Part of Your World (Disney Twisted Tales) - Liz Braswell Page 0,28
one time a guard stopped her, Ariel just gestured the tray at him. That was enough: he grabbed a heel of the bread, leered at her, and ushered her on.
Ariel had to fight the urge not to gag. Was he really eatmg what he knew were someone else's scraps? Did these "advanced" humans, with their machines and fires and carriages with wheels, know nothing about the spread of diseases? Surely there was a land equivalent of the unseen, tiny sick-fishes that surrounded and lived m those who were ill....
Thinking about this kept her from growmg nervous as she approached the main royal apartments.
Two girls passed her, swearing and gossiping.
"Not me. I love how many baths she takes. It means I get a half watch to myself practically every night...."
"Sure, but is it worth it overall? My aunt is paying twice as much tax this season as she did last... while our princess bathes in expensive oils and burns through wood in the middle of summer!"
"But she doesn't bathe in the oils or hot water. That's the strange thing. Her baths are always cold and usually with mineral salt."
"Whatever! She's stealing from the poor of this kingdom to finance her stupid army and her stupid baths!"
"Shhhh! Keep your voice down!"
Ariel chanced a look at the girls as they passed, trying to guess their ages. Would she have been friends with them if she were human? Or was she, despite her looks, already too old? Did losing your voice and the love of your life and having to run a kingdom change you m ways more dramatic than mere years?
From the moist air that hit her a moment later it was obvious that Ursula was in the middle of one of her fancy baths right then. Good. It gave Ariel time to search the bedrooms.
She knocked tentatively on the royal couple's apartment door. The way a servant might, or a nen-ous ex-lover.
No answer.
Disappomted and relieved, Ariel pushed the door open with her back and shoulders the way she had seen other servants do, so she didn't need to use her tray-encumbered hands. And once she was m...
She sighed in relief.
She had never been in Eric's room; humans had very odd notions of appropriate behavior. But if she had to guess, this was still Eric's room—and only Eric's room. No girly or princess-y things at all.
There was a bookshelf stuffed with maps and scrolls and folios of music. There was a drum from a foreign land. There was a portrait of the prmce and a much younger Max, all smiles and sunlight. There were piles of arcane metal apparatus; tubes with thick glass lenses, pyramids with pendulums hanging from the apex of delicate golden crosspieces, things that were almost recognizable as rulers. There were several toy—model—ships.
There was a soft, puff}- pillow on the floor that was obviously for the dog, but there was dog hair all over the foot of the bed.
There was a heavy desk under a small window, buried under endless sheets of music paper, inkwells, pens.
There wasn't a single hint of anyone besides Eric in the room. Nothing of a tentacled sea witch with questionable taste in decor, nor of a human princess with human-princess belongmgs. There was nothing soft, brightly colored, pastel, glittery, flowery—no random scarf tossed over the back of the bed, no velvet or silk shoe kicked halfway under it. Nothing that wasn't shipshape, masculine, and Eric-y.
Ariel wanted to stay and poke through things, try to get a glimpse of the boy she had loved. But her time was limited.
There was a doorway that connected his bedroom to an adjacent one. She tiptoed in. This was Vanessa's room.
The royal couple was living side by side. Not together.
Not together.
Ariel didn't really want to unpack her feelmgs around this, but she couldn't help picking at them, like taking a stick and seemg what was in a crevasse of dead coral. Surely she hadn't hoped for Eric to stay... single? After all these years? To remain as he was in her memory?
Surely she couldn't blame him for having any feelmgs for Vanessa. The witch had cast a mighty spell on him. It wouldn't be his fault if he did everything she said, fawned over her, slept in the same room as she.
None of these logical thoughts explained away the joy that she felt. Somehow Eric had managed to keep a portion of himself separate from his beglamoured wife; somehow he knew something wasn't quite right.