Alexander Kilgore "König"

The night was one of those the sea remembers, the moon, full and low, painted a silver stripe over the black water, the salty wind stirred the tops of the trees that bordered the beach, the 38-year-old King König Kilgore had been a bachelor for more than half his life, noblewomen seemed too calculating to him, princesses too spoiled, and countesses too apathetic for his taste, on his nighttime walks he wore neither crown nor mantle, he wore a dark cloak, his feet bare on the cold sand, and his gray eyes fixed on the figure dancing at the water's edge.

She arrived with the tide, at first he saw her as a silhouette among the rocks, dragging herself with clumsy yet elegant movements, then, upon reaching the dry sand, she rose, her newly formed legs, still trembling, held her up, her arms opened to the night and her head fell back, her hair as bright as seaweed in a full-moon storm cascaded over her shoulders, she was a selkie, the most beautiful his blue eyes had ever seen —the only one, in truth—, she danced, not a ballroom dance, nor a court dance, an ancient dance, older than kings, older than castles, her bare feet marked the rhythm of the waves, her hands drew shapes in the air that dissolved before they could finish, the moon clothed her, the breeze combed her hair, though she wore nothing but her skin on her shoulders —seal skin, gray and gleaming, which she had left folded on a rock— and a smile that he could not see but could imagine, legends said that whoever managed to steal a selkie's skin would bind her to him forever and she would have to marry her captor, that made König's chest ache, not with pity but with anticipation, an immoral plan had begun to take shape in his mind from the moment he saw her.

König watched her from the cliffs, it was not the first night, he had been going to the beach in secret for months, hiding among the trees, holding his breath so the wind would not carry his scent to her, he had seen that same dance a dozen times and never grew tired, each night, she was different, sometimes sad, sometimes furious, sometimes light as foam, that night, she was calm, a stillness that tightened his chest. when her dance ended, she returned to the rock, put on her seal skin, and her legs joined, her gray tail stretched out over the water, and she left... as always, as she never looked back.

König went down to the beach, the sand preserved the print of her bare feet and her small footsteps, they sank into the damp shore, he knelt, touched them and closed his eyes.

—“Someday” —he whispered—. “Someday you will stay.”

That night, when she left, he did not leave, he stayed and walked to the rock where she left her skin every full moon, the rock was empty now because she had taken it with her, but König knew it was not always so he knew that she also came ashore on other days, in other months, disguised as a human, she wandered through the villages, looked at the markets, bought bread and cheese she did not need, And on those days, the skin —her true skin— remained hidden in a cave, under a stone, among the roots of an old tree. König had followed her once, he had seen her hide the skin in a hollow in the cliffs, covered with dry seaweed, but even so he did not touch it, he did not dare lay a single finger on that silvery skin, Not then, but the image was etched into his memory forever, like a map, like a promise he did not yet dare to speak aloud.

Days passed and König gave orders to his soldiers, not to bother the townspeople and not to chase anyone, not to stare at the women who walked alone along the coast, The soldiers obeyed, because the king rarely gave explained orders; One afternoon, he himself went down to the cliffs in hand he carried a sack of thick silk cloth, his hands were trembling, not from the cold, because he knew that what he was about to do would change his life and hers forever. It did not take long for him to find the small cave, he pushed aside the seaweed and there it was, the soft seal skin, gray, gleaming and smooth as silk itself, cold as the deep water, he picked it up, and felt the weight of centuries in his hands, he folded it carefully and put it into the sack, then tied it to his belt.

He went up to the castle, closed the door of his room and Put the sack under the mattress in a chest of wood and steel, he locked it and hung the key around his neck, sat on the bed and waited.

He did not sleep that night nor the next, on the third day, when the moon began to wax, he ordered his servants to prepare a room adjoining his own, one with large windows, facing the sea, with a copper bathtub and scented salts, with linen sheets that smelled of lavender.

—“For whom, Your Majesty?” —asked the butler.

—“For my wife” —König answered bluntly.

The butler asked no more, kings have whims that are not questioned.

That night, König returned to the beach, he did not hide, he sat on the sand, in the very spot where she danced, with his legs crossed and his hands on his knees, he waited for her, She arrived with the tide, first her angelic face emerging from the water, then her torso, dark, covered in sea droplets, that night she did not dance, she stayed at the water's edge, sniffing the wind, there was something different, something that had not been there the night before, something that smelled of man, of wood, of confinement.

—“You no longer have it” —said König, in a low voice.

She moved, quickly, her bare foot struck the water. Her eyes, black as the sea floor, bored into him.

— “Your skin is safe, in my room, Under my bed.” She did not answer, did not come closer, did not leave, she just stayed at the water's edge, with the water lapping at her legs, and looked at him, there was no mistaking that look of fear and anger in her beautiful, shining eyes.

—“I cannot give it back to you, I do not know how to explain it, I have seen your dances, I have seen how you laugh when you believe no one is watching, I have seen how you gaze at the sea when you leave, as if you were leaving something behind, and I have thought... I have thought that ‘something’ could be me.”

She fell silent, the moon, high, illuminated her skin, the selkie lowered her head and sank to her knees, her soft hands clutched the sand.

—“If I give you back your skin, you will leave. And I will be left staring at the empty sea for the rest of my life.”

The selkie did not answer, she could only squeeze her hands even tighter, her knuckles began to whiten, and the sand in her hands began to slip through her fingers, just like her freedom, the water dripped from her delicate legs, König stood up and held out his hand.

—“In the castle there is a room for you mein schatz, with windows that look out to the sea, a large heated bathtub just for you, clothes, food, you will not be locked up, you may walk through the gardens, through the village, along the beach” he paused, too long a pause, long enough for his words to sink into her “But you will not be able to leave... Not without me.”

She looked at him for a long while. Her black, bright eyes did not blink, and König kept his hand outstretched.

—“What is your name?” he asked. “You already have my castle. My love. My... obsession, a name will do you no harm.”