Page 102 of The Merman's Betrothal
Iomhar darted forward. ‘You go too far, sprat.’
‘No.’ The king raised a finger. ‘Let him speak.’
Rory caught Fionn’s eye, sending a ripple of encouragement across the bond.
Fionn squared up to his father. He was a little taller than the king, but the way his father held himself had always made him appear to be the tallest in the room. Fionn had always felt small in his presence. Until now.
‘You have never had time for me as you do my brothers,’ Fionn declared. ‘My accomplishments do not impress you, my requests to take on more duties for our kingdom are ignored. You barely acknowledge me when I am before you. I have always been painfully aware of my purpose as an object to be bartered with in your eyes, rather than a son for whom you hold any regard.’
King Aonghas listened silently, his expression impenetrable. Fionn would not be deterred by his dispassion this time. It felt freeing to put these feelings into words, however his father might react. He stood tall and proud, awaiting a response.
Slowly, the king unclasped his hands and sighed.
‘My son. Fionn. My first son. I have loved you always and love you to this day.’ His father looked so very weary, all of a sudden. ‘Yet from the moment you were born I knew the magic had its grip on you. That one day I would lose you to the bargain, just as I once lost my older brother.’
Rory’s nose wrinkled, perhaps with confusion as his gills inhaled a morose flavour in the water. Such deep sorrow, the same Fionn had tasted during the ceremony.
Reluctantly, Fionn put himself in his father’s place. Considered what it would mean to have watched his own brother be married off to some unknown Redfolk in his youth—remembered the relief in Brudus and Drostan’s eyes at having Fionn returned to them. And then the pain that must be a thousand times more acute with knowing the same fate awaitedthe child he had borne from his own body and watched grow from eggspawn to adult…
Still, Fionn tipped up his chin. ‘I did not deserve to have my entire life tainted by your grief.’
Rory stiffened, a stab of pain shooting through Fionn’s chest. A shared heartache that let him know Rory related all too well. Rory’s hand found Fionn’s and held it firm.
Behind the king, Iomhar crossed his arms and wore a dark frown. He looked ready to summon a storm. ‘You do not know the half of it, little sprat—’
‘He is quite right.’ The king’s soft voice was deceptively commanding. His gaze was focused on something far away for a moment, then came to rest fully on Fionn. ‘I have spent so long mourning your loss that I have forgotten to hold you tightly while you are near. I am a blind fool for not seeing the effect of my apathy upon you.’
‘Fatigue, not apathy,’ Iomhar cut in insistently. ‘Fionn, if you would know that your father has spent a lifetime searching for a way to end this bargain—’
The king placed a hand on Iomhar’s arm. ‘A search that has come up with nothing. Instead it seems I have sacrificed my own son upon the altar of saving him.’
Fionn thought he ought to have felt triumphant at these words, or at least cheered in some way. Instead, he felt merely hollow and sad. He had wanted his father’s regard, but not at the expense of his happiness, Fionn realised. He’d wanted a sense of reparations, but wasn’t prepared for this well of regret that it had opened.
The king held out an open palm to Fionn. ‘My son. If you can ever forgive me, I am sorry for my absence in your life. I can only ask if you will allow me to be a part of the new life you forge for yourself and your mate.’ He smiled, an achingly bittersweet smile. ‘I see there is deep love between you. PerhapsI would have seen it earlier, had I thought to look closer into your soul.’
‘I…’ Fionn grasped his father’s hand hesitantly. It was warm and gentle, like the hands he remembered stroking his hair as a child. He looked into his father’s eyes and felt seen. And he saw the man looking back at him. Two imperfect reflections of pride, regret, and love.
Fionn flew forward and wrapped his father into a tight hug.
Uncertainly, the king patted his back at first. Then he leaned in and returned the embrace with a heartfelt squeeze.
When they parted, Iomhar was tactfully looking elsewhere while Rory hastily rubbed his face.
‘Got something in my eye,’ Rory muttered as Fionn rejoined him.
Wisely, Fionn didn’t tell him that he knew otherwise.
After a beat to collect themselves, the king cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps soon we can discuss your duties in more detail, Fionn. But first, I would ask to hear the whole of your story. How you came upon Rory and the events that led you here.’
Fionn launched into a more subdued re-telling this time around, though he made sure to underline the strength of his feelings for Rory at every turn.
‘He’s a persistent bugger, your son,’ Rory mumbled at one point, avoiding the king’s penetrating stare.
‘And Rory has a righteous spirit,’ Fionn added proudly.
The king hummed thoughtfully. ‘It sounds as though you perhaps bring out the best in each other.’
The cockle bell clinked outside the chamber.
