Sebastian tapped his fingers on the parapet. There was no rhythm to the drumming; no tune, cheery or sad, to accompany his woes. His hand was bent into a stiff semi-claw, his nails chewed down and bleeding.

Unclenching his jaw, he inhaled the heavy air. Standing still, overlooking an uncharacteristically grey and foggy Alburkhan, sweat was oozing from every pore. His heart clobbered his ribcage. Where his clammy fingers touched the stone, dark spots formed. The stains evaporated at a snail's pace, and if they dried up at all, left dirty black smudges.

Whenever the steamships arrived, they could be smelled before they appeared on the western horizon. Out of their funnels spewed pitch-black smoke that covered the streets and houses. The stink of burnt coal wafted above the city and had captured every chamber in the palace.

Three dozen iron ships had gathered in the harbour, and two more fleets would arrive before the dusk of tomorrow. These colossal beasts of volcanic fire and steel with miniature masts and no sails were the gem of Alburkhan academy, the pinnacle of Scorian technology, and considered by the royal family and the Nine Rajas to be the vanguard of the modern era.

Partly, he could see the arguments. Gone would be the days that mankind had to rely on the whims of the wind, or risk ships and sailors to dangerous sailing techniques. Of a crew of seventy, only a handful would have to man their post at the interior helm and furnaces to fuel and steer the ship; the majority would be able to continue their training. The end of sea fatigue, the start of crafting the perfect naval soldier.

Sebastian ran his hand through his too-long hair, scratching his itchy scalp. Four-thousand men and women at peak condition, well-fed and well-rested would be at his disposal. He had received the perfect gift. 

Too perfect.

Nobody in the Queen's Palace talked about the steamships being slower than three-masters, and less likely to recover from leaks. Once a steamship made water, the crew had to jump to save themselves.

Thank the God of Diligence for George, who had obtained a blueprint through friends in the academy, and who had, one day in early spring, spread the architectural plan (which hadn't been blue, to Sebastian's disappointment) on the table in Uncle Tom's parlour, using cups of tea and a plate of biscuits as paperweights, and had pointed out all the reasons the Greenlanders shouldn't invest in the technology yet.

Oh, George. How unreal to think that the General was no longer among the living. 

A lump formed in Sebastian's throat.

All those years ago, when he had just become a man... oh... the uneasiness he had felt around the rawboned, stoic man, who always let his tea grow cold and was always the last to take a biscuit, and who always seemed displeased or disappointed in him.

Everything changed after Whitepeak when Sebastian—with the help of Jonathan and a few of Nick's old friends—had saved the General from a corrupt Captain's hands. Since then, George had been the perfect antidote to Uncle Tom's impulsive yet overly cautious nature.

It had been George who had pushed for Sebastian to join the junior patrols.

A hesitant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Those good old days when George ended his uncle's lengthy and incoherent ramblings with a simple 'no', or whenever he told Aunt Crystal to shut up when Sebastian came home, caked in mud. No man has died from larking about with their patrol, Crystal; it shapes the bonds so invaluable in battle.

The General was a man who lived for the army. He knew everything there was to know about his men, from the youngest warriors in the eastern villages to the senior patrol leaders on the verge of retirement. Not by name, but by worth. 

Surprisingly, nobody knew much about him. George had not been the kind of man to talk about himself. All the facts Sebastian had learnt, he had heard from others. He had been Uncle Tom's patrol leader when they were young, and they had hated each other at first. When he became a Lieutenant, he met a Scorian merchant's daughter he had met on the Feast of Dead the year before. She and their three children had disappeared years ago at sea, and he had never remarried, even when they were officially claimed dead. There had been talks about marriage, but nothing had ever happened. Though Lana flirted with him and teased him, there was nothing but friendship between them. Until Nick came around, Uncle Tom kept the rumour mill turning, when, in fact, he made vomiting noises at the idea of his daughter and best friend tying the knot.

Lana would be devastated by the news, and so would Uncle Tom. How could a man who was always three steps ahead have been murdered? Sebastian sniffed before a tear swelled up in the corner of his eye. George had a knack for seeing gold where others saw dangers and danger where others saw gold. A rare mistake from a brilliant mind. Why did the consequences have to be so severe? Why were the Gods this cruel?

