Sebastian rested his arms on the cool stone balustrade and leant forwards. He squeezed his eyes, blocking out the sharp light of the sun reflecting on the smooth sea surface. 

Another broiling windless day. Another fleet of single masters laid docked along the coast. Scorian beans, spices, snake blood; he didn't care what cargo the crews carried out of the ships' belly today. Their origin wasn't one of the Jade Islands or the Port of Diligence; the single sail wouldn't be able to withstand the cruelty of the Jade Sea.

News always finds its way to Alburkhan. He breathed out a grunting sigh. Where in the Seven Hells were the message birds and the large trading vessels? As much as he hated lying, fact-twisting rumours, he would offer a pouch-full of gold for the wildest whisper about the war. Anything would be better than this nervous silence. He wanted to take action, but without direction, he might as well do nothing instead of risking sabotaging his uncle's and General George's plans.

Something large and furry brushed against his leg. He jerked sideways, placing his hand on his chest as his heart threatened to leap out. "Gods, Dana!"

The tiger paid him no mind. He strutted past Sebastian, stretched his limbs, and yawned, baring his sharp fangs. Then, he sprawled down on the last patch of shade, right in front of the beaded curtains that separated the balcony from Jhara's chamber.

"Of all the space the Queen's Palace offers, you had to lie there?" Sebastian pushed his back against the parapet, facing the overly large cat. "How do I get back inside?"

Dana flicked out his tongue, letting out a smaller yawn. His eyes were falling shut.

Sebastian crossed his arms. "Thanks, now I'm trapped."

"Don't be so skittish. You can step over him," Jhara said from inside the room.

"And risk your pet clawing at me?"

"There shouldn't be a problem unless you smell of meat."

"But, I am meat."

"Bland, Greenlander meat," she said, her Scorian accent thick.

"You find me bland?"

"You're a Greenlander—of course, you're bland."

He snorted. Was this his thanks for spending mornings with her tasting Scorian brew, and afternoons embroidering blankets, knotting carpets, or watching her perfect her gold-smithing techniques?

She stuck her head through the beads. Only the lashes of her left eye had been curled, and her eyebrows weren't darkened yet. It was strange to see her like this. Not unpleasant, more unusual.

"I'm jesting," she said.

"Oh." Sebastian frowned. "That was jesting?"

"Yeah, insulting you for fun. You and the Pirate Boyar did it all the time while she was here, didn't you? Did I do it right?"

"Well, I didn't think you the type to..."

She retreated into the chamber. "I'm not the serious Princess others claim me to be. I know how to have fun."

"Yeah." He was aware he didn't sound convinced. Scratching the back of his neck, he said, "I mean... not everyone drinks venom wine on their wedding night."

"Don't remind me." She groaned. "I acted like a baboon."

"A backwards baboon," Sebastian corrected her.

"Is that a better jest?"

Pensively, Sebastian shook his head from left to right. "Sort of. You insulted yourself, and I added more wood to the already burning fire."

"Odd."

Sudden movement flickered in the corner of his eye. Sebastian still hummed something in reply, but quickly turned, the stones coarse beneath his bare feet. Far ahead, high above the sweltering horizon, a shadowy line discoloured the otherwise pale blue heavens. Could it be...?

"So, when will my great warrior prince grace me with his presence?" Jhara asked.

"I'm actually not a warrior," Sebastian said, distracted. The line turned into a dot, then back into a line; all the signs of a bird flapping its wings.

"But, how does it work?"

"Works what?"

All he had eyes for was the bird. Gods in the Heavenly Halls, it had to be a pigeon, not a gull or a wren. He couldn't stand another day without news.

"Seb?"

"That's me."

"Are you listening? I asked when a Greenlander is considered a warrior."

"It depends."

"Depends on what?"

When he blinked, the blotch was gone. The muscles in his face tightened as he scoured the sky. Where was that stupid bird? It had been right there, hadn't it? He hadn't imagined it. Or had his mind been playing tricks on him, filling in the gaps with wish-fulfilment? It wouldn't have been the first time.

Suddenly, he remembered Jhara's question. "It's different in each village," he said.

"How so?"

