Chapter 2: Vision

Every day I have the same dream. Striking blue eyes, and jet black hair. The man in my dream is all sharp angles and sculpted features. But the vision of him is gone in an instant.

It wasn’t until I saw it again in the sky that I was convinced that this man is my soulmate. But it is not his appearance which saddens me or even the intense way my heart pulls from the sight of him. It is the knowledge that this man is a prince.

I have only heard rumors of the prince with eyes the color of the sea and hair the black of night. But there his image was in floating clouds, looking somberly towards me.

As the next three days go by, I try to ignore the heaviness in my heart or my shaking hands. We have a festival to prepare for. With only one more night to prepare the stall, and get it out to the market, I was falling behind schedule.

“Are you alright?” My father asks. Concern seeps through his usually cold, and stern tone. I nod and wipe the sweat from my hairline. My father reaches out to my forehead, and I am too hot and weak to swat his hand away.

“You’re burning up,” he says.

“Mhm,” I respond, struggling to keep my eyes focused on the jewelry display I am setting for the stall.

“We do not have to attend the festival. It was spur of the moment,” my father says. I shake my head no. We needed this. The business was suffering from the lack of gems collected, and now sales were plummeting as well because of inflated prices.

“You can’t work while your sick Islet.”

“I will be better before tomorrow,” I say. I clear the thick weight from my throat and refocus my attention on setting the earrings exactly one inch away from each other. The velvet pillow brought out the gold frames of each piece. Some were rubies and others jade.

My father looks between me and the cart several times before scooping me up by the waist and dragging me away.

I yelp, but it’s more of a huff of air than a scream. “Father, I am fine!” I complain over the bustle of the town. Dirt rises into my face accompanied by the smell of salmon from the stall at our side.

“You are to see the priest,” he says.

After my mother and aunt’s passing, he’s taken my sister and I’s health to the extreme.

“I am well.”

“You are not.”

I do not argue with the finality in his words.

I was feeling sicker and sicker as the days went on, and with one more night to prepare for the princess's engagement festival, I had to be in good health.

We step up the marble steps to the giant five-story church. There was no need for our church to be bigger than the palace, yet there it stood, with its white paint, stained windows, and marble steps.

The church goes silent when my father enters. He places me down and gently leads me past the benches to the podium where the Great Priest stood.

“Great Priest, my daughter’s health is not well.” He says. My father bows his head. The Priest steps off the podium and waves a hand towards the benches.

Once I’ve been seated, he runs through his normal checklist of things before feeling my head and jotting down some of my symptoms.

“I am sure it is just a cold, with rest, it will pass.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. Lethargy, blurred vision, and weak limbs, are all symptoms from Sunburst for me at least. Sunburst affects everyone differently. I don’t expect the Great Priest to have a solution.

My father frowns so deeply even the Priest shifts uncomfortably under his gaze.

“We are all to celebrate the Prince of Lorelei coming to Selkie, so why don’t you rest up before then.”

Prince Cerulean of Lorelei, our neighboring country, was coming tomorrow for the festival to announce his engagement to Princess Marilla.

The gossip about the prince was intense, everyone wanted to know about him. I am a little curious as well. I sigh and run a hand through my dyed pink hair, the silky strands have grown dry, from lack of care.

My father pulls the priest to the side. His voice comes out in hushed angry whispers.

The Great Priest scowls at him before ushering one of the worshipers to the back. When they return, I am presented with a cup of green tea.

“This is the most I can do.”

My father shakes his head, scoops me up, and we walk away briskly.

“Some priest. We’ll say a prayer for you at home then.”

***

At the festival, I hoover over pieces of jewelry. I convinced my father to let me run the stall.

I run a finger over the cold surface of the earrings. They were butterfly-shaped and dangled from a dainty clip. But they were beautiful a mix of silver and blue. I smile to myself.

Footsteps sound behind me and I turn to greet the customer, “Welcome-” I halt, and gape at the man before me.

He nods and looks over my shoulder at the display.

I take a curtsy, though it’s sloppy, I haven’t practiced it since childhood. “Welcome, Your Highness,” I say in my practiced voice. It comes out posh just the way I was taught. He pays me no mind, examining the gems closely.

“What’s this one?” He asks, bright azure eyes locked on the necklace.

“Pearls, Your Highness,” I say. He glances at me. He runs a hand over his hair, pulling it from his eyes. A smile rises on his lips.

“How pretty,” he says before coming around. “Where did you find this?” He asks, giving a closer inspection. The pearl reflects back his intense gaze. I hold the folds of my dress to hide my shaking.

“Deep in the sea,”

“Around here?”

“Yes,” I pause and come a little closer, hoping I am not making a big mistake. “There are lots of unique gems in the sea. This one comes from a clam.”

“Hmm, I’ve eaten clams. I didn’t know they held gems.” He lifts his gaze and our eyes meet. I can’t stop from mirroring his smile. Just like the gems, his eyes twinkle in the lantern's light, shimmering like hidden treasures.

“What’s this one?” He asks. I come closer and tell him all about each gem. He compliments every piece of jewelry and tells me how each one makes him feel. I’m distracted by the sweet earthly scent hanging on to him, and the long length of his curly eyelashes. He turns to me.

“This one feels caged.”

“Caged?” I ask. I look down at the snake-inspired cable-link chain and my face grows hot. This was the one I made. I clear my throat and ask, “how does it seem caged?”

“Not sure, I guess that’s what snakes represent to me, fierce defense and withholding.”

“That’s a very curious interpretation.”

“See, you get me.” He says and laughs loud and freely. I cast my gaze to the ground, hoping my loose hair will hide my smile. ‘I am not blushing, I will not blush at a spoken for man’

In rushes the hustle of heavy boots, and the swish of men. “Your Highness,” they say and bow. “It is time to return.”

Prince Cerulean opens his mouth but words don’t leave. He turns his steely gaze on me.