❝
SLOWLY, she returned on her sketch with her hand steady, sliding the pencil across the page easily, then replied to the question which was put in front of her but gave a pause before the sound of the pencil welcomed the scratches on the paper before falling silent with the crackling fire that was burning in the room.
For a moment, she stopped and turned to Saevionh, her gaze now unwavering, the light of the fire deepening the shadows under her eyes.
"I'd say I wouldn't marry him, but there's no warranty for that. Titles are just that-title–they don't change who gets said person's inside or feelings. So, I'd reject him, not because I can't be a queen but because I don't want to be a queen if I can't do so without sacrificing my own freedom."
Her voice was calm but held a heavy seriousness, mirroring the weight of her own words. She met his gaze, waiting for some signs of what he thought.
For a long moment, Saevionh remained still, his blindfolded gaze holding hers. Then, quite unexpectedly, his mouth curved into a low, amused chuckle, quiet in the beginning but growing into fullness, warm and sincere, and slightly lined with that same wry amusement, his typical armor.
"Well, you certainly don't lack conviction," he said, the words dripping with a kind of dark appreciation. "Most people would say anything to avoid confrontation. But you? You would face it head on. Just like that."
Charlotte couldn't get anything out of those lines, though that sober pride flickered in her heart, dimly seen by herself alone.
Saevionh stood straight again, his movements as smooth and precise as usual. He looked down for a moment at the journal he had forgotten about earlier; it was now comfortably in range, and since he was impossible to suppress, he picked it up. His fingers lingered for just a second above its worn leather cover as if savoring the final notes of their conversation.
"Then I'll leave you to your thoughts," he said quietly. "Good night, Charlotte."
His exit from the room fell very soft, almost dulcet, and about nothing noticeably stinging or cruel. Just that little moment of pause, before continuing again, must have affected that exchange more than he would admit, and then, while the door clicked shut behind him as he moved to go, the silence rendered within the room bore a weightiness rather deeper in his absence.
Charlotte stayed where she was, still, her pencil poised over the page once again, but her mind was far away from her art. She stared at the flickering flames in the hearth, thinking not of the words she had just spoken, but of the weight of them-the silent promise she had made to herself to never look back, never be bound to anyone, anything which could steal her freedom. And then, as quietly lengthened, another thought crept into her mind. Saevionh's question echoed in her ears, words whispering in the dark, "What if one day, you meet the prince you were supposed to marry?" A pang of doubt, sharp and foreign, tugged at her chest. Was she in truth ready for the weight of her choices? Would it really be worth it– running away from everything for the sake of an unknown freedom?
She sighed and tore a page from her sketchpad as the sound rending through silence served a quiet admission of defeat. She held it for a moment, the tracing fingers of her own hand against the lonely line of the woman at the window, ignoring the back toward the viewer and the attendant weight of solitude that curved that disposition.
Without another thought, Charlotte tossed the page into the hearth. It fluttered as it fell, twisting on the air before it was consumed by the flames, disappearing into smoke. She watched it burn, the firelight dancing over the crumpled paper as the last traces of her drawing disappeared. Her heart felt heavy, and her thoughts were churned. The freedom he had fought so much for-there was no shadow of doubt-was it really what he wanted? Or had he left something behind, never to return?
She leaned back like this, eyes glued to the fire, while the crackling sound screamed through the air as she interrogated herself on that question she hadn't dared speak aloud. "Was I making the right choice?" The sky was reserved for a slightly pale shade when the carriage creaked away from the manor. Morning dew still clung to the grass, and the fog of dawn wrapped the grounds in a quiet hush, as if the world itself was reluctant to rise. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against the damp earth echoed through the estate's gravel path and was softened by the stillness of the hour.
Inside the carriage, she sat with her back facing the window, draped in a thick traveling cloak of heather grey. The dim blue light of dawn brushed against her face as she watched the countryside stretch and smear out in streaks of cool green and almost silver, and her open sketchbook rested on her lap, unopened.