"It just is," he snapped. How he wished she would stop bombarding him with questions. He didn't want to explain the age-old traditions and village politics that gave Lords the necessary protections from bandits and the army—if it ever fell into corrupt hands. All he wanted to do was find that bird again, watch it approaching the city, and then, by Charity's mercy, the palace.

"You seem tense. Is it Dana, or did I accidentally insult you?"

"Both... neither... it doesn't matter." He lifted his shoulders. It was useless; peering into the distance only made his eyes hurt. Curse the scorching Scorian sun.

"Come inside." It wasn't a question.

Too annoyed to be bothered by the tiger, he stepped over Dana. The beads rattled and slapped against his skin as he entered the room.

Jhara stood in front of the chest of drawers next to her bed. Finalising the dark contour around her right eye, she stared at him through her reflection in the mirror. She wore a white, well-fitted tunic that was sleeveless on one arm and showed off her back. "I meant what I said on my wedding night," she said. "I want to be there for you, want to get to know you."

"Well, we have been spending time together."

"Hush, you were in league with Patience and Diligence these past few weeks, sitting by my side, observing and even joining in my pastimes. Given your reputation, I would have expected you to run off after the second day." She paused as if waiting for a reaction. He didn't fall for the bait. "In any case, it's long overdue that we switch roles, that I make an effort to do things you like."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Whenever you can, you're duelling with my brother and sister. I must admit that my swordsmanship would provide little challenge to you. My talents lie with another weapon." From the top of the chest, she picked up a metallic object and held it in the middle, showing off the seven blade-like points.

It was a shooting star, also known as the silent killer.

After a long-stretched breakfast of Scorian brew, flatbread, sheep's cheese and a plate of cactus fruit, Sebastian followed Jhara and Dana into the palace's underground. Cool damp air rose from the jumble of indoor canals, all leading from and to a large pond. 

In the middle of the pool stood a sandbag puppet. 

Sebastian confined a laugh to a snort. With those big ghastly eyes, lifeless lumps as arms hanging from the side and legs that were but stomps wearing worn-out shoes, the puppet resembled more a doll drawn by a little girl than the faceless, limbless bags the military used.

"This is Zoya," Jhara said. "My sister and I crafted her when we were little."

"She's..."

"Ugly, torn, and we should have burnt her a lifetime ago."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Sebastian said, chuckling. They sniggered.

Dana stopped in her tracks as he glanced up at Zoya. Instead of leaping into the pond, he laid down in a small strip of sunshine that seeped in through a narrow slit high in the eastern wall. In no time, he was chasing juicy sheep in his dreams, occasionally swishing his tail.

Jhara took five stars out of the pouch she had brought with her. "We'll be playing against each other instead of directly attacking each other."

"And here I thought you were going to kill me today," Sebastian said dryly.

"If that's a typical Greenlander jest, it's not a funny one."

"No, you're right." Sebastian touched his heart, apologising. "Carry on."

"We each go in turn. The more vulnerable the body part you hit, the more points. The head or the heart is worth three points, neck and stomach two. Anywhere else, including the face, is one point. If the star falls into the water, you lose two points. Whoever gathers most points, wins."

"Question, what if I smash the star right into her eyes? She'll be so distracted, that she won't pay any mind. Or hit her hand, disarming her. Surely, both are worth more than one point."

"That's not how it's played in Orchid Hall," Jhara argued.

Sebastian looked around. The marble walls were a blue-ish white, not orchid in colour. "This isn't Orchid Hall. We can make our own rules."

"Is this the legendary Greenlander stubbornness in action?"

Sebastian folded his arms. "Live and in the flesh," he said with a grin.

She held up her hands. "Fine, have it your way."

Halfway through the first game, Sebastian realised why she had given in so easily; it didn't matter anyway. He spent more time with his trousers rolled up, fetching his falling stars from the pond, while Jhara racked up the points. 

On his fourth strike, after a quick prayer to Kindness, he finally hit Zoya in the chin, bringing his score to minus seven points. Jhara triumphed with nine points, which could have easily been eleven if her last star hadn't crashed down into the water after tearing up the stomach area.

Even though Sebastian had suffered a great defeat and got his ass kicked a second time around as well (though with minus three against six points), he was quick to propose a third game. In a way, shooting the stars was more satisfying than hand-to-hand combat. He could throw as hard as he wished, with no risk of injuring his duelling partner. All Zoya lost was sand; she could be patched up, her limbs reattached, if need be.

