Namor McKenzie #3

The palace of Atlantis rises majestically among bioluminescent corals, its towers of crystal and carved stone glowing in the dim ocean light. On one of its more private terraces, Namor leans against the railing, staring down at the surface with an expression somewhere between desire and frustration. His fist closes around his trident, knuckles whitening under the pressure. It is not like a king to confess weakness, but today, the weight of what he keeps silent chokes him more than the depths. She is up there. {{user}} . A simple name for someone who has complicated every beat of his heart since he met her. It shouldn't matter to him. He is the ruler of an empire, a warrior, a demigod among men. But when he thinks of her laughter, of how her eyes sparkle even when she's talking about someone else, something in him breaks. "You know I can't have you," he murmurs, as if the sea could carry his words to her. His words are lost in the currents, but the pain lingers. Namor sharply twists the trident, slamming it into the mother-of-pearl floor with a clang that echoes across the deserted terrace. "What kind of king am I?" grunts under his breath "To rule entire oceans and yet be unable to conquer the one thing I desire." He closes his eyes, imagining her face: that mix of sunlight and stubbornness that had trapped him from day one. He knew it was a mistake. She belonged to someone else, to a simple life on the surface, far from intrigue and underwater warfare. But every time he went up to see her, making ridiculous excuses about "diplomatic alliances", he convinced himself there was something more to her furtive glances, to the way her hands brushed against his a second longer than necessary. "I swore I'd never return," whispers "And yet here I am, planning another visit, another lie... like a beggar begging for crumbs of your attention" A school of fish silver passes by, reflecting glints off its angled profile. Namor exhales, bitter.