Life in this cottage began and ended in this way: kettle in the morning, kettle at night. Whispering in between was some vague and empty threat of my husband's plan to war with the king of Undersea. But that was only what I heard when we went into town.

 Here in this cozy home— yes I said home— I didn't know what went on outside. All I needed to remember was to put that kettle on before Arne left to fill an order, and put it on at night during our now scheduled chats.

 I had learned so much over the past two weeks. The mundane ritual of daily life didn't offend me because at least I'd done something with my time. And Clara was such a joy. She gave innocent aid whenever I got stuck on a chore, never holding it against me. I didn't even think she realized how much better at living she was compared to me. It was as if she hoped to fashion me a role model for herself.

 The days were always filled with duty, the afternoons with play, and the evenings with long, quiet conversations with Arne once Clara was in bed. They were at first polite conversations like about the weather or the work we did. Painfully polite.

 But as our characters settled with each other, the more we would tell. Arne had told me his dream to take in more poor children and teach them a trade. I could see an ember dwelling inside him when he mentioned it. That was the first time I had known Arne to have a dream. And a selfless one, too.

 I had shared my hopes to one day fix all my mistakes and those I've hurt. I did not say who, but he had understood my sentiment, adding that he wished he could have gone back in time and prevented many things from happening. Somehow, I read through the air what he’d meant. I asked him, “What happened to Clara?” The way he blinked said he knew what I meant. I meant Clara, his wife.

 His hands made nervous circles on his lap as he looked down, remembering. “The royal carriage happened.”

 The implication in his words had me on edge. He started to explain, “It was just another day. Never saw it coming.”

 I placed down the cup of tea in my hand.

 His dark, reflective eyes met mine, “She— Clara, wanted to get a new cloak because her old one was falling apart, bless her heart. I took her in town. T'was my treat. Then suddenly it came. Charging through the street,” he glided his hand through the air to illustrate. “It came fast as an elk. Headed for dear Josephine.”

 “Josephine?”

 “She was only talking with a merchant when it came. By the time she was aware of it, she stumbled in surprise, and the wheels of the carriage ran over her legs.”

 A clot of sympathy built in my soul. “And is that why she...?”

 Arne confirmed with his eyes. “I didn't even think, I just threw myself on the horse and tried to steer it away. The rider— the devil— blew his pistol at me.”

 “You were hit?”

 “No... But Clara was.” He took a sip from his copper mug. Nothing followed his remark. I felt the sharp blow of silence in the room.

 “Sorry, I didn't mean to—”

 “You do not have to be sorry,” Arne assured me. “I am able to speak on it, now.”

 “Who would be so wicked and reckless to run a woman over, and shoot another?”

 “For a long time I haven't been able to say. No one has. Though we all know the name. Eric. Prince Eric.”

 The mention of his name hit my puzzled ears. I could not dare to believe that. I would not. “Are you sure?”

 “Am I sure? I was there, Freja. Everyone may think he can do no wrong. But he was younger then, and selfish. Not to say I believe any of that's changed. And not to say I don't still resent him.” Arne’s brows drew together when he realized I was crying. “What is the matter?”

 “Nothing,” I said, staring into the heavy air. “I just hate hearing of death.”

 “So do I.” He placed his hand on mine. He had never held my hand. “So do I.”

 His touch reminded me of my father's gracious hand, which I had not felt in the longest time. I’d be lying to think I didn't miss my father now.

 As Arne stared into my eyes, I thought we were underwater for a moment. I felt my legs dissappear, a tail taking their place. He was breathing just fine in it— the water as deep as his eyes. They poured light into me with the turning up of his grin.

 And with the drop of it, the light passed on. The tide pulled away from me, and I was a human again. What happened? I thought. Why did you take the light away?

 This was not the only time I would feel a strangeness around Arne. In the week following, Arne had brought some visitors over: Ida’s family. It was an impromptu and unusual thing. I hadn't known him to be social, but I hadn't really known him anyway.

 I made them plates of goose and gravied potatoes. Clara and Ida and Ida’s older brother, Frøwin sat together, with Ida’s parents on the other side, and Arne and I on both ends.