Saevionh sat opposite her, an unreadable expression on his impassive face with his tall and upright posture, giving one the impression that he was fresh from a good night's slumber on an early morning. Right next to him was an unconcerned Vladimir, his focus gazing quietly above the small book in his gloved hands, although his shoulder―muscles were stiff and showed he was alert with whatever activity was going on around him.
Dorothea was observing them as they walked through the second floor of the manor behind the lace-curtained window on the east wing.
Her silhouette stood unmoving, dark against the soft candlelight behind her. Arms folded, she remained like a quiet sentinel, her face unreadable as the carriage disappeared beyond the tall iron gates. The glass fogged slightly from her breath, but she made no move to step away–not until the last wheel had vanished behind the bend. Only then did she murmur something to herself, inaudible to anyone but the walls of the empty hall. Back in the carriage, as the sun began to climb above the treetops, a soft breeze carried the scent of pine and salt-the first sign that they were nearing the southern coast.
Finally, Saevionh began speaking.
"Azalik and Kali arrived in Port Maltheris yesterday afternoon," he said in low but firm tones. "They've secured the ship, and we will be taking a boat by noon. They've prepared supplies for the trip to Corsavenna, the weather is favorable, and the seas are calm. Azalik knows the routes well."
Charlotte never answered.
Her eyes were still fixed outside-their trajectory extending along the hills and along swells of wind-blown clusters of trees that crowned them. Faintly mirrored within the glass was the ghostly apparition of herself, pale and hazy, belonging more to the passing world beyond than to the people in this carriage.
"You'll be safe, and of course, don't forget to hide yourself from those prying eyes, or else your identity will be recognized. They'll hunt you down for good." The words were more gentle this time, almost a concession, "You understand that, don't you, Lady Charlotte?"
Yet not a word in response; only the soft murmur of wheels turning with the wind slipping past them. "Charlotte," he said again, firmer now.
She blinked and turned her head slightly, finally bringing her eyes to meet his, though it seemed to take a moment to truly see him. Her voice was little more than a faint breath. "Sorry... I wasn't paying attention," she murmured, shaking her head. "I was just... watching the trees."
A pause hung between them in the air. Vladimir flipped another page of his book without raising his eyes, however, he sensed the quiet.
"They move like they're waving goodbye," she said suddenly, as if suddenly realising the weight of her prolonged silence. When the wind pushed the trees like that, as a child I used to think it meant they were saying goodbye.
The sentiment hung between them like a ghost of a memory–faint, but still palpable.
Saevionh watched her for a long moment. The corners of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, then leaned back again.
"Not always a goodbye," he said, "Sometimes they're just reminding you that you're not leaving empty-handed."
Charlotte turned back to look out the window again, but this time the expression was softer in reading. Wind-bent trees reached across the road in a slow dance as if the silent sentinels were watching them depart.
The remnants of their trip transported them in silence– from the gradual change of scenes where woods gave way to fields; to the increasing warmth of the sun filtering through the curtains; to only rare sightings of a lone traveller or a merchant cart plodding along towed in the opposite direction.
At one point Vladimir had drifted off to slumber against the side of the carriage, his head vanquishing the closed book on his chest. Saevionh stayed unmoving and still, gloved fingers interlaced with each other, blindfolded eyes staring ahead deep in thought.
As the road curved toward the coast, the story of the landscape changed. The breaking of the waves in the distance stumbled through the hills, harmonizing with the creaking of sails not yet lifted and the mournful cries of gulls circling above. Along with this goes the sharpness of salt in the air, soaked timber, and a reluctant coda to the fish markets that had only just begun to stir.
The steep decline of the carriage was now into lower cliffs where Port Maltheris opened slowly, painting the landscape in life, dew-soaked brickwork– its people bustling slightly in the early calm of morning. The harbor smiled in the sun, gold dust throwing glitter onto gentle tides and ancient hulls. Dockhands yelled above the thump of crates, while white sails slumbered lazily against their rigging, not so much tempted into activity by the warm sea lullaby.