Sebastian's body spasmed, and he let out a hiccup. George wouldn't have wanted his death to be the reason Sebastian left the safety of Alburkhan. The General's passing hadn't even been in the list of scenarios that would warrant his return to Sundale. According to George, Bart was more than ready and capable of succeeding him. But Uncle Tom and Bart had a different relationship than what George and his uncle had. A man couldn't become General by promotion or succession; it was a royal appointment, built on years of comradery and common understanding. Despite attending the same meetings, reading the same documents, and playing the occasional match of chess, Sebastian wasn't sure he and Bart had reached that level of friendship yet, and Bart was less close to Uncle Tom.

Sebastian pushed his worries to the back of his mind. Though he had no idea in what state he would find his country, or Sundale, or his family, Uncle Tom needed him. His uncle would never say it out loud, but Sebastian was old enough to be treated as equal, to fill the void George had left behind and Bart couldn't fill, and that knowledge was a relief. No more hiding at the edge of the world, anxiously awaiting news, always dreading the worst. He had a sense of purpose and...

"Seb, how cold does Sundale get at night?"

Sebastian looked over his shoulder to find Jhara and two serving boys in long red robes surrounded by at least ten chests with silver clasps the size of Dana. Although he, his wife, and a small crew would have more than enough space on the two-master they would leave Alburkhan with, he failed to see the need for so many supplies.

Gods in the Heavenly Halls. That must be why Aunt Crystal was so thrilled about his match with Jhara—the Scorian princesses was a younger version of herself. 

"Are you packing for the entire army?" Sebastian grunted. He started to sound like Uncle Tom as well.

"I swear to the God of Greed—I'm restraining myself. So far, we only filled chests with clothes, didn't we, Salim, Mezen?" Jhara looked at the two boys, who were nodding fervently. As if they dared to do anything else. "Perhaps we will fill a third if Sundale freezes over during winter. Then, of course, we will have to pack books, board games, and a set of weapons—we'll spend a long while at sea. And those four..." She pointed at the slightly higher chests depicting tapestry-like scenes of tigers roaring, hunting, running, and sleeping. "... That's for all of Dana's belongings."

The feline, who had been napping at the foot of the bed, raised his head upon hearing his name.

Sebastian frowned. He couldn't recall her mentioning the tiger in their preparations. Then again, he had been in and out of meetings ever since the dreadful news of George's death had come. She had joined some talks, but not all. Whenever they were alone, she had so much to tell, he couldn't take in half of what she said.

"You're going to send him someplace?" he asked.

"Sending him somewhere—the sun has baked your skull, Seb." She sat down next to the tiger and scratched his head, cooing, "As if I could leave my sweet Dana behind. No, that would be mean, wouldn't it? I couldn't do that to you, could I now?"

The tiger purred. As docile as the animal was here in the palace, Sebastian found little joy in the prospect of spending at least a moon and a half at sea in the company of a giant cat capable of ripping a man's head off. 

Far more dangerous right now was the risk of the God of Wrath taking hold of his wife if he flat-out refused to take her precious pet.

"Do we really want to do that to him? It will be a tedious and troublesome voyage north," Sebastian said. "In a foreign place, with a world of water moving around him. Dana's no kitten you can keep on your lap for weeks on end. I also don't see how we will travel with him to Sundale without attracting attention."

"I'm princess Jhara, and you're Crown Prince Sebastian. Of course, we are going to attract attention. Why would that be a problem? Your people will talk of Dana for the rest of their lives. It will be a story for the ages."

Sebastian ground his teeth. Of course, his wife ignored the first half of what he had said. "It might be dangerous. All we know is that the head of the Greenlander army was murdered, my uncle's right hand. Caution is key. In my nightmares, the silver army has already barricaded Sundale, and there is no way in, no path that would safely lead us home."

Jhara stood up and beckoned the serving boys to leave. As their footsteps echoed away in the hall, she moved towards Sebastian yet kept her distance.

"You're hurt," she stated it like a fact. "You think you hide your grief well, but there are times when you just gaze at the horizon and don't react to anything I'm saying. Like a smoking volcano that doesn't want to burst but keeps everyone walking on eggshells." She paused, yet he had no intention of filling the silence. "Stop thinking the worst. All those ships out there—they are for you. My mother's armada will crush the Silvermarkers. Those that survive will crawl back to their holes beyond the Horseshoe Mountains."

Sebastian swallowed. How could he tell her that while the Scorian fleet was formidable, it had its flaws too? Sure, if they made it across the Jade Sea in one peace, they would slam down the silver navy and protect Greenlander waters. But the ships were far too big and the River Faith too narrow for them to be an advantage upcountry. Depending on the precise situation, half or more of the navy would be reduced to infantry. 

