The market smelled of honey and dust. Elise stood at the confectioner's stall, her palm flat against the counter, a single gold coin between her fingers. The coin stared back at her — a week's wages, maybe more, depending on who you asked. She'd earned it, carried it in her boot for three months, and now she was spending it on chocolate.

The confectioner raised an eyebrow. He was an old man with flour in his beard and a knowing look that said he'd seen knights waste good money on worse things. "The whole box, miss?"

"The whole box."

He lifted it onto the counter — a wooden crate, really, lined with velvet and packed with dark squares wrapped in gold foil. The smell hit her: rich, sweet, expensive. She counted out the coin, felt its weight leave her palm, and didn't regret it for a second.

"Someone's getting a gift," the confectioner said, tucking the coin away.

Elise smiled. Nothing to say to that.

She carried the box through the market with both arms, weaving around merchants and servants, past the fishmonger's stall and the cloth merchant's awning. The box was heavy. The box was worth more than her boots. She didn't care.

The barracks were loud when she pushed through the door. Laughter, the clatter of dice, someone singing a bawdy song off-key. She tried to slip past, but Gareth caught her — broad-shouldered, grinning, always in her business.

"What's that?" He pointed at the box. "You rob a noble?"

"None of your—"

Mira appeared at his elbow, dark braid swinging, eyes already scanning the box like a hawk. "That's the confectioner's. The expensive one. The one with the velvet inside."

Elise groaned. "How do you know that?"

"I have eyes." Mira reached for the box. Elise twisted away. "What's got you buying sweets? You been taking off a lot lately. Always disappearing after dusk."

Gareth crossed his arms. "Yeah, you got a sweet tooth all of a sudden? I thought you hated sweets. You always make that face —" He scrunched his nose, imitating her. "— like you bit into a lemon."

"I changed my mind."

"People don't change their minds about chocolate," Mira said flatly. "They either love it or they don't. You don't."

Elise hugged the box closer. "Maybe someone else likes it."

The silence that followed was louder than the singing. Gareth's grin turned sly. Mira's eyebrows climbed her forehead. Elise felt heat crawl up her neck and told herself it was the sun, the walk, anything but the truth.

"Someone," Gareth repeated. "Someone who isn't you."

"I have duties." Elise turned for the door. "Don't wait up."

"Get some for yourself!" he called after her. "You look tired!"

She didn't answer. She was already gone, the box pressed to her chest, her boots eating the cobblestones toward the old castle road.

The abandoned castle rose against the darkening sky like a skeleton. Elise knew every crack in its stones, every shadow that pooled in its corners. She crossed the courtyard with quick steps, the box tucked under one arm, her other hand pushing through the overgrown weeds that choked the path to the lagoon.

The broken archway came into view. She slowed. Her heart was already beating faster, the way it always did when she got close — that stupid, giddy flutter that made her feel fifteen again.

"Azure~" she called, soft, testing the nickname on her tongue. She'd come up with it yesterday, lying in bed, and it made her smile every time.

The lagoon opened before her: still black water, moss-slicked stones, the shattered glass ceiling above catching the first stars. And there — on the rock, the one that caught the moonlight best —

She stopped.

He was on the rock, staring up at the glass ceiling. The stars were just emerging, pinpricks of white in the deepening blue, and the moonlight fell across him like a sheet of silver. His hair was loose, spilling over his shoulders, catching the glow. His tail curved behind him, scales shimmering with every breath. He looked like something from a painting — a forgotten god, a dream, a thing that shouldn't exist but did.

"Azureus?" she breathed.

He turned his head. His eyes found hers. And the way they lit up — the way the recognition hit him, the smile that spread across his face — made her chest ache.

He dove.

The water barely splashed. A silver blur shot toward her, and then he was there, surfacing at the edge, his hands gripping the stone, his face tilted up to hers, beaming like she was the sun.

She laughed. "Hi."

He made a happy sound — a soft, wordless trill — and pushed himself up onto the ledge, water streaming off his shoulders, his tail curling behind him.

"I got you something." She held up the box. "Chocolates. Do you know what those are?"

He tilted his head, staring at the box with wide, curious eyes. He reached for it with both hands, fingers pressing against the wood, tracing the edges.

"Let me sit down first." She settled on the stone, legs hanging over the water. He followed, pulling himself up beside her, close enough that she could feel the cool damp radiating off his skin. "Okay. First —" She reached into her pack and pulled out a bottle. "Medicine."

His face fell.

"Don't give me that look. You need it."

He sighed — actually sighed, a long, dramatic exhale — and took the bottle with both hands. He uncorked it, wrinkled his nose at the smell, and drank. He made a sound like a wounded animal the whole time, his throat working, his eyes squeezed shut.

"There," Elise said when he finished. "Good boy."

He handed the bottle back, lips twisted in a pout. She laughed again — she couldn't help it, the way he sulked was ridiculous — and set the box in her lap. "Okay. Now the good part."