Charlotte leaned in closer to the window, her gaze pinioned on the horizon. The sea stretched before her, vast and endless, glimmering as though it held something sacred just out of reach. It seemed… boundless. Like something she could altogether vanish into.
The carriage made its slow stop just near the ending of the wharf, almost beneath the wooden boardwalks that stretched towards the vessels. The clip-clop of hooves culled into oblivion with the gossiping of the portside activities.
Vladimir, bright-eyed now, got up and out without hesitation. He simply flung open the carriage door and held it permanently before he extended his gloved hand toward Charlotte.
Charlotte accepted it and stepped out onto the wooden planks, her boots tapping softly in rhythm with the sway of the breeze. The faint billowing of her cloak met the salty air, and it greeted her face.
Behind her, Saevionh followed. By now, the man was silent, hardly stirring. Just slightly, his head tilted away, perhaps listening to some faraway sound that no one else could hear.
Calmly, Vladimir began to superintend the unloading of their luggage alongside Argentum, their current coachman—no complaints, no wasted motions.
Saevionh's voice gently intruded upon the moment.
"There," he said, directing a nod toward a silhouetted black-hulled vessel far off the dock. "The Léon Azuré, Azalik's ship."
Charlotte's eyes followed his finger; however, her mind was far away, adrift in a wandering sea ahead of her feet.
This ship-before-them was indisputably a fair behemoth of the sea. An elegant Leviathan intricately carved out of black timber and veined with bronze, polished to mirror imprint in the morning light. Silver-rimmed lanterns still shone vaguely with the last flickers of night, tangled up clumsily by hooks on the rails. A proud line of drifting flags, memory-worn, was tucked below the mast, with the prow flanked by twin-tailed sea serpents, gilded eyes snarling silently.
Captain Azalik stood there, a spectral guardian of stone. Tall, broad-shouldered, and always in his leather black coat, his long hair-black, braided thick though with impatience, marbled with blue. One eye glistened under the shadow of his brow; the other, shrouded behind a battered leather patch. Arms crossed firmly, he clicked his tongue in annoyance, muttering low.
"Yer late," he growled, as irate as Azalik was-famous for: Not that they were. Not even twenty minutes from when the sun had just reached its full height upon the horizon.
Kali lazily leaned against the ship's railing with one leg propped and the other dangling, fingers laced behind her head. The sticky remains of a regenerative glue of sugar root candy were in her mouth as her mint-colored hair whipped angrily about her face like a flame fanned by a storm.
"Eh, let 'em breathe, cap'n. Nobles always take their time," she teased, flicking the remains of the candy into the sea. "I'd bet the lass was having a royal crisis choosing which contest to bring."
Azalik snorted. Nothing else followed, but his acute eyes followed the three as they approached the dock: a blindfolded man clad in black, a quiet steward, and a girl cloaked in gray wool.
"They're here," Azalik muttered, one eye slitting further down on the figures while walking toward the dock—three silhouettes steadily progressing toward the gangplank.
Himself walking quite slowly behind Saevionh on the dock, Charlotte was taking short even steps. All around them, a steel and silver harbor lay shrouded by the last bits of morning mist ghosting away from the edges of the ships. The air smelled profusely of salt and brine, with a dash of damp rope and a hint of smoke from the chimneys of early risers. Above them, gulls circled in lazy wide arcs with cries that were faint, almost mournful, and drifting far away.
"The Léon Azuré," Saevionh announced, glancing ahead at the black and bronze vessel that loomed like a shadow over the pier. His voice remained steady but was edged with urgency. "We should be getting along. If we delay much longer, we will miss the tide for Corsavenna."
Charlotte nodded, although it was clear with her demeanor that her thoughts lay elsewhere: far beyond the harbor, beyond the docks and creaking hulls, beyond the bustling hands of deckhands. She was watching the ocean—not just looking, but truly seeing it—the way it heaved and glimmered, dark and fathomless, folding itself into the sky and where colors merged into each other and melted into nothingness. Something about that line where the sea kissed the sky made her chest ache, like the feeling of standing before something too vast to put a name to.