Not wanting to burden her with that news, he said nothing and smiled. Cross that bridge when we get there. Another one of George's pearls of wisdom.

The ruby dangled on her forehead as she cocked her head. Her big brown eyes showed pity he didn't need. "Talk to me, Seb. I wish to know what you're thinking."

He inhaled through his nose, slowly. What did she want to hear? 

"There's nothing to say," he said, looking around but not at her. 

"Except that you don't think Dana should come with us."

Sebastian nodded. "There is so much we don't know yet. Even the armada... before I can give the right commands, I need to talk to Lord Simon, find out the latest news from Sundale. Until then, the ships will have to wait in Oog's coastal waters, and..."

"O-oog?" She exaggerated the long-stretched Greenlander pronunciation. "It's Oog, with the o-sound of toe, not book."

"It doesn't matter." He sighed. "The fact is that letters have to go to King Siga, and to the Boyar of Oog."

"Oog."

"Fine. Oo-oog." He grumbled.

"But why Oog? Isn't Tintaglia a lot closer to the Port?"

Now she was talking sense. "Yeah, initially I thought of Tintaglia as well, but as Raja Idris rightfully pointed out, unlike the permanently disgruntled Tintaglians, the farmers and fishermen of Oog would hardly raise an army at the sudden sight of fifty metal ships spewing smoke only found in the Seven Hells. They would start trading with the army instead of rushing to the conclusion that the Islands are at war with Scoria."

"True, but still. Your next steps rely on Lord Simon having information. What if he doesn't—what will you do then?"

Sebastian waved the absurdity away. "That's unlikely. Pigeons fly between the Port and the capital all the time. And then there are merchants, tax collectors, high-placed army officers,... It would be as though Alburkhan wouldn't hear anything from Makurdyia."

"It's not unthinkable. When the winds race through the desert and the fire mountains fill the sky with ashes, weeks can pass without a word from the south."

"No, not in The Greenlands." Jhara's reply took him aback. "Not unless..."

A wave of dread engulfed him as his mind flashed back to that nightmare of Sundale burning, the city trapped in a sea of inescapable green flames. 

"Unless?" Jhara asked.

Another image popped into his head of Uncle Tom dying in front of his eyes, but he too helpless to change that fate. The red-haired man with venomous eyes on the obsidian throne, declaring himself King of the ruins, but King nonetheless.

He clenched his fists to hide his shaking hands. No, none of it was real. He had no magic—this wasn't a premonition or current events seeping through, just a figment of his imagination. His biggest fear. A nightmare in broad daylight.

He saw Jhara's lips moving, but all he heard was his heart pounding in his air. The tiger leapt up, and his wife restrained him with a single finger around his collar. 

Meanwhile, Sebastian gasped for air, and then again, and again, as though no breath he took would ever satisfy him. War. Death. Explosions. Pain. So much pain.

To him, it was real; the terror that made his limbs go heavy and spiked his urge to run away. Except, he had nowhere to go. The God of Wrath was onto him, boiling his blood, telling him to shout, to kick, and fight, to make her understand. Why couldn't she see his point of view?

"Seb, talk to me," Jhara said, her voice hollow and distorted, as though she was talking into a bottle. "Don't keep it all in."

"I don't want your pet to come," he sputtered, "and maybe I don't want you to come either."

"Don't be a baboon."

"I'm not a baboon!" He couldn't keep it in any longer. He was a volcano, and he was bursting. "Do you have any idea of the risks? My country may be at war. There is no reason for you to be strutting alongside Dana when villages have been reduced to stones and ashes, while people flee for their lives." He pointed at her. "You might become a target if the Silvermarkers know you're there with me. They want me and my uncle dead, and if they can't get to me directly, they'll surely—in the Seven Hells—will come after those I..." He didn't want to say 'love', not right here and right now, when they were fighting. "... the people I'm close to. You could bear my heir—they wouldn't want you to live. So, no! You and Dana should stay here, where it's safe."

This time she was the one to let silence fill the air, petting her companion. His tail flicked back and forth, mesmerizing and allowing Sebastian to focus on his breathing. Slowly, the God of Wrath lifted his hold. Though a dull ache lingered at the back of his head and his heart was still pounding in his ears, the world no longer felt like it would implode.

"You asked me to talk. I'm talking," Sebastian said after a while.

"You were shouting."

He bit the inside of his lip. "I'm ready to talk."

"Then let me tell you—I'm no Greenlander damsel in need of her husband's protection," Jhara said. There were hard lines on her face. "Neither is Dana a simple pet. If the Silvermarkers wish to have me killed, let them come. I'm not afraid."