The third game was more at even odds. As Sebastian figured out how to work the star's natural curve to his advantage, Jhara only seemed to increase the tear in Zoya's belly; she had a tendency to always aim for the puppet's gut. He only had to fish out his star once and scored a solid six points, beating Jhara with one point difference.

"Now we have to play another round," Sebastian said as he stepped out of the water. He was already separating the green stars from the red. "First to get to three wins," he proposed, handing the red stars to Jhara. He put his in the back pocket of his loose trousers.

"It'll be me," she said, looking smug.

Sebastian threw his head back. "That doesn't scare me. Alex was my childhood friend, and I spent my teenage years growing up together with Lana. I've stopped counting the times I was beaten by a girl."

"Then one more time won't hurt, huh."

Without much ado, she flung her star. The speed was incredible. The blades cut through the air, before slashing into Zoya's arm. As the lump swung back and forth, sand poured down into the pond. 

Soon, the star would follow, Sebastian thought, but he was proven wrong when the swinging stopped. Though the lump was no longer a lump but an empty burlap vessel, a single blade peeked through the tear.

"Impressive, but that only counts as one," Sebastian said.

"Oh, no, it's two points. I hit her in the arm."

"But we decided hands is two points, not arms."

"I disarmed her," she said. "According to your logic..."

"My logic is stupid. I'm a Greenlander. I have been beaten by girls, but I never liked it."

She glared at him. "I should throw you into the pond."

"What's stopping you from trying?" he said teasingly.

Her knuckles moved towards his abdomen; she was too slow. He grabbed her wrist, his grip lighter than usual, leaving her enough room to wriggle. Her eyes widened, but the initial panic faded quickly. With her free hand, she swatted at him.

But before she could hit him, he seized her second wrist as well.

"This is what we call being in a pickle," he said.

A light groan escaped her pinched lips. "Are you in it so often that you had to invent a saying?"

He turned just as she lifted her knee, blocking an honourless kick. "Surely, you have an idiom for it too."

"Not really." She stopped squirming. "We do offer advice to baboons like you."

"Oh, is that so?"

One by one, she dropped the stars. Their metallic clang echoed through the hallway; it woke up Dana, who shot up and bared his teeth.

Immediately, Sebastian released her. Hands up, he took a step back.

"Danarion, off!" I'm not in danger," she growled at her pet.

The overly large cat let out something between a huff and a whine, then lay back down and returned to its spot in the sun.

Jhara blew a hair from her face. "So where were we?" she asked Sebastian.

His heart was still pounding wildly in his chest as he curled his hands and locked his fingers around her wrists. "You were going to offer me wise Scorian advice." His voice sounded strained.

She shook her head. "It's no fun when you're scared."

"I'm not."

With a sudden jerk, she pulled herself free. "You are. You're afraid of Dana."

Sebastian lowered his gaze. He considered denying again but that would only make him a bigger muttonhead. "It's not so much that I'm afraid. More that tigers are big and dangerous. One wrong move and I'm lunch." He gulped.

"Oh, you won't be turned into lunch," she said calmly, offering him an endearing smile. "Dana and the other royal tigers are kittens. They know they'll be fed, and fed well."

"But he almost attacked when I held you."

"And I called him off." She patted his upper arm, noticing Sebastian's distress. "Hey, I cannot have a husband who's afraid of my Dana. It's time to get to know each other."

As she sat down, the tiger stroked his head against Jhara's bosom. She rubbed him behind the ears, which made him relax. He placed a paw on her lap and licked her cheek.

"Yeah, you like that," she said, almost cooing. "My big, not scary but silly Danarion." The feline gave her another lick.

Sebastian was standing a comfortable five feet from his wife and her beast when she beckoned him. "Try for yourself. Scratch his neck and back—he likes that."

He shuffled his closer, then crouched down. Close enough so he could pet the feline, but still at the furthest possible distance. Even if he wanted to be brave, he had little control over his hand. His fingers trembled as they felt the thick, rug-like fur.

Then Dana turned his head.

Sebastian froze as inches separated him from the tiger's lethal fangs. A paw landed on his foot. As much as he wanted to flee, the claw, now retracted, would tear his foot off if he tried to run. Sweat started leaking down his back.