"Charlotte," Saevionh said again, this time more softly.
She blinked, once again returning from wherever her mind had flown, and glanced apologetically at him with a smile.
"Yes, sorry," she murmured, "I was just...thinking."
He didn't push her. Whatever was consuming her thoughts, he knew better than to pull it out with questions. Instead, he gave her a brief nod, and continued walking alongside her in silent companionship toward the gangplank of the Léon Azuré.
Up above stood Captain Azalik, the lone eye watching, unmoving, and giving a two-fingered salute, briefly saluting but not speaking a word. Beside him leaned Kali, her ever-present grin slicing across her face like a blade as soon as she saw them. The wind played with her mint-colored hair, and the sparkle in her eye expressed that she was already being entertained.
"Well, well," Kali called down, her grin widening. "Didn't think you'd actually show, princess."
Charlotte raised an eyebrow; her voice was just above a whisper, yet the undercurrent carried weight. "Please. I am not even a princess."
Kali chuckled softly; it was a joint laugh, one not entirely malicious. "Could've fooled me, princess."
Then her gaze dropped to Charlotte's outfit, and with that, her smile died a little beneath her mounting skepticism. With a frowning squinting style, she raked her eyes at Charlotte, swinging her head slightly to one side and clicking her tongue in a pantomime style of forced disenchantment.
"You sure about that dress?" she said with her arms folded. "You even cloaked yourself like some dusty antique. Looks like it would drown you sooner than any cannonball. You plan to combat the sea in that, or just get tangled in it?"
Charlotte looked down at herself, at the layers of gray wool and the -long skirts, smoothing the material with her fingers almost unconsciously. "It's fine," she said faintly.
"Nope," Kali said, with a frankness. "That's not going to work."
Before Charlotte could make sense of it, Kali had raised two fingers to her lips and shrieked an ear-piercing whistle. It cleaved through the noise of the harbor with a loud command. Almost instantaneously, two women appeared from behind the mast, clad in loose seaworn shirts and practical trousers, walking with confidence and purpose. They looked like women who could lift barrels and climb rigging in their sleep—and were presently sizing up Charlotte like a stray cat that had wandered aboard.
"She's yours," Kali said with a flick of her hand. "Get her into something she can breathe in before she cracks a rib just trying to walk on deck."
Charlotte's eyes widened. "Wait—hold on—I can—" But this protest was drowned in fading echoes as the two crewwomen descended the gangplank with the resolute swiftness of guards escorting a royal prisoner. One of them seized her by the arm, and the other shoved her forward; before she could twist free or come up with the semblance of another sentence, she was half-led, half-dragged up the gangplank toward the ship's hold.
Saevionh stood in silence, taking in the performance. He released a rare smile, one quite small, that danced at the corners of his lips, and let out a muffled chuckle.
"She'll manage," he murmured to Vladimir, quietly standing beside him like a shadow. The blindfolded man gave a single nod in response, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Azalik certainly permitted the last two men to board: the quiet Vladimir and Saevionh, who briefly glanced back over his shoulder at Argentum, who was shouting by the carriage with his hands cupped around his mouth.
"Safe travels, you lot! Don't get yourselves drowned or possessed!"
His voice traveled all the way across the dock, and Saevionh, who had one foot on the gangplank, lifted one arm in salute. His fingers curled into a quick wave that was small but genuine, his face lit with a faint smile that was seldom seen in the company of strangers. The moment was gone but the weight of its sincerity lingered behind, impelled like a wisp with the wind.
Charlotte was being almost ushered—no, gently herded—into the ship's interior, which the two crewwomen had briskly introduced themselves as Ishlah and Farla. A narrow corridor emptied into a small cabin at the stern of the vessel. Charlotte found it cleaner than she had imagined. The wood paneling on the walls and tiny portholes gave the impression of a small storage room hastily refurbished. Between the cot, a washbasin, and a bench, there was nothing much else in the room.