She lifted the lid. The chocolates gleamed in the moonlight, dark and perfect, wrapped in gold. His eyes went wide. He leaned in, fingers hovering over the box like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch.

"You can have one," she said. "Here —" She picked one up, unwrapped the foil, and held it out to him. He stared at it, then at her, then back at the chocolate. "It's food. You eat it. I promise it's good."

He opened his mouth. She placed the chocolate on his tongue. His lips closed around her fingers for a second — soft, warm — and then his eyes went impossibly wide. A sound escaped him, high and delighted. He chewed, swallowed, and immediately reached for another.

"Ah-ah." She pulled the box back. "One at a time."

He whined.

"I'll feed you. Open."

He opened. She placed another chocolate on his tongue. This time, when his lips touched her fingers, he lingered — just a beat, just enough to make her breath catch. Then he pulled back, chewing, and his eyes found hers with something that wasn't innocent.

She unwrapped a third. He took it, slower, his tongue brushing her fingertip as she withdrew. She felt it in her ribs. In her stomach. Low and deep.

He noticed. Of course he noticed — his head tilted, his gaze dropping to where her thighs pressed together. She froze. Her cheeks burned.

He looked up at her, head canted, eyes asking the question he couldn't speak: Are you hurt?

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "I'm — I'm fine. Just. It's warm. The chocolate made me warm."

He stared at her. Then he lifted her hand — the one that had touched his lips — and pressed a kiss to her palm. Soft. Reverent. His eyes stayed on hers the whole time.

Her thighs clenched. She couldn't help it. The pressure was there, insistent, aching, and every time he blinked at her with those big blue eyes, it only got worse.

He looked down at her legs. The way they tightened. The way she shifted on the stone. He tilted his head the other way, curious now, and reached out to touch her knee.

"Azureus —"

His fingers traced down her shin, over her boot, along the edge of her leather pants. He was studying her like she was a puzzle, a creature he'd never seen before. His hand drifted to her thigh, pressing, testing the firmness of the muscle beneath.

She shouldn't let him. She should stop this. But his hands were cool against the heat of her skin, and he was so gentle, so careful, and the way he looked at her — like she was something precious and mysterious — made her want to let him explore every inch.

His hand slid higher. Up her thigh. His fingers found the junction between her legs and pressed.

She whined.

The sound escaped her before she could stop it — high, thin, desperate. He flinched. His hand jerked back. He looked at her with wide, worried eyes, and she scrambled backward, crawling away from him on the stone.

"No — no no no no —" She covered her face with both hands. Her cheeks were on fire. Her whole body was on fire. "No, that's — that's —"

He grabbed her ankles. Pulled her back.

She gasped. Her hands dropped. He was between her legs now, his face level with her core, his brow furrowed in concentration. He reached out, pressed both palms against her — cupping her through her pants, feeling the shape of her — and she moaned again, the sound torn from her throat.

"Azureus —"

He hummed, low and curious. The vibration traveled through her and she bucked, her hips lifting off the stone, pressing into his hands.

He made a sound of discovery.

Then he leaned in and nuzzled his cheek against her.

She cried out, her hands flying to his shoulders to push him away — but she didn't push. She held on. Her fingers curled into his wet skin, her back arched, and she ground against his face once, twice, the friction sending sparks up her spine.

He looked up at her. His lips parted. He licked them.

Then he did it again. Slower. Deliberate. His nose pressed against her, his mouth finding the shape of her through the leather, his hands gripping her knees to keep them open.

She was lost. She was grinding against his face, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, her head thrown back, the stars spinning above her. He made a pleased sound — low and humming — and pressed harder, his cheek rubbing against her with a rhythm she didn't teach him.

His hands slipped.

She scrambled backward, rolled to her feet, and ran.

Behind her, he laughed.

She spun at the archway. He was still on the rock, sitting up, water dripping off his chest, looking at her with the most innocent expression she'd ever seen — head tilted, eyes wide, a tiny smile on his lips.

"YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT." She pointed at him, her arm shaking. "I SWEAR TO THE LORDS — you — you know what you did —"

He tilted his head further. Blinked.

"Stop looking at me like that! You're not innocent! You're not!"

He giggled. Soft and breathless and delighted.

She cursed again — a stream of words that would have made the barracks blush — and when she stopped, he was still smiling at her, his hand resting over the empty box of chocolates, his eyes shining in the moonlight.

She should be angry. She should be furious. She was a knight. She was supposed to be in control.

Instead, she pressed her thighs together, felt the ache still thrumming through her, and said, in a very small voice, "You're a menace."

He tilted his head. Smiled wider.

And she knew she'd be back tomorrow.

The thought landed like a stone in still water, and she groaned — loud and frustrated, the sound bouncing off the broken arches around her.

He couldn't understand her. She knew that. But he could understand her tone. And his head was tilted, those enormous blue eyes blinking at her with the purest confusion, like he had no idea why she was upset. He didn't have legs. He'd never worn pants, never known what it meant to press a hand between someone's thighs. He was innocent. Probably. Maybe.