"You don't know what it's like," Sebastian said, his voice but a whisper.

"I don't," she admitted. "I haven't faced the same horrors you have. But if Scorian soldiers are going to fight and die for you, they will do with me standing by your side."

"But why?"

"Because I want to be their beacon of hope, their light at the end of a long and hard day, the reason they keep going, for our future, for our children, and for the entire south. I won't be kept hidden while my husband leads a war." She grabbed his hand and rubbed her thumb along his wrist. "So, no, I don't know what I will be getting myself into, but I want to be useful. That I had to convince the Rajas was one thing, but you... I thought you would understand."

"Do not pursue what is in your best interest, but that of your people," Sebastian said. He could almost picture George describing his arrival in the Port of Diligence. People waiting in line to catch a glimpse of his beautiful Scorian wife and the tiger not leaving their side. The tale of the tiger would travel from tavern to tavern, its fangs always longer, its claws always sharper, until Jhara was a giant cat capable of destroying Moondale, once and for all. A silly little story to break away from the burdens of every day.

"You could spend the days, bored out of your skull, entertaining my aunt and whichever guest she invited for the day. You'll see but the walls of Sunstone Castle. Or... we have to run and hide, maybe fight. I can't give you any prospects of what your life will look like."

"I might die." She nodded. "Of boredom or in battle. If I were to stay, I could fall down the stairs or have a sudden fever take me. I would be but a footnote in my country's history. Or I could become the Tiger Princess, and live on for the ages. My children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will be wise Kings and Queens."

"Only Kings." Sebastian gave her half a smile. If his wife could whine about the pronunciation of a minor island in the Jade Sea, he could educate her on Greenlander law.

"You should change it," she said with a slight smirk.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Sebastian edged closer to her and slid his hands down her back. It wasn't a discussion he wanted to have here and now. "Because you were right. I'm a baboon."

"You don't get away with it that easily." Jhara raised an eyebrow.

"One battle at a time." His fingers itched. He wanted to undress her, kiss her, and not think about what the future would hold.

"So that's set, then. Dana and I will accompany you."

In a slow movement, as he fiddled with the buttons of her dress, he lowered his lips towards hers. "Fine, I'll allow it."

She jerked away from him. "Again, I'm not a Greenlander Lady. It's not a matter of you allowing it—it's my choice."

Dazzled by her sudden ferocity, he only managed to utter her name. "Jhara?"

"Maybe your behaviour is considered normal in Sundale, where little ladies crawl to serve their husbands. In public, I shall play my part and be your obedient wife, but in private, we are equals. Is that understood?"

"It's not even up for debate," Sebastian said.

"Then talk like you mean it." A sting of Wrath still laced her voice.

Sebastian glanced up and went over his words, before looking back at his wife. "I respect your choice."

She crossed her arms in front of her and hummed.

"I am serious. Women might not be able to inherit titles in The Greenlands, but I've been surrounded by strong women all my life. My mother, my sisters, Alex, my aunt, Lana, Lady Victoria, Lady Viviane... I would be half the man I am today without them in my life. You are equal. No, you're better than me, because you're not a baboon."

She glanced sideways at him. "I can be a baboon too."

"Never. I refuse to acknowledge that."

Was that a blush on her cheeks, as she smiled yet tried hiding her face from him?

"I like it when we talk," she said. She bit her lip. "It's how I get to know you, the real you. Not the brooding man standing on my balcony, gazing into the distance."

"Then remind me to talk. I'm used to brooding—you can ask my windowsill back home."

"Is it true you always slept there?"

Sebastian shrugged. "I don't like beds. They're too soft."

Cheekily, she glanced at the fresh satin sheets on her canopy bed. There was no denying the blush on her cheeks. "I know a few things we can do to make you like the bed."

"Oh," Sebastian said, feigning innocence. "What did you have in mind.?"

She leaned in, then pressed herself against him, tantalising his senses, and drying his already parched mouth. A pleasant warmth engulfed him as her hands played with his hair and caressed his neck.

She whispered into his ear. "Do you want to make little baboons?"

"I want to make a whole army."

As he picked her up, she curled her legs around his waist. There in his arms, as they were kissing until they both saw stars and glimpses of the gates of the Heavenly Halls, they didn't need to talk. He could do this all day, every day. Just him and her. Stronger and happier together than alone.

The road to Sundale was a long one. How could he have considered not wanting her by his side?