The day they left Alburkhan already felt like a lifetime ago. 

Setting sail on a Scorian two-master a few hours before the armada was northbound, a huge weight had dropped off his shoulders.

Finally, he was going home, where the action was happening, where he could be useful, either strategically or assisting Uncle Tom in matters he no longer had time for, instead of waiting for more dreadful news to reach the south with weeks of delay. Holy God of Diligence, be more powerful than your brother, Patience; what was a crown prince's worth if he sat by and did nothing when the empire that was to be his was under attack, when his family was in danger, when his friends were either dead or risking their lives for him? 

Whatever his uncle thought of his return, he'd take the scolding and prove him wrong.

Slowly, as the ship exited Scoria through its archipelago of jungle islands, the weight crept back onto his shoulders. A blade born out of fear and worry that settled on his back and wouldn't budge no matter how much he stretched, turned, and twisted his body. Each rocking motion of the ship or flapping of the bright red sails reminded him of his selfishness. 

Two people stood between peace and Silvermarker domination: him and Uncle Tom. If they both died without a male heir, the throne would go to Fox. Next in line was an old man called Marten who was so far removed from the old Silvermarker royal line his parents hadn't bothered to give him a feline name. And then there was the possibility Storm would claim the obsidian throne the same way he had declared himself King of Silvermark: rise when the country was most vulnerable. 

And when would The Greenlands be most vulnerable? 

When he and Uncle Tom were dead.

To hide his nervous, restless limbs, Sebastian crossed his arms and pressed them to his chest. Over his dead body—The Greenlands would never sink so low. 

Except, that was the problem: his heroic return home could place a huge burden on his country. His death would further open the door to the Silvermarkers. They wouldn't even be usurpers; they would have the right people to place on the throne. Storm knew that—maybe he was even counting on Sebastian being as reckless as he was.

There was no right choice, no scenario that guaranteed safety and security. Surely if the Scorians were prepared to take him back to The Greenlands, this was the best scenario, wasn't it? 

His gut instinct didn't answer. In fact, his gut hadn't done much since entering the ship. Silent as the waves. His mind as chaotic as a seagull's nest.

He leant back, his head touching the edge of the stairs leading up to the narrow quarterdeck. Ra'id Mido, the Scorian equivalent of a captain on this ship, was talking in a rapid southern dialect to a female lieutenant of the Scorian army. 

Sebastian only understood every other word of what they were saying, and what he understood, he cared little about. Desert winds, crops, and the flight patterns of sootwing birds. Had he carried his pocket watch, he would have checked it every so often just to make a statement. Not sailing felt like wasting time, even when necessary. 

The isle of Faria was the last Scorian post before the Jade Sea, a last opportunity to fetch clean water, food, and other supplies. Barrels and caskets were hoisted on board, either smelling like fish or strong spices. At starboard, a young sootwing landed on deck. Its feet barely touched the wood; the moment the creature laid its eyes on Dana, it spread its wings and soared back up in the sky. The big cat kept on napping, unaware of the terror he had caused.

Sebastian snorted. Gods in the Heavenly Halls, let the Silvermarkers think the same when they heard of his arrival. Let his presence be enough for them to scamper back to their side of the mountains, like little sootwing chicks encountering a tiger. 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other to prevent his leg from falling asleep. In his daydreams, everything seemed so simple. Reality proved him wrong every day.

The Ra'id and the woman were still yapping on, going from clasped hands to wide gestures in the matter of a few sentences. There were no courtesies, no indication of rank or gender, as though they were equals.

If only Greenlanders could think more like Scorians. So many problems would disappear if the Lords of the realm were to consider a Queen as head of the nation.

As if Lana didn't possess ten times the diplomatic skills he had, and the compassion, and the favour of the common folk. And even if she died without an heir, and he wasn't around to succeed her, Grandfather William had had sisters; one of them was still alive.

Great-Aunt Marissa with one blue and one brown eye, and sharp nose and an even sharper tongue who, in the name of her oldest son, controlled which merchant would sell which wares in Sundale. It was she who issued licenses to the tavern and inns. Nothing entered or left the city without her being aware. She had sons and daughters, and they had children, and some of those children already had children. Imagine the possibilities: the Greenlander royal claim would be that much stronger.

