Beyond the arch, we swam through another tunnel into another open underwater pool, and then we swam upwards.

My gills closed instantly as we made a glassy surface that only broke with the most gentle of ripples at our emergence.

Here, I saw we were in a grotto that had an island in the middle on which was built a magnificent half dome, the opening pointed my way, that seemed to shine with an ethereal bright pearly light.

And on the smooth rocks that formed the island’s base, beyond the opening to the dome, lay my husband.

I also saw the merman who had met us had formed legs and he was walking, nude, up the rocks of the island, his trident still in his hand.

I pulled viciously at the hold on me, and I did not pause to register surprise when they easily released me.

I also did not look at the variety of Mer bobbing about in the pool around me, or the ones that milled about on the island, including the mermaid who was handing the silver-eyed, raven-haired mermale a pair of trousers.

I struck out toward my husband.

I ignored the pain of the split I felt as I closed in on the island and formed legs.

I just found my feet on the rocks in the shallows and ran through them, my sodden gown slapping against my skin.

Aramus was on his side, his back to me, and I fell to me knees when I reached him, pressing him to his back, battling fear and hysteria and a pain so overwhelming, it threatened to consume me.

His eyes were closed.

My king looked to be asleep.

Oh, Medusa.

Maybe he had not survived that swim.

Or maybe the weight of the sea had crushed his innards, made pulp of his brain.

Regardless of these thoughts, I pressed against his chest, holding to hope that it was just water in his lungs, thinking fast about how, once I revived him, I could get him back to the surface. Back to the beach.

Back home.

As I pumped, I lifted my accusatory gaze to the silver-eyed male who stood, now wearing trousers that appeared to be subtly gilded leathers, the shine against the gray material shimmering a light aqua and silver.

He was leaning negligently on his bloody trident.

“You sent that tidal!” I bit.

“If you spent time amongst your people, Ha-Lah,” his deep voice returned to me, “you would know, with the magic of a Mer, if a human has the touch of one of our own, we can take him or her anywhere we wish, even to the bottom of the deepest depths of the sea.”

I stopped pressing against Aramus’s chest as relief flooded through me, and with it came the ability to gather my wits enough to look down upon my husband and see he was breathing.

This was joyous.

And I felt that joy.

But our abduction was anything but.