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She hears him before she sees him, his deep voice floating through the walls of the palace, somehow making her feel both eased at its sound and a little bit thrilled by it, all at once. She had expected that warm, tingling sensation in her chest to not spark quite as often around Arthur anymore, now that they shared a bed, a home, a life together. She had expected her stomach to not flutter quite as wildly as it does when she catches sight of him around the palace, as the two of them are shuffled off in different directions.
She had expected to become used to his presence, but she likes that she hasn’t yet. Not entirely.
“That is what it feels to be in love,” Atlanna had told her once, her smile small but bright, her cheeks flushed, her eyes twinkling, and Mera had known in that moment that her queen’s mind had drifted back to the man who would always wait for her at his lighthouse, at the edge of the dock.
She’d been truthful with Arthur when she told him that her duty had never been to love. Royals are not known for being particularly affectionate, not even behind closed doors. Queen Atlanna had been the exception; though she’d known better than to wear her heart on her sleeves, there had always been a touch of sentiment in her words, compassion in her smiles, and Mera had never really noticed the absence of affection in her childhood until she began to spend more time in Atlantis with the Queen. She’d known that her parents loved her, but it was something that was simply understood and didn’t need to be displayed—and, as she grew older, it was something that seldom crossed her mind.
But Arthur is different.
He wears his heart on his sleeves without a second thought, but you would be a fool to consider it a weakness. He wouldn’t have won over the people of Atlantis nearly as fast if he’d been unwilling to be vulnerable, to become more than just their king, but someone they can look up to. Someone they feel compelled to follow.
Orm had been a great king. She would be lying if she denied it. He dedicated his entire life to Atlantis, and, as one of his few confidants, she’d seen just how hard it could weigh on him to live up to the expectations his father set, and the even higher expectations he’d set upon himself when his father had passed. It was never as effortless as he’d made it to be and she admired how he never seemed to crack under the pressure. If anything, he embraced it. He had devoted his entire life to ruling, and, until he had grown quickly consumed by his plan to war with the surface world, he’d done it well. To Mera, he would have become twice the king his father was; she would’ve been proud to be his queen.
But she wouldn’t have been in love with him. She’d known this from the start.
His voice would have calmed her, comforted her, even, but it wouldn’t have thrilled her the way Arthur’s does. She wouldn’t have had the same, small ache in her chest when they were apart, wouldn’t have counted down the hours before she could be in their bed again, wrapped up in his arms.
“Your Highness, please—” a voice rushes out, almost frantic, as the doors burst open and Arthur swims through, being trailed by half a dozen nurses attempting to calm him.
His eyes—bright and wide and wild—dart across the room for a moment, and Mera feels her lips pull into a smile when they land on her, softening in an instant. His entire body eases as soon as he sees her laying back on the examination table in the infirmary, holding her gaze for one, long moment, before shifting over her body, surveying for injuries. Other than a small gash on her shoulder that had long stopped bleeding by now, she’d escaped most of the fallout when negotiations with the Brine had taken violent a turn. The Brine hadn’t been malicious—they’ve always been a reactive species, and, since Arthur had become king, Atlantis is still transitioning into having civil relations with them.
She’s fine. In a few days, she doubts that she’ll even have a scar.
“No need to be dramatic, my King,” she teases, stretching a hand out toward him as he swims close, and he wraps his fingers around hers and squeezes gently. “I would have told them to let you in if you had just knocked.”
He chuckles, cups the back of her head and tilts her forward to kiss her hair. “Nah, my way’s more fun,” he mumbles, his voice low and still a little bit rough with worry, only for her to hear, and she presses her face into his chest to stifle her smile, though she knows the notion is in vain. He knows that it’s there. “You okay?”