Then why not change the law?

Many Kings before Uncle Tom had proposed the idea, only to be met with rebuke. The Lords would never recognise a woman as their ruler. If a King could appoint his daughter as heir, what did that mean for them? How would they keep their sons in line if their daughters inherited their power and wealth? Would the women stop bearing children due to the stress of ruling? Would the women even be able to handle the stress? No, they couldn't fathom the idea of a woman telling them what to do. What was next? Women fighting in the trenches of war? Who would look after the children?

Muttonheads. Sebastian sniffed. Who would look after the children when the Silvermarkers came swooping in, stealing land, houses, and riches? The fools would rather have war than a woman on the throne, based on backwards ideas that the Scorians and the Jade Islanders have long disproven. Men wouldn't listen to reason if they feared gold would slip out of their pockets.

If the threat of civil war didn't seem so real, he would be inclined to change the law as his first act as King. He didn't expect Jhara, or any Scorian, for that matter, to understand.

"I must ask, Nanu,' Mido spoke up as he switched to the common tongue. He glanced at Sebastian to make sure he was listening. "Any news from the north?"

"Not since the attack north of Sundale killing the Greenlander General," the woman said tonelessly.

Sebastian clenched his teeth together, suppressing the urge to yell that the General had a name: George. While he had been a man of few words, his legacy deserved more than the news of passing being talked about as though this morning's porridge had been burnt.

"So no other news from Inio or Socota?"

Nanu exchanged a look with Mido before slipping back into her dialect. "Tha' him?"

Mido nodded. "The one and only."

She lowered her head. "Lord Sebastian, it's an honour."

Sebastian faked a smile, wishing she would answer his question instead of putting such emphasis on irrelevant courtesies, that she would treat him like she treated Mido, and get on with it.

"News directly from Socota is rare, and we haven't received any since the message about your General. By the flight of the bird, the voyage to Inio is but three hours. Our relationship with the Islands is the best it has been in years. If they had urgent news for our Queen—blessed be her name—we would have been notified already."

"It didn't take three hours for General George to be killed," Sebastian argued. "Most skirmishes don't last that long. I find it hard to believe this is the only information you have."

"My Lord." There was a tremble in her voice. If she had flustered cheeks, the shadow on her face caused by her barret hid it well. "I wish I could help, but I don't know more than what I told you. You could try Hamra—the island may be small, but any news from Socota passes their waters. They also have a strong connection with the pirate mercenaries."

"What's the latest word from them?" Sebastian asked.

"Three more ships down, My Lord. Oh, and Socota informed us the Kraken is heading north."

"You could have told Ra'id Mido that in the first place. It's vital information," Sebastian sneered. 

"My apologies, My Lord."

"Your apology isn't going to win me back the time you've wasted. Prepare the sails, Ra'id. We need to get going."

"Certainly, My Lord."

The two Scorians exchanged a look. The woman no longer appeared in awe of meeting the crown prince of The Greenlands; her pursed lips suggested pity for the Ra'id. Poor, poor Mido who for the next few weeks was confined to this ship with a tyrant like Prince Sebastian on board.

Sebastian scoffed. He paid the poor Ra'id enough gold to deal with him.

Mido kept a straight face as he handed her a closed casket, a coiled snake burnt into the wood. A gift in exchange for silence. She had never spoken to the prince, never seen him, and if asked, she wouldn't remember his name or any of the stories told about him.

Let her tell the stories—he didn't care. Not when the blade of fear cut through him, stiffening his muscles and disrupting his breathing.

He raised his head to the sky, too blue, too empty, too... 

An image of balls of fire descending on the Kraken popped in front of his eyes. Alex formed a human shield to protect Lana but ultimately, both women plummeted to their sea graves. Scorched bodies lay in the water. He was eleven years old again and wading through the river Faith, death all around him. No more; never again.

Heels clicked across the floor. Beads rattled as a pair of cool hands squeezed his stiff shoulders, massaging them. "I heard you scolding that Farian harbour master," a voice whispered. Jhara. "That was inconsiderate."

