Youngest Son of the Water King. A bride for the water prince. Natalie Yacobson

      ISBN 978-5-0060-4043-4

      Created with Ridero smart publishing system

      Bottomless pond

      Desdemona’s mood was gloomy in keeping with the overcast day. The clouds had gathered too quickly. An hour ago the sun had been shining, and now a storm was approaching. The waves would not slip into the garden behind the stone fortress, no matter how high they rose. But rumors that the sea creatures, when raging, could flood even the mightiest fortress, had long frightened the people of Aquilania.

      That’s probably why her stepmother is so eager to give her to the sea god. They say the more girls they give him, the more merciful he’ll be. Or maybe the stepmother is just in a hurry to get rid of her. Candida hated the young stepdaughter at first sight and her dislike only grew stronger with time. It was impossible to placate her neither politeness, nor gifts, which Desdemona embroidered, or even playing the harp.

      However, the father Candida also did not like and did not want to see. Barely married her, he was forced to become a merchant. Although for him, an aristocrat, it was shameful. But love requires sacrifice, especially when an older man in love with a young and seductive woman, which was Candida. She was almost the same age as her husband’s daughter and a rare beauty.

      Desdemona sometimes felt that her stepmother was a bit of a witch. Ever since she had settled on the estate, everything here had fallen into disrepair. Most of the servants had to be dismissed, her mother’s jewelry sold off. Her father had tried like hell, even made a strange pact with some creatures. They were in charge of navigation. Desdemona never realized what these creatures were, but her father regretted that he had tangled with them. The stepmother, on the other hand, did not. She was not discouraged by the neglected estate or the deplorable state of the garden. Why should she? If her father died, she’d find a new wealthy fool to take her as a wife, or at least as a mistress. With her looks, it wouldn’t be hard. In confidence, the housekeeper tells her that Candida dreams of being the new king’s favorite. The news that the rightful heir, who had reached the age of majority, was coming to Aquilania had everyone in a tizzy.

      Candida dressed up in her best dresses, while Desdemona watched in despair as moss grew between the stones of the bastion walls and weeds sprouted in the garden. Mother’s roses were almost withered. Without a gardener, there was no one to tend them or pull the weeds. But the lilies in the pond were blooming and fragrant. They did not care about anything: the fact that the pond had not been cleaned for a long time, and even the poisonous fumes that came from the stepmother’s fireplace, in which something was constantly burning. She was probably a witch.

      Father was seriously ill. On his last sea voyage, he’d contracted some rare disease that crippled his entire body. Superstitious servants said he turned into a sea creature after a run-in with the Morgens. He should have reprimanded them, but his stepmother wouldn’t let him. Her father’s death would only benefit her. And if there was some sea-dweller who could be paid to drag her annoying stepdaughter to the bottom, the stepmother wouldn’t care.

      Ever since he married her, her father had become practically a merchant, forgetting his high birth. Because of this, Desdemona’s family was almost not accepted at court, except in rare cases, when they called everyone to announce some special decree. And now there was such a case, because from the royal palace came an invitation that took the form of an order. All the neighbors received the same invitation. All those of noble blood were commanded to attend the coronation festivities.

      “He’s choosing his victim!” The maids whispered. They saw the letter. Desdemona must have misheard. Or they were playing some kind of game of horror stories again. After all, Desdemona’s father’s castle was said to be haunted. She herself had never seen ghosts here, but some people swore they had witnessed them.

      Ghosts are too dark a subject. Better to think of something soothing. Desdemona looked at the delicate lily heads floating on the water. The sight of them made her feel a little better.

      Dad hadn’t come to his senses for a week. There was nothing to fix his damaged ship now. The holes in the stern and sides looked like the marks of monstrous paws. That’s when you start to believe in legends.

      “It’s her! It’s definitely her! We finally found her! We’ve got to get her to him! He’s been waiting for her for so long!”

      Were the lilies whispering? Or maybe she’s just dreaming. Desdemona felt the persistent scent of water flowers making her dizzy. She began to think that all the lilies in the pond had women’s faces. There was too much water around.

      The pond overflowed into the whole garden. She stood waist-deep in it. Someone was looking at her from the water instead of her own reflection.

      “And you’re going to marry a waterman!” A green clawed hand, playing, stuck out of the water and threatened her. “You can’t be drowned yet. Too bad! I need a victim! I’ll have to choose someone else.”

      When Desdemona woke up, the pond was the same. No bigger than a large fountain. The lilies had been plucked and woven into a wreath lying on the ground. She must have dreamed the whole thing. It wasn’t until the evening at dinner that she learned that one of the maids had drowned in the garden pond this afternoon.

      An heir from the sea

      He was named after the state his father had invaded and destroyed. That was probably why in Moran’s presence it felt as if the fortress around him was crumbling and the walls were fiery cracks.

      The former Viceroy of Aquilania and now First Minister Ramiro felt insecure in his presence. The young man himself had nothing to do with watermen, though he was rumored to be of their kind. From head to neck he was definitely human, and quite handsome. His hair, the color of ripe rye, hung over the collar of his purple robe. They barely reaching his shoulders. His snow-white skin was completely free of tan and blush, which was unusual for the local climate. But the heir had returned from faraway lands. And right on the night of his return he was crowned by the priests from the temple of the sea god, who had now become the main one in the country.

      Ramiro was not made aware of the appearance of the new king until the morning of his awakening. Not that it was a surprise to him. He, like everyone else, had been expecting the appearance of an already grown-up heir. But it had come too suddenly. No one had been notified of Moran’s arrival even a day in advance.

      When Ramiro dressed in ceremonial attire and came to see him, the young king was already seated on the throne, and the intimidated archivist was familiarizing him with all the important records of the past years. The royal guards at the door were replaced by some ghastly giants with their faces covered with shields. In their presence Ramiro felt trapped.

      “Do they wake so late in Aquilania?” The king had dumbfounded him with his first question.

      “We are not awake at night, if that is what you mean, Your Majesty,” Ramiro said with a stammer. His tongue was not listening well, and dawn was just breaking outside the window. In its rays, the new king of Aquilania looked like a perfect marble statue that someone had placed on the throne as if in mockery of human imperfection. The luxurious coral crown, too, would have been the envy of any earthly ruler. It certainly

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