Chapter 17: A Moment Between Queens

I went alone, determined to make this meeting about something deeper than politics or royal obligations. The silent line of guards, anxious ministers, and my mother’s worried glances all pressed in on me, but I insisted on going alone because I ached for space to reconnect with Gwen honestly, free from the suffocating weight of others’ expectations. I wasn’t attending for diplomacy or negotiations—I was desperate to see a friend I had missed with a sharp, hollow ache, to find a moment of raw truth and comfort in the chaos my new title had stormed into my life.

And I didn’t want anyone else around when I saw her again.

The walk up to the Weeping Cliffs was slow, every step echoing with anticipation and a gnawing swirl of nerves. Mist curled around my legs and clung to my shoulders like memory and regret. The cliffs themselves jutted out over the restless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, their battered faces streaked with silvery trails where rainwater had carved channels through ancient stone—silent tears for all that had been lost. From the edge, the horizon stretched in every direction, an endless sweep of blue-grey water broken only by jagged rocks far below, where waves exploded against stone in a wild, white spray. The wind carried an aching tang of salt, and the crash of the surf below drummed in my chest, steady and relentless as my heart. At the cliff’s edge, where the grass surrendered to stone, I saw her waiting. In her eyes, my reflection stared back at me—haunted, hopeful, and changed by all I had survived. My hair, wild as the tide and blue as ocean storms, was now braided and pinned, though unruly strands whipped free in the wind. The sea air had kissed my skin with bronze and freckles, and the blue of my eyes felt sharper, nearly electric in the mist’s pale shroud. My simple skirt and loose top felt worn but beloved, my shell pendant throbbing with memory against my collarbone. I wasn’t the girl I had been, nor the queen I was becoming—I was something in between, shaped by longing, memory, and fragile hope.

She hadn’t brought guards either.

Just herself.

Princess Gwendolyn Sylvarein of Faen Shanta—dressed not in ceremony, but in simple travel leathers lined with green velvet, her silver-blonde hair pulled back in a loose braid. Her fair skin had the faint flush of someone who’d braved the wind, and a dusting of freckles crossed the bridge of her nose. A slender silver circlet rested just above her brow, its design so delicate it nearly disappeared into her hair. The moment her eyes—clear, bright green, flecked with gold—met mine, the weight of everything fell away.

We crossed the distance in silence and embraced.

It wasn’t formal. It wasn’t cautious.

It was two friends holding each other, fiercely, after too much time had slipped through aching fingers, and too many words had clotted unspoken between us.

When we pulled back, Gwen gave me a look—a soft one, but with that familiar spark of teasing behind her eyes. “I was hoping I’d get to see you again,” she said. “It’s been a while since you rushed off without saying anything.”

I winced, guilt stabbing through my chest. “I’m sorry,” I said, the words raw and tight. “It was an emergency. Atlantis was waking up and… I didn’t have time to let anyone know we were leaving. It wasn’t just me, Gwen. It was my whole family. Everything spun out of control so fast.”

She tilted her head, studying me. “Where have you been?”

“Atlantis,” I said, letting the word settle between us. “It didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms. There was a power struggle as soon as the throne was activated. Some of the nobles thought they could take the crown before I got there. I had to handle that before it escalated into a full civil collapse.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

I gave a tired smile. “More than I expected. I’ve been trying to get the mermaid nobility to work with me ever since. Some respect the crown. Some… just see me as a surface-born girl who doesn’t know our customs.”

“And then there was the speech,” she said, voice light but pointed. “You know. The announcement.”

I couldn’t help but groan quietly, covering my face with a hand. “Yeah. That.”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Dramatic, don’t you think?”

“I know,” I said, laughing under my breath, but the laughter was thin, strained. “I’m still trying to piece everything together. If I hadn’t made that announcement—claimed control of the seas—I would’ve lost face in front of the nobility. Their eyes were on me, hungry for me to stumble. So I had to act. Had to look decisive, even while my heart was pounding in terror.”

“But you didn’t?” she asked, gently.

I met her gaze, unable to hide my vulnerability. “No. I didn’t have a plan. I was improvising. There were pirates, a convoy in real danger, and two Kraken wreaking havoc nearby. I panicked—I had to do something. And now…” I exhaled shakily. “Now the whole world is looking at me like I’ve lit a fuse no one can stop.”

Gwen nodded slowly, and for a moment, we just stood there—two young women with crowns neither of us had asked for, both caught in currents bigger than ourselves.

“Well,” she said softly, “for what it’s worth? I think you did the right thing.”

I blinked. “Really?”

She smiled. “You stood up when you had to. That’s more than most rulers can say. You didn’t flinch. You just… forgot to breathe.”

I laughed again, and this time it didn’t feel so heavy.

“Thanks,” I said.

“For what?”

“For seeing me. Not the crown. Not the Empress. Just… me.”

She smiled wider. “Always.”

And just like that, I remembered why I had come—not for negotiations or posturing, but for something I desperately needed. The salt-laden breeze, the wild crash of the Atlantic, and the unwavering warmth in Gwen’s eyes grounded me. Beneath the heavy layers of duty, I was still Sam—still mermaid, still myself, bruised by expectation and desperate for belonging. Here, I could reclaim the broken pieces of myself lost to crowns and obligations; here, in Gwen’s company, I finally felt the ache of hope that something true in me could survive all the change.