"Forget just how big Dana is," Jhara said. "He's an old and lazy cat."

"It's hard to unsee his size," Sebastian mumbled. 

"Then don't look."

Sebastian gazed up, moving the tips of his fingers in separate concentric circles. He managed little else at first, then gradually, the light rubs became scratches. 

The tiger shifted and stirred. Even though the paw was still resting on Sebastian's foot, the weight lessened. More a presence than a threat. 

Eventually, he dared to stroke Dana's manes. A low fluttering sound filled the hallway, a sound Sebastian had only heard before when the cat had been sleeping.

"He's purring," Jhara whispered.

As Sebastian looked at her, their eyes met. She smiled, a little awkward but far more relaxed than she had ever been, as though some of the barriers between them had suddenly been lifted. They were far from the soulmates that lovers in stories were supposed to be, but he could sense that they were growing closer as friends.

"I wasn't ignoring you this morning," he confessed. "At least not purposely. I thought I saw a bird on the horizon."

"What's so special about a bird?"

"They deliver messages. At least, some do," he added.

"But no news is good news, right?"

Sebastian shook his head. "Not knowing anything is worse. The war could be won or lost; my family triumphant or dead, and it would take forever before I hear anything. It's... excruciating. I just want to do something, but I can't because I don't know what I should do to help."

"Whatever happens, Scoria will stand by your side." Her touch met the back of his hand. "I will stand by your side."

"Because you want to, or because it's your duty?"

"That's irrelevant. When I blood-signed the contract, I became a Greenlander Princess. A future Queen. My place is in Sundale, not in Alburkhan."

"And what if we lose the war, and I die before I become King?"

She thought for a while. "Then... I'll avenge you, let Dana rip apart the scum that ruined our happiness."

Sebastian let that thought sink in. "You think you can become happy with me?"

"I wasn't sure, but the more I see of you, the more I'm convinced. You're a good person, Lord Sebastian."

"You're not half bad yourself, Princess Jhara."

He leaned forwards, and she closed her eyes. She didn't flinch as their lips touched. For the first time since their wedding, they kissed. Not because they had to but because they wanted to. Hesitation made room for passion. He wanted more of her, she wanted more of him. Their kisses deepened, and Dana slipped away from them.

Exploring the planes and ridges of her body, he pulled her onto his lap. Her skin was fire, and he wanted to wrap himself in her warmth, feel all of her, be with all of her. That she may never stop kissing him, may never stop kneading his neck.

She moaned as his hand slipped lower down her back.

"Do you want to?" he asked.

"Yes!" Her answer was more a scream.

It was only the beginning of more screaming. Beautiful screams of utter delight.

A few days later, when they had consummated their marriage for the seventh time, Sebastian was skipping through the palace when his rush of happiness came to an abrupt halt. Queen Rainah approached him with a letter in his hand.

"News," Sebastian said flatly. He already prepared for the worst.

She bit her lip. "It's not good." The dread in her voice was palpable. "It's your General—he passed away."

"A Silvermark attack?" Sebastian croaked. He could feel his muscles stiffening again; gone were the carefree moments of pleasure.

"Captain Stephen didn't say, but I don't see who else."

The Queen kept talking; he barely registered what she was saying. Though memories of him saving George at Whitepeak popped into his mind, he swallowed his grief; he would mourn later.

He had all the information he needed. Stephen had sent the message, not Uncle Tom or Aunt Crystal. Too busy or wounded—whatever the reason, it didn't matter. They may have agreed that he couldn't return unless his uncle was dead, but he was done hiding in the desert like a coward, done being the last to know anything, done feeling useless.

He had no other choice. At worst, he would be scolded for disobeying orders. At best, he would arrive in a country fighting a war without clear guidance, or worse, a country already ruled by the Silvermarkers. By Fox. No, it was his duty to fight for what was right, and The Greenlands belonged to the Greenlanders.

"Prepare the armada," he told the Queen. "I need to go home."

"Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

The Queen nodded. "I shall give the instructions, but you and Jhara won't be on one of my ships."

"We must," Sebastian insisted. "I have to get back to Sundale."

"And return you shall," she said. "Not leading an army, but sneaking in through the back door."

"Sounds like something the General came up with."

The Queen tapped her hooked nose. "That is because he did."

Good old General George.