It's been several hours, best I can tell, and I'm still awake. I don't normally stay up to all hours, but there's just too much running around my mind, and aside from the unfamiliar bed, I'm painfully conscious that there's someone else beside me. He doesn't snore or toss like my mother warned might be the case, but I keep wondering if he's even asleep, or just lying there thinking of how much he'd rather be sleeping alone. Or with someone else.

My mind is still somewhere between dreaming and thinking when he rolls over and his hand brushes my shoulder. I shift away, but fingers follow me, feeling along my arm as if to confirm its really there.

There's a pause, and then, "Ah, that’s right... I forgot..."

By the fading firelight I see him sitting up on one elbow. Did he already forget about me? I school my expression and feign sleep.

"No need for trickery, my dear," he says smoothly, "I know you’re awake."

I dutifully open my eyes again. He sounds so different, but how should I know how he usually sounds. We only met a few hours ago. "What did you forget?" I ask, in hopes of getting to the point so I can go back to pretending to sleep. I appreciate the sudden interest in my existence, but the sudden shift in attitude bothers me.

"I forgot I was to have a new bride this year. Let me have a look at you."

Before I can sit up, or ask what he means, I'm staring up into his face. The bed shifts as he leans over me, hands planted in the mattress on either side of my waist, and he peers down at me, directly into my eyes. Wavy auburn hair tumbles over his shoulders as the orange firelight glows against half of his face. Immediately I can tell something has changed. Deeply changed. He's still Prince Quin, he looks like Prince Quin, but his eyes have lost their indifferent softness, replaced with a dangerous glint, and there's an amused smile playing on his lips. He seems to notice my surprise, because he raises an eyebrow and his mouth opens slightly in understanding.

"Oh. You don't know, do you?" he says softly with a tilt of his head. He pulls back a fraction, though he's still hovering over me.

"Know what?" I ask tentatively.

"That I'm not Quin."

"What?!" I almost shout in his face, and immediately clap a hand over my mouth. "My apologies."

Quin, or whoever he is, laughs at this and his expression doesn't look perturbed. He doesn't even flinch at my outburst. "You've got quite the lungs, Miss...?"

"Eileen," I supply automatically, "At your service." I still have no idea what's going on, but I do know etiquette. Or at least I thought I did. That was more awkward than it should have been. It also doesn't escape me that he ignored my noble title.

"Mhm," he hums approvingly, and his smile widens as his eyes travel from my face, "Quite."

For the first time, I feel myself flush. In my confusion I'd forgotten the position we’re in, and now that I'm abruptly reminded of how close he is, and where we are, and what night it is, and what I'm wearing, and where his eyes are wandering, my heart starts pounding in my ears.

He settles in closer, forearms resting on the mattress at either side of me, and I feel his cheek brush against mine a second later as he leans down and inhales, long and deep, beside my ear. He’s smelling me?! I freeze. He still hasn't told me who he really is, and a thousand thoughts are racing through my mind. Does Quin have an identical brother? Which one did I just marry? If he's not Quin, is this infidelity? Should I stop him?

I don't think I could stop him. He might be ill, but he doesn’t look weak at all. And there's something strange about him now that wasn't there before. It makes me feel powerless. I hate feeling powerless.

My hands reach up, trembling despite my determination to steady them, and I push firmly against his shoulders. Which, just as I thought, I can't budge a bit. "Pardon, but who are you?" I ask as sweetly as I can muster. “If… if not Prince Quin.”

When he pulls back on his own, to my relief, he draws away completely and sits cross-legged beside me. He looks at me for a moment before answering. "I am Sheo. God of the sea."

I suppress another shout, and manage a strangled "Pardon??"

"And this," he ignores my gaping mouth and points to himself, "Is my vessel, Prince Quin. But I believe you two have already met."

Even in my strangest imagined scenarios about Prince Quin's dark secret, and the terrible reason why he never graced society despite being royalty, I never would have come up with this. This is definitely in the realm of fairytales. It makes sense now, though: I'm obviously asleep. The stress of the day is making me have weird-

"You're not dreaming," he says abruptly. "You're not dead, either," he immediately guesses my next thought. "And I'm not a creation of Quin's troubled mind or yours. I'm quite real. You were supposed to be informed. They’ve always been."

"Who?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"My previous brides."