 I let the other adults get on with their chat as I silently watched Clara and Ida make jokes. But that didn't mean I wasn't listening to the conversation. Ida’s mother mentioned something about the prince meeting with the king’s representative, Sebastián. I was surprised Prince Eric was even able to persuade him to come to the surface.

 “No one knows yet what came of it,” she was saying, “only that they met. I think the prince may have issued a warning and nothing more. That's my hope.”

 “Well I feel he should declare war,” The husband said, tearing away at the goose meat. “We could do with a good war. Would finally bring some life to Atlantica, some need for patriotism.” Good war? Drivel, I thought. He looked like the type of fool to make such remarks. With a head that could only contain an egg, and eyes no wiser than his son’s.

 “I shouldn’t need to remind you that Atlantica isn't just us, but those below as well.”

 I looked over in surprise at Arne. He had never mentioned to me his thoughts on the mer-people. And that short statement had me interested in what more he thought.

 “Eh, what is your conviction?” Frøwin said, with the same nasty way of eating as his father. “You don’t think it’s right that they should keep our fish from us, do you Arne?”

 Arne brought his stoic gaze upon the young man. “I believe the best thing for both worlds is to try at peace first.”

 “Right you are, Arne,” Ida’s mother said in loud agreement. “We don't need dead men, we need fed men.”

 “Is that your new mantra, Gertrude?” Her husband teased.

 “Yes, and I hope it becomes yours, too.”

 “Mor, I don't want the mermaid’s to fight us,” little Ida chirped.

 Gertrude covered her heart. Then everyone felt ashamed at discussing war among the little ones. “Oh, dear. Are you done? You and Clara can go play in her room.”

 I sat through the rest of the futile conversation as it somehow progressed into Ida’s father listing out hypothetical concerns for why war is necessary.

 Excusing myself from the table, I went to the sitting area. Arne’s shirts still hung by the window. The moonlight shined through the linen and cast a haze on the dark clay walls. Four skinny chairs surrounded the fireplace. I sat myself in the one closest to it. I just wanted to forget about everything.

 I wished Father would stop his fit. He knew he had me in a desperate situation. He knew he was tormenting me. This behavior was beneath him.

 I was turned toward the hearth when I felt a hand pat my shoulder. “What’s got you confounded?” The woman said to me.

 “I just... I had to get away.”

 “I understand. My husband can get a little zealous.” She sat in the chair beside mine. “So. How did you do it?”

 “Do what?”

 She smirked at me with mischievous eyes. “You know. Wheedle your way into Arne’s barred heart.”

 My eyes widened. I glanced at Arne who was still in the kitchen. Had he not told them I was only...? well, "his maid" would have been a good term. He noticed me looking. I looked again at Gertrude. “I— I suppose It’s more like I... busted through the door.”

 Gertrude guffawed. “A determined young woman. I like to see it. You know my mor always told me, 'Never let the man you want intimidate you'.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

 I returned a feeble smile.

 “It is good to see him happy.”

 “Happy?” I said, bemused while looking over a second time. “Is that what you'd call it?”

 “Why, yes. He hasn't been so happy since his last wife.”

 The men soon came into our location. Arne leaned against a corner while the other man and his son stood on the faded mat in the middle of the short room.

 “Gertrude, my beloved wife. There is no end to the occasion until the fat man sings.”

 Gertrude ho-hoed into her palm, then eyed me, “You see what I have to deal with?”

 “We shall sing Det Var En Lørdag Aften!” her husband announced.

 “Well, we know Arne won't croak with us.”

 “Croak? Who’s croaking? I sing like a bird,” her husband asserted.

 “Yes, a seagull!” Frøwin quipped. To that he received a playful hit on the back from his father.

 The fat man began:

It was a Saturday evening

I sat and waited for you,

you promised me to come

but you didn't come to me.

 The wife joined in:

I laid on the bed

and cried so bitterly,

and every time the door opened,

I thought it was you.

 I knew this song Eric had sung it to me. Gertrude waved at me to join in. But singing was a dangerous thing for me to do. Still, she was insistent. So I reluctantly whispered under my breath:

Where can you pick roses,

where no roses grow.

Where can you find love,

where no love exists.

