The sea-prince, surprised, recalled that night, that storm. Not a kidnapping; a simple accident, a boat gone down, the Queen and her son lost in the tempest. But the baby had survived; some kindly porpoises had seen it to shore, and seen it found by fishermen, on a tiny island.
But, sang the sailor to his lover. But I was a baby, on an island. My mother and father told me I was a gift; they could not have children, and they were given me, one night, in the rain.
They gazed at each other, under the fluttering blue and green draperies Cade had flung across rocks, around the leaping fountains of water provided by elemental magic.
There was proof. A medallion. In the wreck. They dived, found it, looked the future in the face. If the sailor went home to be a King—
But the land cried out for a leader. Civil war threatened; the people needed care; the inheritance would help others.
He came home. He left the sea.