gasps. “Are you shallow as a clam pool, boy?”

“Triton’s trident! Ever since she was born you and father have twisted my fin to accept her. Now you’re upset that I’m willing to mate with her. I do wish you’d make up your mind.”

His mother grimaces in obvious shame.

“Truth be told,” he says, almost choking on the words, “I think it’s more than love. I think it’s the pull.”

“The pull!” she says, gliding over to him. “Grom, are you sure? What makes you think so?”

Grom shrugs. He should have looked into the whole ridiculous legend further before going around spewing “the pull” all over the place. He has no idea of the supposed symptoms. And symptoms they are, since Grom has always considered the pull a mental defect, at best. The idea that nature could force a couple together in order to produce stronger offspring has always been nonsensical to him.

“Do you think about her all the time?” The queen’s eyes light up. “Do you always sense her, no matter how far apart you are?”

There is nothing fake about his scowl as he realizes he does. Not possible. It’s not possible that I actually do feel the pull for Nalia. He clears his throat. “Er…yes.” The words taste like squid ink in his mouth.

“Oh, this is wonderful. I can’t wait to tell your father.”

“No! Do we have to tell anyone? I mean, it doesn’t matter if it’s the pull or not, right? We would still have to mate, even if it’s not.”

“But wait. If you feel the pull toward her, shouldn’t Nalia feel the pull toward you? Isn’t that how it works?”

Triton’s trident, what a stupid legend. “I’m sure she reciprocates, mother. But given our history, she might be stubborn enough to fight it.” Again, Nalia’s pulse jolts through his veins. He grits his teeth. “And that’s what I need your help with. I want to charm her. Win her over.”

Grom swears he hears pity in the Triton queen’s chuckle. “Oh, my dear boy. Who could resist your charms? I’m sure you’ll have no trouble at all stealing her heart. You don’t need my help. The little princess has no idea what’s coming for her.” With that, his mother flits out of the cave in a wave of feminine innocence. And Grom is sure he’s just been had.