 Though I whispered, it wasn't long before their eyes pinned on me. The magic was wrapping around their ears, gripping their minds. Well, all except Arne... All except Arne? He watched me from his corner, but not with a dumb stare or numb stare. It was a very normal stare of intrigue. And that was far scarier to know.

 They all fell silent as I finished:

I wanted to pick roses,

I pick no more;

I loved you so much,

I'll never love again.

 Gertrude was leaning over my shoulder, so stupefied that she tipped over and fell on the floor. That snapped her husband out of his daze. “Gertrude?” He came to pick her up. “Gertrude, what happened?”

 Gertrude held her head, “I don’t know. I must have had a spell.”

 Frøwin stood there, still staring.

 “Frøwin, get your sister now. We have to leave.”

 Arne got off the wall and stepped forward most composedly. “It was good to have you.”

 “It was good for us to come.”

 “Yes,” Gertrude seconded. “And what a pleasant wife of yours, too.”

 Arne didn't look my way. He didn't deny her remark, and he didn't explain. All he said was, “Thank you.”

 I watched them leave and felt relief. Arne turned to me.

 I searched my mind for an excuse, “I don’t know what happened. They all...”

 Arne came closer until he towered me. “Let’s not speak of this.”

 I squinted. “Yes.”

 “Come. We should clean up.”

...

 I was not prepared for what awaited the next morning. With no orders to fill, Arne suggested we all go out in the field. He took out a hoop and two wands for us to play graces, a game where we try to keep a hoop flying.

 Arne stood by and watched as I passed the hoop to Clara. He set his back against and alder tree. I wondered what he was pondering over. It seemed impossible to know what Arne was ever thinking.

 The moment Clara stopped rubbing her sticks, and the hoop fell, I suggested she play pretend with her corn-husk doll while I rested. I then made my way to Arne.

 When he saw me, he tried to see over me. For some reason he wouldn't look me in the eye. I leaned against the same tree. “I wish you'd play one game with us.”

 “I never was good at games.”

 I laughed. “Liar. A man of your constitution?”

 Arne kept a hard face.

 “What’s troubles you? Arne?”

 He finally regarded me, “I have something to confess.”

 My cheery mood immediately settled. A light breeze shook the leaves we were under, filling the silence. “I am listening.”

 “I see I've been selfish to keep you here.”

 “Not at all,“ I vehemently stated. “You know I adore caring for Clara. You shan't get rid of me. I like being here. I have no where else to go.”

 “Maybe I know that. Maybe your dependence on me is why I have taken you for granted. Perhaps I'm evil for it.”

 “No, you haven't been so bad. You have taken me in and treated me like one of your own.”

 “Yes, that's the issue.”

 “Wherefore?”

 After a long pause to my question, Arne took my hands in his. I saw a burning light in his eyes as he gazed at my own. “Freja. I know we both can see how well we work. Even with all of our disagreements, there is something that draws me to you. Perhaps I'm a fool to say it so soon, but Freja, you bring me hygge.”

 I started to instinctively pull away, but his hands held tight to mine. “What is this about?” I shut my eyes from the sight of his, “Whatever your going to ask, don't.”

 “I won’t ask. Marry me Freja.”

 I kept my eyes closed yet felt his cheek meet mine. “Be my wife,” he said.

 In three words, he made everything spin. I felt I'd gone mad. My mind was flooded with legalities, and the memory of walking down a long, creaky dock to stand and state my vows before a spectating crowd. How had I mistaken the breeze on that day as fateful instead of ominous? How did I not hear the words recited from my lips. Lies, all lies.

 And now, I am still strung to him; to Eric, by an invisible cord. He thinks I am dead, he thinks the law that bound him to me is no longer in effect. But I am still breathing, still dragging on. And if I were to be found out, marriage with Arne would only complicate things. I couldn't put anyone else through another dishonest relationship.

 “I can't.” I pulled away from him. It was the best thing to do. My rejection must have shot his barred heart, which he had opened only to me for a mere, regrettable minute. I could not find a good explanation to give him, so I didn't even try. Arne was a fine man, though I never told him. And his proposal, while untimely, did appeal to me. But I am smarter now. Too smart to fall into fantasy's snare again. Fantasy is a bigger lier than I.

...

 The rest of the day proceeded in an awkward air. Arne took my distance for what it was and found some excuse to go away for a while. He said he needed to clean some of the tools in the shed.