We sat near the cliff’s edge, our legs dangling over the stone ledge where the river’s whisper met the steady breath of the sea. The wind played gently with Gwen’s braid, and the mist clung to our clothes, but neither of us seemed to care. The formality melted away with every laugh, every shared memory.

It felt good. Normal.

Like the world hadn’t tilted sideways.

Like I hadn’t declared dominion over the oceans.

Like I was just Sam again.

We chatted for a while, letting the weight of our titles rest somewhere far away. Gwen filled me in on life at court in Faen Shanta, painting scenes with her words that made me both nostalgic and guilty.

“Apparently,” she said with a sly look, “after you disappeared, half the high council wanted to string up your name on the city walls—not out of hatred, mind you, but because you vanished right when they were preparing trade proposals.”

I groaned. “Of course they did.”

“Oh, yes,” she laughed. “You made quite the impression at the banquet. Several of the ministers had planned to corner you at the post-dinner negotiations. You running off without so much as a wave caused a diplomatic tizzy. I think the Minister of Silk nearly had a breakdown.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Please tell me you at least made excuses for me.”

“I told them you had an urgent magical episode. Which, in retrospect, wasn’t that far from the truth.”

“Fair,” I said, grinning despite myself.

She leaned back on her hands, gazing out at the sea. “They’re still interested, by the way. In trade. In diplomatic contact. Especially now.”

“Now that I’m Empress?”

Gwen shrugged. “Now that you’ve awakened ten cities, commanded sea monsters, and made half the surface world reconsider their borders. Yes.”

I exhaled, slowly. “Everything’s moving so fast.”

She looked at me again, more softly this time. “It has to. That’s how the world works now.”

“I know,” I said, my voice trembling. “But sometimes… I ache for more time to just be the girl with magic who didn’t have a crown weighing down her heart.”

Gwen nudged me with her shoulder. “You’re still her. Just with a crown now.”

I smiled.

And we sat there, two friends—one of sea, one of forest—watching the waves below and knowing that even if the world expected us to act like rulers, we still had each other to remind us of who we were underneath it all.

We lingered on the cliffs until the mist turned silver and the sky above deepened with evening light. The air had chilled, but I barely noticed.

When we finally stood to leave, Gwen silently reached out and took my hand, her fingers intertwining with mine as we faced the path home together.

And I took it.

No ceremony. No titles. Just the kind of quiet closeness that didn’t need to be explained.

We walked back to the house together, side by side along the winding path through the meadow, our hands still entwined—my grip almost feverish, as if letting go would shatter the fragile, realness of this moment. The guards spotted us before we crested the last hill, but they didn’t move—maybe sensing our need for privacy. I felt the ministers’ eyes pressing through the windows, hungry for news of treaties and politics, but their curiosity was miles from my aching relief. Right now, I wasn’t Empress Samantha of the Seas. Right now, I was simply Sam, walking home with Gwen, the memory of laughter and the warmth of her hand thawing the cold ache that titles and responsibility always left behind. For this small, precious stretch of evening, I belonged—unburdened and real, heart open in the fading light, returning not as a ruler, but as a friend.

The guards spotted us before we crested the last hill, but they didn’t move. My ministers, no doubt, were watching from the windows, anxious to know what had been said, what treaties were forged, what political steps had been taken.

But I didn’t care.

I wasn’t walking back as Empress Samantha of the Seas.

Not just yet.

I was walking back—hand in hand with Gwen.

As we approached the house, I could already see my family waiting on the porch.

Mom stood with a warm smile, her sea-blanket draped around her shoulders. Dad leaned against the railing, trying to look casual—but the way his eyes flicked between Gwen and me told me he was still in full protective father mode. Megan was curled up on the porch swing, her legs tucked beneath her, and the moment she spotted who was walking beside me, her face lit up.

“Well, well,” Megan said, hopping off the swing with a smirk. “Look who finally decided to resurface.”

Gwen grinned. “If I’d known you were here, I would’ve brought pastries and scandal.”

The two of them embraced without hesitation—an easy, familiar hug that spoke of shared memories and countless outings together. It was the kind of comfort that only came from real friendship.

Megan pulled back with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Still causing trouble, Your Highness?”

“Only the dignified kind,” Gwen replied with mock seriousness. “Though someone here still owes me for nearly getting us banned from the Moonlight Wardens’ garden.”

Megan gasped. “That was your idea!”

Gwen laughed. “Yes, but you lit the fuse.”

Their laughter was contagious, pulling Mom and Dad into the moment. My mother stepped forward and wrapped Gwen in a warm hug, holding her close as if she were a long-lost niece. Dad gave her a nod of quiet approval—one of those rare, measured gestures he reserved for people he trusted near his daughters.

Seeing them like this—laughing, teasing, reconnecting—it felt like a piece of my life sliding neatly back into place.

Gwen wasn’t just someone from my past. She belonged here.

She was part of us.

And as we all stepped inside together—jokes still flying, Gwen and Megan falling right back into their rhythm—I realized something simple but powerful:

Whatever came next for me—Empress, ruler, daughter—I wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Not with them by my side.