He nudges her back just enough to get a look at her shoulder, his thumb rubbing the tip of the cut. “I’m fine,” she promises, reaching up to curl her fingers around his wrist. His eyes drift to the data being displayed on the monitors, eyebrows furrowing slightly. She smiles a little wider, reaching up to touch his cheek, and she feels his lips twitch into that bright, easy grin of his against her fingertips as she gently guides his gaze back to hers. “These tests are just a precaution for anyone of royalty and nobility,” she reminds.
“I know,” he exhales, turning to kiss her palm once, twice, three times. “I know,” he mumbles again, gently massaging her scalp with the hand still tangled in her hair.
She tilts her head slightly. “Were you worried about me?”
He laughs, deep and rumbling, as he wraps his arms around her. “Try not to look so bothered by the idea.”
She tips her head back to hold his gaze, eyes narrowing as her lips twitch at the corners, threatening to give way to her own laughter. “You know I can handle myself.”
“You can handle anything,” he replies without missing a beat. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t worry when I’m told the love of my life is involved in a fight.” He drops his lips to the top of her head again, letting them linger as her eyelashes flutter closed, her heart thrumming in her chest. She slides her arms around him, threads her fingers together over the small of his back and lets his large, broad body curl tighter around hers, as if he could hide them away from the rest of the world just like this, in their little moment.
“I missed you today,” she mumbles into his neck, knowing he can hear it—can feel the way her lips form the words against his pulse—and he groans softly.
“I missed you, too.” He squeezes her gently. “Being a king kind of sucks.”
“Arthur,” she chides, beginning to pull away, but his body rumbles with another deep laugh as he tightens his hold on her, keeping her in place.
“I hardly ever see you,” he goes on as he smooths his hand over her back in soothing, absent circles. He lingers a moment longer before reluctantly pulling away, drawing his arms back, and it’s silly, honestly, how she could so quickly miss the warm weight of his body around hers. He moves to sit beside her on the examination table as he exhales a long breath, nudging her shoulder with his. “I figured the more I got the hang of this ruling thing, the more time I’d be able to squeeze in to see you,” he admits with a chuckle and a shrug of his shoulders. It seems as if he’s embarrassed by his confession, but she knows better. She knows him. He doesn’t see any point in shying away from the truth.
She reaches over to slide her palm against his, threading their fingers together, and he lifts the back of her hand to brush her lips to her skin in a kiss. “It’s hard to balance,” she agrees, voice soft. “But it’s also worth it.”
He nods without hesitation. “It is,” he agrees, his voice suddenly a little rough. “I—” His lips twitch in a wide smile again as he swallows, squeezing her hand as if seeking her for comfort, or maybe for confidence. “I love this place.” His gaze sweeps over the grand room of the infirmary, and she knows he’s talking about more than just this palace. He’d fallen in love with Atlantis as easily as she had fallen in love with him, and it awes her every single time she sees his expression light up, his eyes twinkling in the dark of their chambers at night as he tells her about his day. “I love being King.” He turns to her with a grin, nudging her shoulder. “I just wish I got to see my Queen a little more.”
“I know,” she exhales, cupping his cheek to turn his head toward hers as she leans up, brushing her lips to his. “Everything will fall into place, my King. I promise.”
He hums. “I’ll hold you to that,” he mumbles, slanting his mouth against hers in a deeper kiss, and she makes a small noise from her throat when his tongue darts out to lick at the seam of her lips.
However, just as she parts them for him, a soft voice lilting in slight amusement interrupts them. “Well, you two seem cozy,” a voice says chimes in, and Arthur and Mera part just as Atlanna floats into the room, closing the doors behind her with a soft click.
“Mom!” Arthur laughs, nearly hopping off of the table as he quickly crosses the distance between them, gathering Atlanna in his arms for a hug. Mera smiles, taking her time to join them as she admires the sight of Arthur, with his tall stature and broad shoulders, practically clinging onto Atlanna’s slender frame with all his might. Mera feels a warmth flutter in her chest, hears a giggle quickly spill from her lips as she takes in the fact that Queen Atlanna—who had always seemed tall and regal, a grand presence that couldn’t hope to be ignored—is dwarfed in comparison to her son. She looks delicate and petite in his arms, and, errantly, Mera wonders if that’s what she looks like in Arthur’s embrace.
