Ardaik 6th - Central Ocean, Eastern Coast of Lorellia

As the earliest rays of the sun began dyeing the sea a deep, Lorellian blue from black, those aboard the ketch were finally gifted enough light to inspect the poor job they'd done of lowering the sails. It wasn't awful, considering it'd been almost as dark above deck as it'd been below, and the guards with them had still been fighting off those monstrous toads. But now it was plain to see that the forward sail was snagged, hanging at a sharp angle, and some of the ropes they'd need to maneuver the main sail were severely tangled.

"Fixable?" Kenton asked from a few feet away.

"I think so," Artus said before clearing his throat. "I've helped untangle worse, and Rowan can help me."

"You aren't climbing up there," Sebastien growled from where he sat on the narrow steps, blocking the way up to where the prince stood at the helm. "You'll get hurt."

The look on Kenton's face said that he agreed, but his tight lips proved that he seemed to think better of voicing as much. Artus could understand their concern. With how stiffly he'd seen Sebastien moving, the man must have gotten fairly jostled around turning the toads' assault on the ketch. And the obvious absence of men was enough to indicate that some of his—and Flann's—guards hadn't survived their escape from the docks.

Artus shoved the thought away, just as he had the flecks of dark burgundy he thought he'd seen when he'd been allowed to return to the deck.

"I'll do it," Rowan said as he reached the step that Sebastien was seated on, unable to go further. He suspected that the advisor wasn't keen on moving, and so, without waiting for any of them to approve or disapprove, he turned and made his way to the main mast.

Rowan knew a fair bit about ships. He'd spent the past few summers in Garesto tutoring under a master shipwright. In fact, Rowan's father had paid a small fortune for tutors and teachers—all in the hopes that he'd be better off for it. But as Rowan stood on the deck and looked up at the full height of the mast looming before him, he realized that knowing something and putting it to practice were two entirely different things.

Making models and designs and knowing the different parts of a ship and how they worked wasn't going to get him up there any faster, nor was it going to catch him if he slipped. Before both feet had left the deck, Rowan had already realized that there was a problem. His dress boots and fine party clothes weren't made for scaling ship masts and riggings. He let himself down and stripped off his well-fitted jacket and polished boots. As silly and underdressed as he felt, he knew that if he fell now, he'd only have himself to blame.

Kenton's gaze followed the young nobleman like a hawk, and he even moved a few paces toward the mast with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. "You aren't afraid of heights, are you?" he inquired, sizing Rowan up.

"Not yet," Rowan said as he cast one last glance at the crow's nest pitched in the early morning sky above them.

"Rowan, be careful!" Artus called from the top of the steps. He didn't sound alarmed, but he was nervous for his friend.

The blond just waved in response, and before anything else could make him reconsider, he started up. The climb wasn't bad. His fencing instructor put him through tougher drills regularly. However, the gentle dips and jostling of the boat were enough to make him pause to breathe for a moment once he reached the sail. He didn't want to lose whatever was left in his stomach.

It wasn't that Rowan was afraid of heights. He didn't tremble at the thought of falling; he just preferred to avoid falling. And who else was going to do it? The princes surely shouldn't, nor the guards, nor the advisor. Perhaps this was part of his father's methodology that he'd adapted. When something needed to be done, you did it. No questions. No moaning. You did what needed to be done.

After tangling with the sail and ropes for a few minutes, the job was indeed done. The canvas once again hung straight at the correct angle. With the sail now catching the full wind, they were moving much more efficiently. But that raised another question in Rowan's mind as he carefully made his way back down to the deck. Where exactly were they going?

The very subject seemed to be the exact topic of debate between Artus and Sebastien when Rowan rejoined them.

"Did you hit your head while below deck?" Sebastien snipped.

"La'Trest has been attacked."

"La'Trest will survive, your highness. You may not," the advisor huffed, pointing a thin finger. "Men have already died to get you safely away from the city's shore. Don't be so hasty to throw their sacrifices away. We should sail to another port. Either to Causter or to Malton. We can get aid there."

Guilt lanced Artus's chest. It hardly seemed fair of Sebastien to point out the missing guards in such a way. Again, he pushed the thought from his mind. If he dwelled on the fact there apparently wasn't even a bone left from any of them to send to one of their family members, he'd break down. He wouldn't be capable at all of making any sound decisions.

"Causter would be closer," Kenton stated.

"Indeed it would," Sebastien agreed.

Artus's gaze flitted between the two before finding Rowan, and the prince's brows raised in a silent question.

"With all due respect, we do have more than one prince on board, and we have no proof Malton or Causter are any safer," Rowan reasoned. "It is possible they might have been assaulted as well."

A small smile graced Artus's lips. "Yes, that's a good point. Flann has just as much right to be a part of this discussion," he reasoned.

"I have to disagree," Sebastien said, standing and turning. Although he was one step lower than Artus, he was almost at the same eye level—imposing in his own right.

"Well, I insist." Artus watched Sebastien's thin lips form a tight frown before he squeezed past him down the narrow steps. "And I'll fetch him myself."

Sebastien and Kenton turned to watch their prince retreat below deck before the advisor dismissively suggested Rowan do something with his discarded clothing.

"Do you intend to press the matter if his highness decides we should go back?" Kenton questioned in a private tone, stepping closer to the advisor.

"You and I are both trying to keep his highness safe. You do so with your sword while I use my intellect." Sebastien paced a few steps while Kenton followed. "It's true; we don't know if Malton or Causter have been attacked. But we have no way of knowing what's happening in the capital, either. Our navy, however, is sure to be regrouping elsewhere. We must get the prince to them before any further disasters befall us. He is the future of our people. If the Viotto line is compromised, the entire country's political stability could go with it."