Sebastian leant into her touch, bringing him back to the presence. "I can't help it—it's who I am."

"Clearly, the God of Patience wasn't around when the thread of your soul was woven."

"Bad timing," Sebastian grunted. "He had a war to fight and needed to prepare. And see what that caused—a spoiled brat for a crown prince."

"Then this spoiled brat needs to be reminded that people can't fabricate news they don't have. You don't want them to lie to you to evade your prayer to Wrath."

"No, I want them to stop dawdling."

"Mido has to consider the safety of his crew and passengers before all else. Everything happens for a reason."

Sebastian huffed. "So what's the purpose of my thoughts going in circles, putting me on edge, annoyed with myself and the world?"

"That is for the Gods to know, so don't fret."

Easier said than done. Sebastian chewed on his lip. "You make it sound like I have a choice."

"Sure you do," she said mysteriously as she played with his hair.

"I need something to do—something that prevents the mill in my head from spinning."

Her nails scratched the back of his neck. "There's this game you like... a two-player game."

Her touch was divine. "Hmm..."

"Unless my broody prince is still too tired from his morning session." She breathed into his ear, an enticing tickle that made him turn towards her as something ravenous woke in him, something he could hardly contain.

"Never," he growled playfully as he turned towards her.

"Then come and get me."

Whether he was the one who first set the chase or if she was the first to run away was of little importance. He dashed to the quarterdeck. She lost one shoe as he cornered her, screeching in delight. The second shoe fell with a clunk as he picked up, and she hooked her legs around him. The heels would still be there when they were done, or more likely, silently placed in their room as they ravished each other's bodies.

Her kisses were wild and passionate, her fingers pushing all of the right buttons to get him to devour her. 

He kicked open the door to the cabin and placed her on the table. The bed was suddenly too far. He needed her now! 

Papers flew around. Inkpots smashed to the floor. Her bare skin was all he craved, to hear her moan and call out his name, as he saw the sun, moon, and stars all in a single moment. 

In their own little universe, he was King, and she Queen, equal in choices and pleasure.

They didn't leave the cabin for the rest of the day; they had enough company just having each other, exploring every wall, inch of the floor, the table (twice!) and finally ending up in bed for the best sleep in a long time.

A few weeks later, early in the afternoon, Sebastian was jumping around in the shade of the foremast, alternating which foot he placed on the bow. Weights would have made the exercise more interesting, but unless he risked juggling cannonballs or carrying an entire barrel of drinking water, this would have to do.

He kept staring at the horizon to see if the armada was catching up on them. The wind had not been on their side, and since the early morning, a deep and thick fog lay atop the waves and hadn't moved since, as though they had sailed through a curtain of steam and were slowly being cooked. High in the sky, the sun appeared behind a filter of near-invisible mist; so hot.

He sniffed. A strong odour wafted over the ships in waves, as though, nearby a thousand blasters were fired at once. Had they been closer to The Greenlands, he would have raised the alarm that Silvermarker magicians had cursed the sun and poisoned the air.

Behind him, a familiar pitter-patter of heels came up from the belly of the ship. He looked up, thinking she would inspect the fishing nets.

Suddenly, she halted, searching for support. Her knuckles showed white as she grabbed the rail. She was paler than an Ician.

Sebastian stopped his exercise. "Jhar?"

"This air—it's so heavy." She panted. "I was downstairs... with Dana... and all of a sudden... I felt weird."

"We have to keep Dana down there," Sebastian explained as he approached her. "Safety precaution, remember. We're merchants, and we're selling him to a travelling company from Rastville."

"As if I don't know that," she snapped. "I'm fine with Dana being below deck. It's not that. I feel... dizzy and queasy. It's probably nothing, just my lunch no longer agreeing with me."

The four members of the crew on deck looked ready to stop what they were doing to assist his wife. Sebastian held up a hand. By now, he knew her well enough to know she didn't appreciate people needlessly fussing over her.

"It's just some seasickness, Jhar," he said. "Happens to the best of us. Gaze into the distance and focus on your breathing. You'll be—"

Before he could say 'fine', Jhara leaned over and began to retch. 