 I had eventually finished the laundry. Taking Arne clothes into his room, I noticed how unkempt his bed was. I shook my head and decided to fix it. When I lifted his pillow, I had to blink twice. My page— the drawing I kept— there it sat underneath his pillow.

 I checked my vile. It was indeed empty. But I hadn't realized I lost the page. When? When had Arne taken this? I seethed my anger while roughly throwing his bed together. It made me aghast to know he'd seen the picture, and then he stole it!

 Oh, I had a lot to tell him after dinner. I waited for Clara to go to bed. Then as I took up the dishes to wash in the bucket, Arne came to help.

 I knew he desperately wanted to speak to me as I clanged dish after dish in the bucket before handing it to him to wipe with a rag.

 “Slow down,” he said, noticing my brash behavior.

 “Why? Don't you want it done?” I said. I raised a challenging brow at him.

 The gesture put him off. “Without breaking them would be nice.”

 “Yes it would, wouldn't it? Because it's what you want. And whatever you want, you get.” I tallied on my wet fingers, “You want your home clean, your food prepared, your daughter cared for. You want everything.” I threw out my hands.

 He grimaced, “Have you lost your wits? After all I do for you.”

 “No, it’s what I do for you, Arne.” I pointed my finger right in his face. “I fulfill all your wants, and still you want more from me.” I lifted my vile off my chest, displaying the rolled page still inside. Guilt raised his brows. I had him shocked and I loved it. “What do you want to know, Arne? Ask me. This is why you want to marry me, isn't it? I will always be nothing more than a mystery to be solved.”

 “You think that is why I want to marry you.”

 “Why did you steal it?”

 Arne returned me a complacent smirk and a shake of his head. “Freja, I know more behind that picture than you do or ever will. That's why I took it.”

 My eyes went wide, “What?”

 He flicked down his rag and came closer to me. “But it has nothing to do with my proposal. I know you have secrets, Freja. Never did I buy your story first time you showed up here. But if that had ever bothered me, you would not still be here.” He brought his large hands upon my shoulders, gripping me in place. “I am glad you stormed into my life the way you did. Because I would have never looked for you, and I would still be a mess of a man. I see all you do, Freja. I don't need to know your past to love who you are now.”

 I stared into his narrow eyes with the intent of finding a feebleness there; seeking out a lie. All I found instead, was the half moon outside reflecting in them. The last candle had burnt out, leaving us in the dark. The bone of his nose was more prominent than ever with the way he was shaded, his face half-lit by the moon. This entire setting was fighting against me. I had to come up with a reason not to slip into this delight. “Arne. I'm afraid I've bewitched you.”

 He slipped one hand down my arm to my waist, bringing his other arm around my shoulders. He drew me closer near his neck. “T'is only a natural bewitching. And half the fault of my own mind. You see, you're dangerously charming by design, my dear. Your passion, your hope, your antics, I love them all. And I love you.”

 What was happening to me? My fight was failing. I let him ensnare me with his eyes. Let him run his nose down the side of my face. His lips migrated to my ear. I felt him pull my head-covering down. He buried his face in my hair.

 All the while, my mind repeated, I love Eric. I love Eric. I love E... Arne’s lips grappled onto mine. I felt the strength in his jaw. His beard brushed against my chin. My insides were a-stir, my mind— blank.

 I couldn't believe my hands were reaching over his chest up to his muscular neck. Warm blood was building there. I had missed this feeling of being held and caressed. I had missed this dance performed by our mouths. I was almost completely lost in the moment. For some reason, I felt the urge to tell him my real name. I wanted to know how it would sound when he said it. And that was when I knew I had to stop.

 With the last bit of consciousness I had, I tore my lips from his. I gasped, reaching for some sense of and awareness, then ignored the baffled expression on his face. “I wish I could help you understand—”

 He put his forehead on mine. “I do understand.”

 I shook my head. “No you don't. You don't see how you have complicated things. I can't do this with you. And if you truly loved me, you would never ask me to marry you.” I shoved him, and went back to scrubbing the dishes. I waited for him to stop watching me in shock, and finally leave me alone. Shortly after, I vowed in my heart that I would never think of this night again.