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The Begging

Author: Shaimai
last update publish date: 2026-05-29 17:44:18

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*Chapter 2: The Begging

The silence after the king’s question felt heavier than the ocean itself. It pressed down on all of them, making even the currents stop.

Bale dropped lower, tail curling tight against the sand. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“Your Majesty, mercy! I’ve served you since I was a boy. I’d never betray you—”

He started rambling, words spilling out faster and faster as fear took over. His red curls floated around his face, wild and matted.

“I was only meeting King Dave to negotiate better trade for your kingdom! Better kelp prices! Stronger nets! I swear on my father’s grave—”

Then it happened.

His gills flared and his whole body spasmed. A dark cloud bloomed from his cloaca, staining the water around him in ugly black swirls. He’d lost control. Shame and terror all at once.

For a second, the king froze. His trident dipped.

Then he burst out laughing.

The sound rolled through the water, deep and brutal. It bounced off the coral walls and came back doubled. His guards shifted uncomfortably, fins twitching, but none dared join in. Laughter from them would be death.

Bale’s face went pale with shame, his tail lashing against the sand, stirring up clouds that couldn’t hide him. He was forty, the son of an elder, kneeling in his own filth before a boy-king.

The laughter stopped as suddenly as it started. The king’s face went cold. His eyes were flat now, like deep water with no bottom.

“Alpha.”

The leader of the guards stepped forward. A scar ran down his jaw, pale against dark skin, and his trident was already shifting in his grip, the points humming.

“Torture him until he tells me the truth. Every detail about King Dave. Now.”

Bale’s eyes widened. He knew what that meant. The Alpha didn’t ask twice. Didn’t miss. He grabbed Bale by the arm and dragged him back a few feet, trident tip pressing to his throat hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“Wait!” Bale choked out, water bubbling from his lips. “Wait, Your Majesty! I have something else! Something worth more than King Dave’s little meeting!”

The king raised a hand. The Alpha stopped, but didn’t let go. The trident stayed at Bale’s throat.

Bale gulped. His throat worked. “It’s about the silver comb. The long-lost comb of the royal line. It’s here. In this post.”

Beatrice’s blood went cold. The comb under her tunic felt like ice, then fire.

Mom’s fingers dug into her arm, nails sharp through skin. Her voice was barely a whisper, right against Beatrice’s ear, meant for her alone.

“Beatrice… be ready to run.”

The king’s eyes narrowed to slits. “A name. Now.”

Bale swallowed, shaking his head. He was trembling, but his voice steadied. “I… I can’t yet, Your Majesty. But give me until nightfall. I’ll bring you the comb, and the one who holds it. That’s worth more than any secret about King Dave, isn’t it?”

The king studied him for a long moment. Greed warred with suspicion in his expression. He wanted the comb. He wanted names. He wanted both.

Finally, he nodded once.

“Nightfall. Fail, and the Alpha finishes what he started.”

Bale sagged in relief, even as terror still shook him. Air he didn’t have rushed out of him.

The Alpha released him, but didn’t step back.

Beatrice didn’t move.

But her tail was coiled, ready.

Mom’s whisper still rang in her ears: _Be ready to run._

And somewhere under her tunic, the silver comb felt like it was burning her skin.

....

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