She glared at him.

He smiled.

"Pervert." She pointed a shaking finger at him. "You know what you did."

He tilted his head the other way, water dripping from his blonde hair, the jewels in his webbing catching the moonlight.

She sighed — a long, defeated exhale — and dropped onto the stone, crossing her legs, crossing her arms, turning her face away from him. She was a knight. Knights didn't get flustered by pretty mermen who nuzzled between their legs and made them moan. Knights were stoic. Disciplined. In control.

She was none of those things right now.

The water exploded.

SPLASH.

Cold water hit her face, dripping down her neck, soaking her collar. She sputtered, wiped her eyes, and looked down.

His tail lay across her lap.

Big. Shiny. Scaled. The moonlight turned the scales into broken glass and crystal, gemstones embedded along the spine, iridescent silver-blue that shifted with every breath he took. It was heavy and wet and utterly beautiful, and he was looking at her with that same innocent curiosity, the tip of his tail wagging slowly against her shin.

She blinked.

He took her hand. His webbed fingers curled around her wrist, gentle, cold, and he guided her palm down to the base of his tail — just above where it met his hips. Then he let go. Watching her. Waiting.

Her fingers trembled as she traced the first scale.

Smooth. Cool. Each scale was a tiny jewel, overlapping like armor, catching the starlight. She slid her palm along his tail, from the base down toward the fin, and he shivered — a full-body ripple that made the scales catch the light in a wave. She looked up at him. His lips were parted, his eyes half-lidded, his breath coming faster.

She traced again, slower, and he leaned into her touch, his hands gripping the rock on either side of him.

Her mind wandered — and wouldn't stop.

How did merfolk reproduce? Did they mate like humans, or was it something else — some dance in the deep, some merging of light and water? Did he ever touch himself, down here alone, in the dark of the lagoon? Where were their genitals? Hidden behind scales? Somewhere in the tail?

Her cheeks burned. He was watching her with those innocent eyes, trusting her completely, and she was thinking disgusting things.

She looked at his crotch — not that he had one, not in the human sense. Just smooth scales where his hips met his tail. She reached out and pressed her fingers against the spot, gently probing.

He blinked.

Nothing. No reaction. He just looked at her like she was petting a strange part of him, curious but not feeling anything.

She tilted her head. She pressed harder. Still nothing.

"Where are you sensitive?" she muttered, dragging her fingers across the scales, watching his face for any flicker. He watched her back, patient, trusting. She moved higher, toward his ribs, his waist, where the scales faded into pale skin. He twitched. She found a spot just above his hip where the skin was softer, almost tender, and he flinched away from her fingers.

She grinned. "There."

She tickled him.

He burst into laughter — a bright, bubbling sound that echoed off the stone walls, his body jerking, his tail thrashing. One of his fins smacked her square in the face with a wet slap.

She sputtered, laughing herself now. "Oh, you're going to fight me?"

She grabbed his shoulders, pushed him back onto the rock, and tickled him mercilessly — his ribs, his hips, the soft skin behind his hypothetical knees. He writhed beneath her, gasping, giggling, his hands batting at her weakly. Water splashed everywhere. His tail flopped against her side, soaking her armor, and she didn't care.

They wrestled like children — her pinning him, him squirming, both of them laughing until her stomach ached and his voice went hoarse.

When they finally stopped, she was straddling his tail, breathless, her hair a wild mess around her face. He lay beneath her, chest heaving, his cheeks flushed, water droplets clinging to his lashes. He was smiling — wide and real — and the jewels in his hair sparkled like fallen stars.

He was so beautiful she wanted to die.

She stared at him, her laughter fading into something softer, something that ached in her chest. He stared back, his blue eyes searching hers, and then he reached up — slow, tentative — and touched her cheek. His webbed fingers were cold against her burning skin.

She turned her face into his palm and closed her eyes.

The water lapped against the stone. The stars wheeled above them. His thumb traced her cheekbone, once, twice, and she felt the world narrow to the space between his hand and her skin.

She opened her eyes. He was still watching her, his expression soft, wondering, like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

She didn't deserve that look. But she wanted to.

She leaned down and pressed her forehead against his. He hummed — low and content — and his hand slid into her hair, tangling in the damp strands.

They stayed like that, breathing together, until the moon shifted and the stars began to fade.

She pulled back slowly. "I have to go," she whispered.

He didn't understand the words. But his hand tightened in her hair, just for a moment, before he let go.

She stood, her legs unsteady, her leather armor soaked. He slid off the rock back into the water, silent as a shadow, and floated there, watching her.

She wanted to stay. She wanted to dive in after him and never leave.

Instead, she smiled — soft, sad, full of promises she hadn't made yet — and turned toward the archway.

Behind her, the water rippled.

She didn't look back. She would be back tomorrow. And the day after. And every day after that, for as long as he stayed, for as long as the lagoon held him, for as long as her heart kept beating in her chest.

The moonlight followed her to the stairs, and she carried the memory of his hand in her hair all the way back to the castle.