When we reach the edge of the tree line, I stay behind, giving Rayna and Mom time to take their places at the front of the procession. And by procession, I mean me. I don’t know how long to wait—was it fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes? My lungs forget to breathe with my new dilemma. My heartbeat threatens the boundary of my veins. I’m going to make a fool of myself.

I’m going to make a fool of myself.

And all at once, I hear humming. It’s soft but distinct, coming from the water. The gentle rise and fall of harmony. A song. They’re giving me my cue.

And so I walk, using the pathway of torches as my guide, trying to fit my stride to match the rhythm of the gentle tune. I wonder if this is a traditional Syrena mating-ceremony song and conclude that it must be. They all know it so well. They all contribute to it so beautifully.

There is a slight hump in the sand before the beach can be seen, and as I make my way over it, my eyes are inevitably drawn to the figure on the right. Galen.

My destination.

My destiny.

He stands in low tide wearing a tuxedo tailor-made to hug his physical perfection. His expression is the only thing not sharp about him. I thought—worried—that today he might adapt Grom’s impassive expression or maybe don an unruffled smile. That today would not be as nerve-racking for him as it is for me, and for some silly reason equating to something less special. I hoped that he would show some emotion. That he would reassure me with his eyes or a quick squeeze of my hand. That he wouldn’t be the statue he’s capable of being.

What I never expected to see is this kind of tenderness radiating from him, the profoundness of vulnerability on his face. His eyes are intense glowing orbs in the torchlight, and they show me everything. How he feels about me, what he thinks about my dress, and a slight impatience for me to reach him. I feel the worry leave me like beads from a broken necklace.

This is right. Galen knows it. I know it.

Behind Galen is the setting sun, which illuminates hundreds of heads bobbing just above the water. Dark Syrena hair intermittent with the shocking white of Half-Breed hair. Hundreds of guests, but I’m undaunted because with each step I get closer and closer to the thing I must have. To the thing I don’t think I can live without.

Beside Galen, Toraf gives me a playful, brotherly wink. And I notice that Toraf cleans up nice. In a tux, he resembles a big, handsome child. I can tell he’s uncomfortable wearing long pants, because he keeps scratching at his knees. His sleeves are a tad short, and he tugs them down obsessively. Rayna grabs his hand then to stop his fidgeting: A crooked smile spreads across her face when she sees me.

I think Rayna might like me now.

Mom is on my left and Grom stands directly in the middle—he’ll be officiating the ceremony. Close to the shore, I spot Grandfather in the water. Grandfather, who is supposed to be standing on shore with the rest of us. Grandfather, who apparently had no intention of changing into a tux. And beside him is Reed—accompanied by not one, but two female Syrena. I think I recognize one of them from the Triton kingdom. Reed notices me noticing him, and he gives a little encouraging wave.

Galen raises a brow at him. Reed’s smile falters, his hand lowering below the surface.

One day they’ll get along. Maybe.

When I reach Galen, he takes both my hands in his. If I remember correctly, he’s not supposed to do that until we’re repeating the vows—or whatever the Syrena call them. When Grom sees that Galen is one step ahead, he calls the ceremony to order.

“Let it be known that we are all witnesses to the union of Galen, Triton prince, and Emma, bearer of the Gift of Poseidon. As we all know, friends, this union is to be everlasting, a bond broken only by death.” A solemn murmur breaks out through the water. Grom is undeterred. If anything, he sounds more official when he says, “Let it also be known, for the memory of the Archives, that this is the first legal union recognized by the kingdoms between a Syrena and a Half-Breed since the destruction of Tartessos. That this day will forever be remembered as a symbol of peace and unity between the ocean dwellers and the land dwellers.”

This is unexpected.

Our mating ceremony is a symbol for all the kingdoms? It feels like it has taken on a life of its own now, a moment flash frozen in time. It’s not just about Galen and me, and our dedication to each other anymore. It’s an occasion that will be memorialized forevermore as something bigger than the union itself. But I distance myself from that thought.

Because to me, nothing could be bigger than becoming Galen’s mate. I don’t care if this is the last legal union between Syrena and Half-Breeds, so long as this one happens.

Grom keeps talking and I try to listen, I really do. He explains the separate and mutual duties of the male and female, how the law cherishes loyalty, and how it outlines punishment for infidelity. That as prince, Galen’s first duty is to the kingdoms, his second to me. That my duties are the same, given my Gift of Poseidon. Then he drolls on, something about raising fingerlings to respect the law and the council of the Archives, especially during these times of change.

Not exactly the replica of a human wedding, but I’ve been to half a dozen of those—who doesn’t agree that they tend to drag on and on? Besides, these are things that Grom has already reviewed with me and Galen a few days ago when he sat us down and asked if we’re really ready to do this.

I allow myself to let go then, to focus all my attention on Galen and his lips and his eyes and his hands in my hands. A warmth steals through me, a tiny wave of excitement that almost makes me squeal.