Little Sea Rose: ReTold Minis, #3

By Lucina M. Huff

For the first time in fifteen generations, the underwater kingdom has a sea prince. 

Adored and exalted, Kale has spent his life surrounded by guards and shadowed everywhere he swims. The youngest of six, and the only boy, he's felt distanced from his sisters and plagued by loneliness his entire young life. 

Until on his sixteenth birthday, he fulfills the law by venturing to the surface. There, he witnesses a land girl fighting for her life. While law forbids him from allowing himself to be seen, he wastes no time rescuing the beautiful Rosheen.

Yet trouble finds him when he returns to the sea. Finally free from his guards, Kale explores the forbidden ruins. To his surprise, he discovers a clue to his father's disappearance along with signs pointing to the co-existence between sea and land people. Before he can tell a soul, a curse is activated, turning the sea prince human. 

Unable to speak, he ventures top-side where he must rely on Rosheen to help unravel the mystery. Something sinister lurks in the depths, spreading its inky hate through the kingdom. Can Kale and Rosheen uncover the clues that explain his father's disappearance? Or will they be the next victims of the sea witch's cruel curse?

LITTLE SEA ROSE is a short retelling of Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Mermaid.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucina M. Huff
• Release date: May 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223982357

Book preview

Little Sea Rose

Grandmother rings the bell, the signal for lesson time. I swim toward the lesson room accompanied by my usual squadron of guards and meet up with my sisters along the way. Coralia’s long hair, as pink as the coral she’s named after, flows behind her, getting tangled in her fins. She’s the eldest of my five older sisters, a position she takes very seriously.

Waving her hand at my enclosure of guards, she says, How can you stand that? Don’t you feel restricted? Suffocated?

Her oft-repeated questions wash over me like a warm current. As the first son born to the Sea King’s family in fifteen generations, I’m accustomed to being surrounded by a never-ending wall of guards. All while my sisters swim freely.

I smile. I’m used to it.

What’s Kale used to? Carnadine, my fifth sister, has never spoken directly to me.

Coralia rolls her eyes and zips ahead. Carnadine flashes a glance at me out of the corner of her eyes, then follows our eldest sister. A blurry pair race after them. Only Kelprin, the second oldest, keeps pace with me. We approach the doorway to the study hall, and my guard battalion peels off, encircling the room. The last two guards block the doorway after we enter.

Grandmother waits by the writing board, chalk stick in hand. Her deep blue octopus tentacles curl and unfurl as she waits for us to gather and settle.

Once, Grandmother begins.

Upon a time, the twins, Cerisia and Cerulina, interrupt.

Grandmother raises an eyebrow. That wasn’t what I was saying.

Batting her red eyelashes, Cerisia says, But that’s what you always say.

Not today. Grandmother’s stare is the kind that wilts anemones. Once —she glares at the twins— we are finished today, don’t swim off. It’s Kale’s coming of age celebration, and you all know what that means.

Grandmother raises her brow, prompting a recitation from us.

Upon the commencement of the sixteenth year of the generation’s first royal son, he will ascend to the surface. Ascension to the air is forbidden until the first son rises. So states the law, we respond in a semblance of unified order.

I turn my eyes upwards, gazing through the open ceiling. Though the white light from the blurred sun has always been a part of my world, I’ve never felt the pull to go nearer. To visit the land. To breathe air instead of water. To see the strange land people that move about on two sticks called legs, finless.

I flick my green tail, the halfmoon fin flowing. Must I go?

Cerulina bumps me with her blue dolphin tail. Hard. If you don’t, we can’t.

Some of us have been waiting our whole lives to see the land, Carnadine mutters, pointedly staring away from me. In an even quieter mutter, she says, It’s the only positive thing about someone’s existence.

Kelprin wraps an arm around my shoulders and a green octopus tentacle around my waist. I know you have no desire to surface, but it’s the law. She nods her head at the nearest pair of guards. And those will be gone when you come back.

My eyes widen. So softly that only Kelprin can hear, I whisper, I thought I was stuck with them for life so I just —I shrug— kind of accepted my fate.

She shakes her head, short green hair floating up. I overheard Mother speaking with Captain Laine a few days ago. Once the law is fulfilled, there’s no need to safeguard you so closely. She glances at Coralia and quiets her own voice. As the heir to the Sea King’s throne, it’ll be her turn to be constantly guarded.

We smother our snickers but it’s too late. I’m surrounded by my five big sisters, three of them shooting stinging questions at once. I flex my tail, fanning them all an arm’s length away from me.

I don’t exactly have a choice, do I? I smirk. It’s not like I can escape.

Grandmother darts over and peers into my eyes. You’ll do this of your own free will?

I gulp. Maybe.

Her nostrils flare. She moves back to the writing board, and we return to our places. I raise my hand. She snorts at me as if to say, ‘what now’.

Will Mother be attending the celebration?

I’d hold my breath if I could but breathing through the gills at my midsection is a completely involuntary action. I’ve only spent a few minutes here and there with my mother. She is the Sea King with the vast oceans under her rule. Most of her time is used to keep things running smoothly. As the youngest of six, she’s never had much time for me.

As it is a royal celebration, she will be presiding over the festivities, Grandmother answers. She taps her chalk stick on the board. Now, let’s review what we’ve learned about the world above.

Hours later, I’m floating beside Mother, my guards arrayed in a half-circle a respectable distance behind us. I pull the front of this thing called ‘shirt’. I can’t fasten all the buttons. And I can’t lift my arms. To myself, I mumble, I’m not going on land. Why do I have to wear this?

A half-smile tugs at the corner of Mother’s mouth. Softly, she responds to my whining, "It’s a safety precaution, in case you’re seen. Stop fidgeting; the people will be