"And the Serellian prince?"

"The Serellian is not my immediate concern."

Kenton's brows knitted together. "If he dies aboard one of our vessels, he very well could be."

"Assuming his kingdom is just as in the dark as we are."

"Do you suspect they're not?"

"I suspect nothing," Sebastien said, casting a glance over his shoulder. "However, I know that they still possess dragons. And I know what I saw in the sky above the castle."

"I very much doubt Serellia played any role in the attack. It makes no sense for them to have risked endangering Prince O'Conar. He's the only successor to their throne."

"Not so," the advisor corrected. "He has sisters. And Serellians aren't opposed to allowing a woman to retain the rulership of her family until she's found a suitable husband."

Kenton scrunched his nose slightly at the idea, finding it difficult to picture. Of course, it was no stranger than seeing the Serellian prince's remaining guard, whom he was certain was a woman, on board and armed. His own wife's balking echoed in his head. She'd been outraged and offended enough as it was the last time he'd suggested she dispatch the mouse she'd spied in the storeroom herself. Kenton could only imagine what she'd make of him suggesting that she—and other women—be eligible for conscription into the military. "I'll speak with his highness. Perhaps I can persuade him," he said, returning from his thoughts.

"Leave matters of the tongue to me, Kenton. I need you to keep a close watch on the Serellians," Sebastien said before lowering his voice. "And De Saint-Pierre as well."

Kenton raised a brow in return.

"Boreven sits so near the border between Serellia and us that I'd rather not assume that either of them has the best intentions."

"Mm," the knight hummed. "Fair enough."

***

What a tragic irony this was...Artus must have dreamed up a scenario like this dozens of times. Not so much with his home in peril, but with a ship under his command—the freedom to decide the course of his own destiny. Now that it was literally in his hands and below his feet, Artus was, unfortunately, already sure of what he had to do.

Fantasies and his extensive experience as a royal passenger didn't make him a captain—nor his remaining guards, sailors. And Causter was over a day away. A lot could happen in that time. They needed to go back, but he wasn't opposed to hearing Flann's thoughts on the matter first before making a call and setting their heading. Causter was closer, but it was also south of La'Trest—further away from Serellia.

Artus could hear Flann long before seeing the redheaded Serellian. The foreign prince's snoring echoed through the creaking bones of the ship's underbelly long in advance of Artus reaching the chamber door. But before Artus could knock, he was halted by a figure that stepped out of the shadows and into his path with their blade drawn.

The female knight stared at Artus for a long moment. She rivaled him in height, still nowhere near as tall as Kenton but easily threatening. The wounds she bore from the previous night's attack, and the fact that she was the only surviving Serellian guard, spoke louder than her appearance. She was dangerous.

"Your highness," she said as she sheathed her blade and stepped back; there was something strained in the way she said it—almost...disdain? Artus wasn't sure. The fearsome woman was hard to read since, besides her words, she looked completely stoic. "Go on and wake him...if you can," she challenged as she folded her arms over her chest and trailed Artus into the room.

Flann hadn't been at all sober when everything went to hell, and even though the same could likely have been said for Artus and Rowan, Flann had, without a doubt, consumed enough to put down a gelding.

Artus had to bite a laugh at how gone the sleeping Serellian looked. It was comforting to see that at least one of them had managed some rest.

Having already forgotten the guard at his back, Artus leaned forward, flicking a strand of bright red hair away from Flann's face. "Prince O'Conar," he said, though he didn't expect much of a reaction from that alone. He tried a little louder, though he dropped the title. Then he tried Flann's name again, plus a firm shake to the arm. "Flann."

Flann's snoring faltered a moment before he shifted, and his eyes opened, accompanied by a heavy yawn.

"Hm? Artie?" Flann murmured as he rubbed a hand over his freckled face.

"Good morning." Artus eased his weight onto the edge of the cot near Flann's waist, where there was the most room. "How soon do you wager you'll be capable of coherent thought and conversation?"

A groan left Flann, and it sounded as though he was awake enough now to realize he had a sizable hangover. "Eh, heh... Ya best start talking," he joked, giving his head another firm rub.

"We need a heading. Sebastien advises we sail to either Causter or Malton, two of the nearest port cities...I feel we should return to La'Trest. But Rowan suggested we collect your opinion as well."

Flann's brows screwed together, and his lips became a straight, stern line. It was almost as if Artus could see every gear in the other prince's head turning. "Yer family a're in La'Trest...if it waare me, no man ner' dragon could'a kept me from taking back my home." The Serellian's face relaxed into a warm and reassuring smile.

The reserved look on Artus's face briefly turned into a grin as he rolled his eyes. He could only imagine the Serellian meeting a swift end if he tried to fight a dragon, but Flann's spirit and confidence were admirable, at least. "I'd believe you, provided you weren't still on your back from too much drink."

Rowan came down the steps with his clothes and boots bundled in his arms, his stride slowing as he heard the voices and drifted toward the partially open door. He wasn't eavesdropping, just mildly curious about what two princes might talk about when alone together.

To his disappointment and relief, he found that Artus and Flann seemed to act no different than if he'd been standing in the room with them. Part of him felt comforted by this fact, as though it proved their friendship was authentic. However, it also made him feel guilty for his paranoia and suspicion.

Perhaps he was the least trustworthy of the three of them.