They can protest and seethe all they wish; I am the only hope they have of ending the blight that plagues our land.

My mother died because of the Witch. Chlaena killed herself and utilized every resource we had to bring an end to the Curse. When Yannig died, the last words he spoke to me were his wish I return life to our sea.

As much as I loathe krakens, their deaths cannot be for nothing. My territory will be restored in my family’s honor if it is the last thing I do.

For Chlaena. For Yannig.

For my future bride.

If not for my family’s sacrifice, I question the level of devotion I would have to bonding myself with whomever I am destined to be with, as the Witch said this is required to bring an end to the Curse and save those who find me deplorable.

Chlaena took a husband, and the first kraken died from the Waste.

Yannig took a bride, and half the territory became a graveyard.

The only person I will marry is my fated mate. That is who I believe will be the one to end the Curse. My destined bride, as she called it.

I have prayed to the Sea Goddess for my mate since I learned such a thing existed—a being created to be perfectly compatible in body, mind, and soul.

My siblings and the Council called me foolish for falling for the make believe. They claim it is a tale told to children to help them sleep at night, but some elders believe such a thing exists. It has been written into our tomes many times.

I rub at my chest where the subtle itch has turned into a tug. I navigate through stone arches, thinking about the empty den I’ll return to after my hunt. No mate, no cubs, no one who will look at me without disgust.

I’ve dreamt of finding my mate since I was a cub, longed for it with every part of my being, because my mate would not hate me for having hair instead of a mantle. She would never leave or ignore me, or call me unworthy for my appearance. My mate would love me. She would pick me.

Mates have to be real.

I’m certain it’s the only way to end the Curse.

Vegetation and life begins to sprinkle the land once I cross the border until the ocean is bursting with it. It’s a different route than I normally take, further away from my den. There’s plenty of game around to make for a successful hunt, but I can’t bring myself to stop. Instinct forces me to keep going, getting closer to the mainland than I normally would.

Yannig and I would come up onto the mainland so he would mingle with the locals before he became king, but it has been years since I’ve made it this far from the main city.

I slow down, surveying the area, but something innate continues pulling me forward, closer than I’ve been in many moons and even further away from my island, to a beach I’ve never cared to approach.

I come to a halt, rubbing my chest, staying there. There’s no reason for me to swim this far out from my territory. It’d only make the trip home all the longer, and my energy will have waned from a full day of swimming.

I must hesitate for so long, I feel a nip at one of my tentacles. I spin just as Vasz darts off, charging ahead of me—to avoid my wrath or to hunt for coconuts. Likely both. He never misses an opportunity to go near land. The mutt insists on bringing back a tacky souvenir every time. It’s hardly valuable, only a mere eyesore.

Until he throws them at my head.

Or hides them under the bed so they poke into my back.

Or leaves them lying around to crack under my weight.

“So far,” Vasz complains, panting and swooping around me to herd me forward. I’m surprised he caught up so quickly. I mustn’t have been going that fast.

“Silence.” The tugging has grown uncomfortable, an incessant ache. The sun is setting, and I’d prefer to be in the comforts of my own home before the sea becomes too still.

There’s a shark in the distance, one large enough to keep me fed for several days. I turn toward the mainland, where the rope around my chest seems to be connected.

I cave to the need to keep swimming. The pull grows stronger the more I swim, until the beach comes into view. The only time I come this close is if I plan on shifting into human form to search for treasure—or maybe, perhaps, possibly find my fated mate.

I will not get a second chance. Once I see her, I will recognize her as my mate, my destined bride who will end the Curse. I am certain of it. There is no other choice.

A lifetime, I’ve prayed. Twenty years, I’ve searched. Twenty years, I’ve come up empty. Soon, before the last reef in Krokant withers to nothing, I will have to marry the first kraken the Council sacrifices to me in an attempt to break the Curse. If that doesn’t work, I will have failed my family.

The tug turns into a vicious, near-painful, yank. I swim harder. Desperation claws at my ribs. I cannot fail. I will find her. My lands will be saved. My family’s deaths will not be in vain.

I breach the surface of the water. I need to rip the gnawing ache out of my chest. It’s all-consuming. The magic in my veins thrums and twists. This wretched, foreign feeling between my ribs twists my mind into a disoriented mess of torment and⁠—

Air crashes into my lungs.

Sitting on the shore is a little female.

The vermilion glow of the setting sun kisses her bronze skin. Tendrils of dark hair flutter around her soft face with the afternoon breeze. Her fingers are splayed into the sand, head tipped back as the waves caress the tips of her toes. She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

My hearts still. For a moment, they stop beating all together before they collide in a frenzy. My soul vibrates and sings, pushing the female to the forefront of my mind until there’s no other thought.

It’s her.

She’s the one. I’ve been waiting for her all my life. My mate. My bride. The one to end the Curse. And she’s…human?

The Council will be up in arms over this. A member of the royal line hasn’t bonded to a human in over two hundred years, and my grandmother was made a pariah for tainting the bloodline, even though she ate him after they mated.

No matter. I will kill anyone who questions my decision. Food is scarce in my land. I’ll turn kraken into dinner. I don’t care what any of them think.

The fates made her for me. She is my mate.

There is nothing further to discuss.

It is the rarest treasure to find a mate. Most krakens live their long life never finding one.

But I, Ordus, King of the Dead Lands, am one lucky kraken.

If I moved closer, I wonder if I could taste her in the water. Humans are delicate little things with weak minds. I fear how she may react if she sees me out here. It is forbidden for krakens to go near them or otherwise make our existence known. History has proven her species to be unkind to what they do not understand, brutal when they do not wish to learn. It was the fate my sire succumbed to before I was born.

But my mate will be different. She will accept me as soon as I show her I can provide for her. I will prove I am worthy, and she will be ecstatic to bond with me.

I wish she would open her eyes, look at me so I can watch the moment she recognizes me as her mate. She’ll leap into the water into my arms, guiding me into her sex so we may begin the marriage ritual, and she’ll leave her bonding mark on my skin.

My breeding limb hardens at the thought, halted by a flurry of concern.

But she is so small, maybe half the size of me.

Everything about her is little: tiny head, short arms, small hands, the cutest little nose so small, I’m worried she does not get enough oxygen through. One of my limbs is bigger than both her legs. I could crush her without thought. Humans bruise easily. Their bones can snap from a short fall.

What if I harm my human?

I could accidentally kill her with my size.