If I thought Prince Quin going straight to bed on our wedding night without even a whisper of meaningful conversation or a kiss on the cheek was insulting, it was nothing compared to this. I don't really know why it upsets me, but suddenly I feel like someone punched me in the gut.

"Cheer up, this vessel is quite the virgin, I assure you." That wasn't my concern, but I stay silent. "Spiteful, maybe, but pure. I'm not surprised he didn't tell either of us about this. Probably thinks you deserve it, the self righteous little chit," there's an odd sort of fondness with which he says this, but I'm half distracted by the fact that Prince Quin does have a grudge against me.

"I'm sure he thinks you're only interested in using him for your own status," Sheo supplies. I’m not sure I like how perceptive he is. "And no doubt thought a shocking experience would do you good. We can't speak in person, obviously, so it's shadows of memories, written notes, and the opinions of his brat of a servant. He has no idea what I'm really like. The stories are rather nasty."

They are nasty. I've never believed in the gods, but I've heard the myths in history lessons. It's important to know the culture of my nation, the ancient religion that many still practice. Sheo is about as wild and vicious as they come, according to the legend, and at the same time it's said his charm can lure anyone to certain death. Much like the sirens who serve him. He lives in palace made of human bones at the bottom of the sea, and long ago a maiden would be sacrificed to him once every hundred years to appease his wrath and ward off catastrophic natural disasters born from the sea.

Apparently Prince Quin thought I deserved to be blindly handed over to this blood soaked deity for a traumatic wake up… because I’m trying to weasel my way in with royalty? Because I did what was asked of me? At least now I know why he looked guilty.

“What are you really like?”

"Well, my palace is made of coral, last I saw of it," he says in mock consideration, "which was a good long while ago. I don’t lure anyone to their deaths, I just enjoy a good chat now and then… not my fault you humans try to follow me home afterwards. It's creepy, really. The brides are true, though."

I gulp audibly, to my chagrin, because he's watching my expression intently. I can't bring myself to ask just how many brides he's murdered, or what he did with them, and instead grasp at the only other questions that come to mind. "Why don't you live in your palace? Don't you have your own body?"

He takes longer to respond this time. "Of course I do... I must..." For the first time, there's a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, and his voice is just above a whisper. "I can't return to the sea while I'm bound to human vessels. So you needn't worry about me drowning you or whatever. The bulk of my power is sealed, thanks to your king."

He can still drown me in the bathtub, I think wryly, but in all honesty he doesn't seem very violent. Perhaps that's why so many were lured to their (accidental?) demise by him.

"I'm not sure why they still send me brides," he continues, laying down on his side as he speaks, and propped up on one elbow again. "Clearly there’s no longer reason to appease me. Tradition, I suppose. Or an attempt at apology. As if a few sacrifices would make up for this hell.” He laughs darkly.

It's surreal to be listening to someone talk of human sacrifice like this. The entire conversation doesn’t feel real. Is this really Sheo? Am I being mocked? Is he insane? The difference between this person and Quin is so drastically undeniable that I have a hard time not believing they’re actually different people. For the sake of my own sanity, and decide to assume he’s telling the truth. There are other things to consider here.

I'm not actually worried about being murdered, not at the moment anyway, but if he's the real thing, and has no power or access to the sea anymore, what does he plan to do with me?

I ask and he grins at me playfully, the dangerous spark in his eyes again. "I'm not in a hurry to bed you, if that's what you mean."

I can feel my face heating again. It's infuriating how discomposed I am tonight, comments like this would never have embarrassed me before. I’ve always deflected them without batting an eye.

He flops over onto his back and reaches a hand towards the canopy. "Quin, however, I can't speak for. I'm sure you won't be bothered by him, though."

I have to agree. "Do you... switch?" I fumble for the proper words… transform? possess?... "every night?"

He nods. "Every other day. Our agreement. Apparently it's inconvenient, according to Shay, losing every other day of your life, but a deal's a deal. Any more questions, milady?"

So that's why Prince Quin doesn't like him. I try to wrap my head around the idea of being married to two people who switch places daily. It's not a very pleasant thought. What if I forget the days and mix them up? Quin might hate me even more. More importantly, who exactly am I married to? Who do I obey if they ask opposing things of me? I pose my predicament to Sheo, and he laughs.

"You're my bride, not my slave. Do whatever you please."