"We won't hurt you," said Ishlah, calm but firm, discreetly lowering a couple of the ribbons of Charlotte's cloak. "But you aren't going sailing in anything thick enough to sink a priest."
Farla filed out an amused snort while skimming through a neat pile of garments folded inside a chest. "We'll make sure you can breathe."
Before Charlotte could open her mouth, a gentle creek swept across the door as Kali stepped in, sweeping the space with a disapproving air, booming and commanding, yet decidedly kind. She took in the scene with a practiced eye, with one hand drawing the curve of her hip and the other setting to distance a wayward mint-blue hair lock from her brow.
"Alright ladies," she ordered as she waved her fingers. "Be gentle with her! She's neither a doll nor the target of a mutiny."
Ishlah and Farla backed off a little, giving Charlotte a little space.
Kali turned to Charlotte and nodded slightly before she continued in a more conversational tone. "Look, princess—or not princess, whatever you say—you're gonna want to move around this ship without tripping over a hem or choking on lace. So let's make it simple. I've got some spare gear in my wardrobe. Let her wear something of mine. Something that breathes. Something real."
Charlotte looked at her, wary but grateful, and slowly nodded. She still stood varnished stiff with surprise at the instantaneous change of command; with Kali, however, it was just as she had indicated—no one pushed her.
"I'll see you once you're dressed," said Kali, already halfway out the door. But she stopped short of disappearing, turning back to Ishlah and Farla. "You've got her for now. I'm handing her over to you."
The two women nodded, standing straighter as though the weight of the trust rested upon them.
Kali's eyes settled on Charlotte once again, and whatever was behind them—steady, amused, and with layers of something akin to understanding—felt strangely comforting.
"Don't worry," she added with a wink. "You'll survive."
And just like that, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her and leaving Charlotte alone in the room with two strangers, a pile of borrowed clothing, and the sound of the sea just beyond the porthole.
As Charlotte stepped outside, she was still unsure about the ship's sway beneath her feet; the soft thuds of her boots reverberated with every step against the deck's seasoned wooden planks. Saltwater gusted against her loose strands of hair, and the sun began to set, casting a warmth that gilded the ship.
She walked cautiously, taking in everything around her: sail snapping above, ropes coiled like serpents along the rails, and the distant cries of sailors hailing from mast to mast. For once, no one was paying her any heed. Dressed as she was now, she blended in far more than she had ever thought possible.
This outfit looked nothing like the gowns that had been forced on her all her life. Fitted black trousers clung to her legs, allowing her every movement. A belted vest cinched in her waist, layered over a loose, white blouse with billowy sleeves tucked into leather cuffs. To look at, it was cheeky. Useful. Empowering.
She paused by the mast. Her gaze moved around the deck once more. Where was Kali?
Before she could choose a direction, a sharp rustle above called her attention.
From the dizzying height of the crow's nest, a dark figure launched forth.
Charlotte gasped, just retreating a single step when the form landed, with perfect grace, through the rigging. With a solid thump upon the deck before her, the boots hit.
It was Kali.
Mint-blue ponytail lashed her back in a whip when the wind caught the edges of her coat, showing sun-darkened face split by a wild grin, as she cast a low, impressed whistle along the sweep of her eyes from Charlotte's boots to her collarbone.
"Well, I'll be damned," she said, crossing her arms. "Wasn't expecting my old gear to suit a land-bred noble so well."
Charlotte, dazed, both by her abrupt entry and the unexpected compliment, managed to blink.
"I was... looking for you," came her small and unanticipated voice.
Kali laughed, taking a step nearer. "I figured. You looked lost. But you wear that outfit like you could almost be part pirate. Maybe just a pinch."
Charlotte tried to stifle the dark heat spreading across her face. "It's... surprisingly pleasant."
"Comfortable and fierce," Kali added while tossing her head sideways in a grin. "Could be dangerous with the right attitude." Then she turned back to the helm and beckoned.
"Come on. We should get you above deck before someone ropes you into hauling cargo. I have a feeling you'll want to see this part of the sea at sunrise."