In a reflex, Sebastian picked her hair from her face and held it back. Years ago, he had walked in on Emily doing the same as Lucy had vomited her heart out. It was all he could do as she heaved and coughed.

"If it's the same for you, I prefer your moaning with pleasure," he said to say anything.

She groaned, "Gods, why did I have to marry you!" More retching noises followed.

"Your mother has an army. My uncle is King of the wealthiest country in the world. It seemed like a good deal. But I agree, without me in your life, you wouldn't have been on this ship, and you would still have your lunch in your stomach. And I wouldn't have to listen to this."

She spat, then said, "Then why did we agree to this?"

"You seemed like a decent person."

"Guess the fault is mine—I had heard the tales and warning signs, yet here I am."

Sebastian chuckled. "Always believe the stories, Jhar."

Still leaning on the rail, she lifted her head and breathed out. Tears had formed in her eyes. "That needed to get out of my system."

He fished into the pockets of his trousers and handed her his handkerchief. "Here, to wipe your mouth... hides the smell."

She kicked the tip of her heel against his boot. "Says the man who stinks of sea salt and sweat."

"But who didn't lose his lunch. On the ick-scale, you lose today, my dear Princess." He grinned but asked right away, "All better now?"

"So much." She dipped her lips clean, then accepted a cup from a stout elderly lady called Tabora, who had been at her beck and call throughout the journey.

After rinsing her mouth, she went back to Dana. 

Despite Sebastian's protests to stay on deck, she acted like nothing had happened and went on with her work. Gone was the sickness, and a few hours later, when the fog had faded and the rancid, fiery odour had disappeared, she joined him and the Ra'id for dinner and filled her plate like she hadn't seen food in a fortnight.

Quickly, Sebastian forgot that she had been sick, until a few days later, when there was no strange smell to explain her queasiness. One moment they were teasing each other, the next she was inspecting the waves up close. A few minutes and a cup of water later, she continued the conversation she had with him.

The mysterious illness didn't pass; it flared up the week after. She vomited after breakfast three mornings in a row, and after a break of a few days, she hung over starboard after each meal. It didn't prevent her from munching on whatever food she could find after. She still did everything she did before, fishing, helping to adapt the sails, and even joining him in keeping up his physique (after which they did some private exercises in their quarter).

One quiet night, when she had seemed fine for a while, and they were lying in bed, half dozing, half still aroused. Then, out of nowhere, she stormed out of the cabin and returned with a plate of seafarer biscuits. After losing her dinner, she was instantly hungry again.

There was no pattern to her condition, no fever, or other discomforts. No sudden change in the wind or tides to explain what she was going through. She ate the same as the rest of the crew and drank the same water and wine as Sebastian. No one else was ill, except for the occasional hangover after a night of Palm Tears.

"Don't worry," she told him when he had rushed by her side once more.

"I'm not worried," he said, aware that he didn't sound convinced. Three weeks had passed since Jhara had started vomiting. The sun was still crawling up the sky. They and Tabora were the only ones awake.

He tapped his fingers against his leg as she wiped her mouth, gulped down the cup of water, and munched on the seafarer biscuits the governess kept in her pockets at all times now. 

Of course, he was worried. Why wouldn't he? He had grown relaxed in her company; there were no secrets between them. As close as his friendship with Alex had once been, but with the added benefit that he could pray to Jhara's shrine of Lust, and not be called a sinner.

"I'm going to feed Dana—wanna come?" she asked as colour returned to her sweaty face.

Though he should be used by her chirpiness, she still caught him off guard. "Erm... sure. I'll be there in a bit."

"Don't take too long."

She was already disappearing below the deck.

"She's right, My Lord. There's no need to worry," Tabora said, offering him a biscuit. He didn't take it.

"My wife is ill," he said sharply. "Give me one good reason this shouldn't trouble me."

"Because it'll pass as the moon waxes and wanes."

"Moons, no, Tabora." Sebastian shook his head. "If she's not better soon, we must find a Healer—what's the closest isle from here... is it Lohi?"

