“I know.”

“What?” I snap my head at Quince. “You know what?”

“About the rules,” he says with a shrug. “About being stuck in the sea whenever you are.”

See, “stuck.” He doesn’t want to be a merman.

“Then why not end it now?” I demand, shoving against his shoulders with all my strength. “Are you insane?”

He looks at me with unwavering intensity. “Probably.”

“Daddy, you have to explain—”

“One week,” Daddy says. “You can wait one more week. I want you to be absolutely certain about what you want. At that time you will give me your final decision, by which I will abide.” He doesn’t look happy about that. “If you choose to separate, I will perform the ceremony on the new moon next weekend. That timing will make the break cleaner, in any case.”

Then, as I stand there, jaw dropped and unable to comprehend how this could be happening—again!—Daddy gives me a hug, kisses the top of my head, and then disappears into the sea.

It takes several long moments for my astonishment to process into anger. Into raw fury. At Quince.

“You!” I roar. “I—This—We—” When no words come, I have no choice but to scream. “Aaargh!”

This cannot be happening.

20

I don’t speak to Quince on the swim back to Seaview. Or the ride back to our street. Or when I leave him in his driveway.

But when he follows me into the kitchen, all the thoughts and words and accusations bubbling inside me finally burst out.

“What did you tell him?” I demand.

“Lily—”

“You told him you were moon-eyed over me, didn’t you?” I accuse. “That you have loved me from afar for three years and you can’t stand the thought of being apart?”

“Now, that’s not fair—”

“Lily,” Aunt Rachel calls from upstairs, “is that you, dear?”

“Yes!” I shout up. Then, to Quince, “What did you tell him?”

He looks furious, standing there in front of the refrigerator with his jaw clenching and unclenching, his hands fisted at his sides, his biceps bulging and unbulging. I almost laugh. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him really, truly angry. It makes me feel kind of giddy.

“I told him the truth,” he says simply.

I cross my arms over my chest. “And what exactly is the truth?” I retort. “It’s getting so hard to keep it all straight.”

“I told him,” Quince says, stepping toward me, “that you can’t stand me.”

Why does that make my heart twist for a second? Maybe because it’s not entirely true. And not entirely fair. But I’m not prepared to admit either of those things.

Holy crab cakes, this bond stuff is confusing and complicated.

I prod. “And…”

“And that I—”

“How was your trip?” Aunt Rachel sweeps into the room, right behind Prithi, who takes up a position at my feet. “Did the separation go smoothly?”

I almost growl in frustration. Not because Quince was about to make his first actual, true confession of his feelings—I don’t care about that, remember?—but because…well, just because. “It didn’t go at all.”

“I don’t understand,” she says, pulling out one of the kitchen-table chairs and sitting down. “I thought you were going to sever the bond?”

“It’s a long story, Aunt Rachel.” Too long, too much for me right now. A sudden headache pounds against my forehead, right between my eyes. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers, hoping to massage it away. Prithi purrs against my ankle, as if trying to help. “I can’t deal with this anymore tonight.”

Not that Quince takes the hint.

“Lily, I—”

“I’m taking a bath,” I announce. “I’d like you to be gone when I get out.”

I don’t wait to see if he looks hurt or upset or annoyed or angry. I’m all of the above, so he might as well be, too. At least a cool key lime salt bath will ease away some of my grrr.

The water is almost ready, with pristine white bubbles piling up to the rim of the tub, when Aunt Rachel knocks on the door.

“Are you all right, dear?” she asks in that maternal voice she gets when she’s really worried about me.

I always wonder if it’s the same voice my mother would have used.

“I’m fine, Aunt Rachel.” I sit on the edge of the tub and lean down to drag my hand through the water, letting its calming energy soak into my skin. “It’s just…it’s been a hard week.”

The door creaks open, and Prithi hurries in before Aunt Rachel sticks her head through the opening. While Prithi drags her sandpaper tongue across my toes, Aunt Rachel steps inside and leans back against the doorjamb.

“Want to talk about it?” she asks.

“I don’t,” I say, but then can’t help adding, “I’m just so confused. I mean, I’ve loved Brody for…ever, almost as long as I’ve hated Quince. And I thought the blowfish hated me, too. But now it seems like maybe he doesn’t hate me, maybe he even”—I try not to gag on the words—“loves me. It could never work, I know that. But he won’t accept that. He convinced Daddy to give it another week, although Daddy was kind of wavering anyway because he wants me to figure out what I really want.” As if I don’t know. “And now I’m stuck bonded to Quince until next weekend, when I’ve only got five weeks until my birthday. Only five weeks left to make Brody fall enough in love with me to commit to the bond, or lose my claim to the throne permanently.”