Tu’uua’col said, “even though you are his father.” He swam easily at King Vhaemas’s side through the palace in Voalidru. As usual, even though he’d been the king’s advisor and trusted friend for years, all the other court personnel stayed away from him. The merman king’s face turned bitter, and his eyes wouldn’t meet his friend’s. Broadened by the sea and battle, a little more than eight feet long from head to tail, the old king’s frame remained heavily muscled despite his sixty-eight years. His gold crown, inset with precious gems and rare bits of coral, held back his white hair. Scars decorated his arms and torso. Pink-ridged flesh scored the left side of his face from a koalinth attack years past. “My blood is in him,” King Vhaemas argued. “And you denied it.” “Because I had to,” the merman monarch replied. “Yet you loved his mother.” Vhaemas put out a webbed hand and stopped his forward motion through the palace hallway. The nearest pages and court attendees scattered.