"The Lohians won't be able to tell you more than I can, My Lord."

"Are you a Figura?"

"A Fugura," she corrected him. "No, Lord Sebastian, I am a woman."

So far, for true equality. "I didn't realise only men could become Healers in Scoria."

Tabora chuckled. "Sayida Jhara mentioned His Lordship can be slow-witted like a baboon, and very wrong about Scorian culture."

"I beg your pardon."

"Weeks we have been aboard this ship, My Lord. Have you not noticed anything about your wife, or rather, lack thereof?"

He gave it a moment's thought. "She's less concerned about her appearance."

"Ah...that is what the hands of the Jade Sea do to all, My Lord," she said. "But no, I was not referring to Sayida Jhara's wardrobe choices or the fact that she refuses to let me brush her hair."

"Tell me, Tabora. I'm in no mood for guessing games."

"She hasn't bled, My Lord."

"Oh," was all Sebastian managed to say. He was well aware women bled for a few days every moon, but he hadn't given it much thought that she hadn't. "What does that mean?"

"My Lord, your wife is with child. You're going to be a father."

"Oh..." Sebastian said again, this time in a more groaning tone. He had simultaneously no thoughts and a thousand thoughts at once. "How? Why?"

"Dear mother of all," Tabora said with a heavy sigh. "Did your governess or wet nurse, or anyone in your family ever explain how babies are made?"

"Yeah, the mother of a friend did... a long time ago." Sebastian heard himself speak, but his mind was elsewhere, picturing Alex's mother with a round belly staggering through the house. There had been few details, other than a strange analogy of a knight with his sword and a lady opening her gate for him and planting his seed. A child grows inside the castle for nine moons, and then a baby is born. Sometimes the woman or the baby dies.

Sebastian grabbed the rail, his feet unsteady as all blood drained from his brain. Sometimes the woman dies!

"Isn't it wonderful news? She's glowing—I can tell," Tabora cooed.

"Jhara... does she... she know she's with... child?" Sebastian stammered.

"Yes, because like you, she was worried. She didn't want you to know yet, but I couldn't bear to see you so puzzled, My Lord."

"She could die, Tabora!"

"We can sail into a maelstrom and all breathe all last breath. She comes from a line of strong women with wide hips. No Tiger Queen has ever died in birth."

"Good," he murmured. There was nothing good about this.

"Besides, Sayida Jhara's sickness is good news for you. Her mother suffered the same complexion when she was expecting David. It's a sign of a boy, a fierce little kitten battling in the womb. A Scorian son on the Greenlander throne—Alburkhan will see a bigger party than your wedding, My Lord."

"A son," Sebastian repeated. "It doesn't have to be. I... I...." His father had two daughters, his uncle only had a daughter, and Queen Rainah too had been blessed with daughters before she bore a son. "A girl would be fine too."

"A girl wouldn't be Queen, My Queen."

"No, she wouldn't. That's alright—I would love her just as much. No, I would love her more."

"As it should be, between a father and his daughter. You, however, need a son."

"No, yes, but no."

Not now. After the war, when all matters were settled and the threat of the Silvermarkers was gone. Until that time, he would pray to the Gods to bless him and Jhara with a swift birth and a baby girl. Anything else would put a target on her and the child's back.

"Lord Sebastian?" Tabora asked.

"We didn't have this conversation," he said dismissively. "Nor does the news of Jhara's pregnancy leave this ship. I will deny any rumours until she's too big to hide, and after that, we are certain she bears a girl. For her own safety, I cannot have an heir."

"I don't understand, My Lord. I thought you would be happy."

"Jhara's clever. She was right not to share this news with me, and you shouldn't have rattled. Leave me be. Tell the rest of the crew not to approach me, not even the Ra'id. I don't care—he can do what he wants. He doesn't need my approval or advice."

"Yes, My Lord."

He didn't wait for her to leave as he kicked and stomped a barrel. Gods, not a son; a boy would be yet another pawn in this endless power play. He wanted to break the board and stomp on the pieces before tossing them away.

But he was no God; he was a Muttonhead of a man with no plan. And it was too late to turn back to Scoria now.