When Arthur finally releases his mother, Atlanna turns her bright, flushed smile toward Mera, hands already outstretched. Their hug is far less enthusiastic, but no less affectionate. She wraps her arms around Mera, squeezing gently, one hand cupping the back of Mera’s head—just like her son—before pulling away.
“I ran into your nurses on my way in,” she explains, and there’s something about the twinkle in her eyes that makes Mera pause.
“It was just a scratch,” Arthur promises, sliding his hand over the small of Mera’s back and pulling her to his side. She tilts her head up. “I wasn’t worried in the slightest,” he tells his mother as he winks at Mera, and Mera is smiling as she rolls her eyes.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Atlanna holds her hands out toward Mera and, after a second of hesitation, sharing an odd look with Arthur, she takes Atlanna’s hands and lets her pull her back to the examination table. She perches herself on top, gesturing for Mera to sit beside her as she curls her fingers around Mera’s tightly. “They shared something with me about some of your test results,” she explains, and, when Arthur moves closer to them, alarm crossing his expression, Atlanna quickly adds, “Nothing to be worried about.”
Mera glances at Arthur, watching him visibly relax, though her confusion is still mirrored in his expression.
Before she can ask Atlanna what she’s talking about, however, Atlanna turns Mera’s hand in hers and guides it down, pressing Mera’s palm flat against her own stomach, and Mera feels her heartbeat stutter in her chest before her mind can completely catch up.
“You’re with child, darling,” Atlanna says in a soft, excited sort of whisper, pressing both of their palms more firmly against Mera’s stomach, and her faltering heartbeats pick up into a quick thrum. Her eyes snap onto Arthur’s just as he makes this small, strangled sort of sound of surprise from his throat. He seems stunned silent.
Well, that’s a first.
“You’re still early along,” Atlanna continues as she reaches up to brush Mera’s hair away as it errantly floats against her cheek. “If not for these tests, you likely wouldn’t have known for a few more weeks.”
“You—” Arthur cuts himself off abruptly as his lips twitch at the corners, his gaze fixed on her stomach, and its as if she can feel the gentle, warm weight of it against her skin as her chest flutters and her pulse thrums. She feels a little bit like she can’t breathe, but she knows it’s not out of anxiousness. It’s out of elation, and suddenly, all she wants is Arthur’s warm, large body wrapped around her, keeping her steady. And as if he knows – of course he knows, because he knows her – he moves toward her in the same moment that she moves off of the examination table, then his arms are wrapping around her and spinning her around as his laugh fills the room, low and booming and happy.
He hugs her to his chest, making her all too aware of the firm but gentle press of her stomach against his chest between them as he holds her close, pressing his face into her hair. He’s still laughing, and with the deep, elated sound is right in her ear, sending a tingle down her spine as he smacks a loud kiss to her hair.
Then he pulls back, sliding his hands down to gently frame her stomach. He slants his mouth over hers, kissing her sweet and soft at first, then licking at the seam of her lips and deepening it with a low groan. She feels her cheeks flush slightly, embarrassed about the display in front of his mother, but she doesn’t dare pull away.
A moment later, at Atlanna’s lilting laugh, Arthur finally eases his lips off of Mera’s, parting with a quick kiss before pulling back to meet her gaze.
“Guess our lives are about to get a hell of a lot busier,” he murmurs as he presses his forehead against hers.
She reaches up to cup his face in her hands, stroking the pads of her thumbs over his beard. “I think we can handle it,” she tells him, voice soft, almost breathless with the way her heart is racing in her chest, the way her stomach flutters wildly in anticipation.
“You can handle anything.” He smiles at her, bright and open and happy, and there’s that warm thrill again, shooting through her veins. “I’ll just follow your lead.”