Sixteen years later…
"Althea!"
She heard footsteps thudding toward her door.
Althea shook like a leaf beneath the thick blanket wrapped tightly around her body. Her teeth chattered. Her skin burned with fever.
"Althea!" Ervin's voice pierced the silence—cold and malicious. "Althea!
Tears slipped down her cheeks as the steps drew closer. She was tired. If he truly wanted her dead, he could poison her or hang her. Why was he so bent on torturing her to death?
The door flew open. Ervin stood in the doorway, staring straight at her. "Why are you still in bed?" he demanded.
Her body no longer felt like hers. Her legs had a mind of their own—they refused to move. After everything she'd endured the night before, even weeks wouldn't be enough to recover.
"Father, please," she sobbed. "Please, spare me."
"Spare you?" He scoffed. "I'll keep doing this every day until you give me what I want." He stormed toward her.
How could a man who claimed to have fathered her be so cruel to his own child?
Althea cried harder as his hand grabbed her roughly and yanked her out of bed. The cold air hit her barely covered body, making her shiver.
The thin, lacy nightgown she wore offered no warmth. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—
Thin. Malnourished. Welts crisscrossed her skin. Her lips were blue. She looked like a ghost. A shadow of her former self.
"Let's go, my little princess," he said, dragging her out of the room. Althea didn't resist. Why should she? He would always get his way.
Ervin led her out the back door. The moment her eyes landed on the makeshift shower and the metal bucket, she broke into hysterical cry.
"Father, please," she cried, her body wracked with sobs. "Don't do this to me."
"I'm not the one doing this," he snapped, shoving her to the ground. "You're the one making things difficult."
For sixteen years, he had done everything to force it out of her—drowning her during baths, dousing her with water at random. Althea was stubborn, just like her mother. And he was determined to drag the mermaid out of her, one way or another.
His tools waited: a whip, water, and pepper. If she didn't turn—just like every other day—he'd whip her, then rub pepper into the wounds.
"Stand beneath the shower," he ordered.
Althea slowly climbed onto the stone slab. The moment he turned it on, icy water poured down on her. Her body went numb. Her fingers ached like they might snap.
He increased the water pressure. She began to shiver violently. She tried to speak, but the water forced its way into her mouth, choking her.
"Why won't you turn!" he roared, pulling at his hair. "Turn and put both of us out of this misery!" He cranked the pressure higher.
Turn? He always said that word. But what was she supposed to turn into? At this rate, she was becoming an ice sculpture.
Ervin's patience snapped. He grabbed the whip and lashed out. "Stop being stubborn, you wretch!"
The whip struck her hands. Her face. Any part of her body within reach.
"Father, please!" Althea sobbed, shielding her face. "Please!"
The whip tore into welts that had barely begun to heal. The freezing water made the pain worse, searing into her raw skin.
"Turn, you wretch!" He flung the whip aside and dragged her to the ground, kicking her hard in the head.
"You filthy thing! You're just like your mother."
Althea curled into herself, trying to protect her fragile body. She pleaded for mercy, but it only made him angrier. He made use of his fists.
She felt herself slipping away. Darkness crept in. He continued beating her until she passed out.
Ervin kicked the bucket, splashing water everywhere. Sixteen years wasted. He should have been rich by now, not stuck with her.
Maybe Syrena had lied. Maybe she wasn't even royal. He looked down at Althea's limp form.
Sixteen years was enough. Once she woke up—he'd get rid of her.
He crouched down and picked her up. She was pale as a corpse. Back in her room, he wrapped her in thick blankets and went downstairs to prepare some soup.
An hour later...
Althea stirred.
She opened her eyes slowly, clutching the blanket tight around her bruised body. Her tears fell freely. Her eyes had long forgotten what it felt like to be dry. Her head throbbed. Every inch of her burned.
A familiar aroma drifted toward her. Next to the bed sat a bowl of soup and some bread. She grabbed the food without hesitation, without a care if it burned her insides.
She devoured it hungrily. At one point, she thought she'd vomit—but she couldn't afford to. It might be another week before that demon fed her again.
She was tired. So tired. When her mother was dying, she should've taken her rather than leave her with this monster in human flesh.
The door creaked open. Her heart sank.
He was back—like a predator checking in on the prey he was fattening up. He stood in the doorway, smiling.
"I see you're awake," he said. "That's nice."
That smile made her toes curl in fear. The bread stuck in her throat. She couldn't speak.
He walked over and sat beside her. The bed was too small; she had nowhere to run. All she could do was cry.
"Father," she whispered. "Kill me. Just smother me with these pillows. I won't hold it against you."
He chuckled. "No, no, my child." He brushed her snowy white hair aside. "I've invested too much in you. I can't lose you now."
"Please..." she begged. She wanted to fight back—just once—but even lifting her hand felt like lifting the sea. All she could do was survive. For now.
"You're worth more than diamonds." He cupped her cheek gently. "You should eat up, my little mermaid." He kissed her forehead.
"We have somewhere to be," he said with a grin that curdled her blood. Wherever they were going, Althea knew—it would be worse than today