Out of Water

Chapter Five

She hates me. She hates me not. She hates me. She hates me not.

Ares pulled the petals from the water rose with growing ire. He threw each discarded pink bloom to the sand with a violent motion that was lost as soon as the petal left his fingers, where it floated softly through the current no matter how Ares hurled it.

He knew that she hated him. How could she not? It was his fault her aunt had died. His fault that her life had crumpled around her like a sandcastle caught by the tide.

She hated anything to do with the sea; proved it with every night spent howling from the wall to the waves beyond. He hadn't missed a single evening; it was his fault she was so miserable. He deserved nothing more than to feel the full brunt of her pain.

But, unbeknown to her - the princess... Erica - he was in pain too, pain that was entirely caused by her, even if it wasn't her fault. Over the past six months, Ares's affection for the princess who hated him had grown so slowly that he hadn't caught it until it was too late, until it had toppled past a crush into something much stronger than Ares had ever felt before.

He knew it was hopeless - she hated him; ridiculous - they'd never actually spoken; impossible - she wouldn't want to know him, even given the opportunity. But none of this dampened his feelings. None of this stopped him from going back, night after night, reeling from her words as if they were physical blows to his chest.

Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe his actions were creepy. At the very least, they were extremely unhealthy: he skin had grown wane, his hair limp. When he'd passed her in a corridor yesterday, Lilaea had pulled short, her face coloured by shock. He'd lost too much weight. He was wasting away over a girl who didn't even know he existed.

Pathetic, he chided himself.

Outcast, he whispered.

Alone, he sobbed.

For he was. Since the storm, his mother had taken to ignoring him completely. He was no longer invited to family meals or sessions at court. Part of Ares was glad of this - he didn't like spending time with his family, after all - but he still felt their absence in every silence, every lonely meal. He barely saw Lilaea anymore - yesterday had been the first time for weeks that their paths had crossed.

He barely saw anyone.

And the world above the waves: the land of his dreams, the place that had long been his best hope of salvation - well that was lonely too.

Hated by all.

All his own fault.

Ares knew he had no one but himself to blame, and blame he did.

So Ares did what he always did when he was at his lowest: he began to sing, a low, soft lament that carried across the current to ready, waiting ears.

When the sea snake entered the room, the shell lights dimmed, a chill ran through the current. Ares didn't bother to lift his eyes from the sea rose. He didn't break off his song. If the snake wanted to bite him - to end all this - he wasn't sure he had the energy, or the will, to fight back.

"Come, little prince," the serpent hissed, coiling itself around the rock where Ares was sitting. It was large: four times Ares's length; its body thick as Ares' tail; its scales a lurid, luminous violet colour that didn't look natural. Nothing about the snake looked natural.

"You still have so much to live for," the serpent continued, its indigo eyes flashing with an electricity that shouldn't have run through its veins.