The sun was shining when they docked at Astroia's port city, Moyena. Declan could have whistled to himself as he adjusted his hat and prepared for the chillier temperatures of his home country. Without mountains to block the buffeting winds and without water to temper the fierce snowstorms, his country could be significantly colder. But, it was home. He neatly packed his clothing and other necessities into two trunks, carrying them out of his suite and toward the upper deck of the ship. The planks squeaked beneath his boots, clearly having just been swabbed. Declan scanned the perimeter for anything amiss and found nothing. Nolan had yet to pack or to arrive, but Declan was not about to turn the tables and check on him.

As he watched, Nadia marched down the gangway with Rowena in tow, her hair pinned into a neat knot at her nape, exposing her throat. He kept his eyes on her as she moved, the ripples of her dress so unlike the more structured, bulky gowns that Astroian girls wore. There was something entirely sensual to the way Milonan women dressed, he thought, and perhaps that was the only reason he felt so pulled to her. Simply the novelty, the intrigue, the mystique. The movement of the fabrics that sometimes revealed and at other times concealed a woman's body was too tantalizing for him not to stare. It didn't have to be Nadia, he reasoned. It could be any other Milonan woman.

"What are you looking at?" Luke remarked, appearing suddenly and jostling him with an elbow.

Declan turned to look at him with a flat expression that read, I am your superior and you shall address me as such. Then he dropped the subject entirely. "It's certainly refreshing to be back on land and Astroian soil after so long, is it not?"

"Yes, Your Highness." Luke gulped, adjusting the parcels he carried.

The boy took Declan's subtle hint: we are in Astroia, a land of which I am the prince. You would do well not to mock me or treat me like we are drinking companions. Good. He did not need anyone else pretending to be his friend.

Lugging his trunks off the ship, he caught sight of a confrontation. Nolan, Nadia, and... a blonde. One he didn't recognize. Whoever she was, she and Nadia did not seem to be getting along very well. He walked closer and set down his trunks, sitting on one and putting his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers under his jaw.

"You... I thought you were dead, Mari! I mourned you and grieved you and cried over you. And this entire time you've been, what, living as a prince's cousin's concubine?" Nadia said, her voice shaking. The fire in her words was absent from her tone and posture, both of which trembled, unsteady. "As for you, Nolan, here I thought you were so honourable. I thought you had a woman back in Astroia whom you wanted to marry. Yet you pull this stunt... do you suppose she will want to marry you now?"

He smirked as she pointed her finger at his cousin. Finally, Nolan was being smeared as the not-so golden boy. Yet his smugness and petty victory were short-lived and ill-contrived as he watched the heated conversation play out before him. Part of him wanted to run to Nadia and wrap her in his arms, to hold her firm. Part of him hated to see her upset.

"I am no concubine," Mari shot back. "We are betrothed. And you don't seem to have done too badly yourself, being a prince's pet."

The look on Nadia's face was one of pure betrayal. Declan understood it all too well and wished he didn't. The startled realization that the fluid dripping off of one's skin was blood... the gradual sensation of the knife in one's back... the slow pivot to see one's attacker was the closest person to you... it never became any easier, no matte rthe amount of times that he had experienced it. No matter how many times you came to expect it, no matter how many layers of armour one wore... at the end of the day, every defence could be penetrated, every shield could be torn to pieces, and every wall that one built could come crumbling down.

"You don't even know each other!" Nadia was shouting, pointing between the two of them. Declan choked on a highly mistimed laugh. "How could you even have time to fall in love with him? How could this have happened? We're priestesses, Mari. We all took vows of celibacy!"

Mari gave a sharp laugh, throwing her head back with the gesture. Her blonde waves tumbled down her spine in a golden waterfall, her brown eyes keen as they shone like amber in her tan face. "How ironic it is, that the girl with the most potential for destruction and the most power in her hands is also the most naive. Do you think that no one at the temple ever broke their vows? Why don't you ask your mother--"

"How dare you bring up my mother?" Nadia looked as though she wanted to tear her friend's--her enemy's?--throat out with her nails. Declan was not sure that he would be able to or willing to stop her, in this instance. "You do not know what you're talking about. Not one word."

"Well, she wasn't exactly a saint. Perhaps, if you took the time to dig into your past rather than moping around all the time and whining about how miserable your life is because of one curse that doesn't seem to have held you back all that much..." Mari put her hands on her hips. "You might be able to understand better the world you were born into."

The anger and fury had drained out of Nadia, leaving only exhaustion and pain. She looked drawn and tired. "I can't believe I called you my friend, Mari."

Mari laughed again. "You are far too naive if you think this conversation is about something as trivial as friendship."

With that, she took Nolan's hand and stalked away to where a set of wagons sat idly, waiting to transport their luggage.

"Well," Mark commented, appearing suddenly with Rowena's trunk in his hands. The young woman had insisted she could carry it herself, but her slight frame prevented anyone from taking her protests seriously. "Your friend seems like a lovely girl."

"She isn't my friend." Nadia muttered, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "I don't want to discuss this."

The sandy, gritty paths flanked by lush, grassy patches of Astroia were a far cry from the cobblestone streets of Milona. As he stood and helped haul the baggage into the waiting carts, Declan could smell the scents of home as they piled into a waiting boat and made their way through Moyena, which was a short distance from the capitol. Nolan and Mari took one gondola, while Mark and Luke sat in another and Rowena had her own vessel, leaving Nadia and Declan to sit facing each other, both of them studiously avoiding the other's gaze. Her eyes were dry, he noted in his peripheral vision, but they had a hollow look to them, as though she had emptied herself out to avoid feeling anything.

Their gondola wound through the canals of Moyena, which, due to its location to the south of the capitol, experienced far more pleasant climes than the royal seat. As their boat wound between narrow bends in the river, the brightly coloured Moyenan houses smiled down at them, squat and stocky but tilted towards each other slightly. He could smell fish from the wet market, the tang of salt and the stink of refuse. Fishmongers and citizens hollered at each other, trying to haggle the best prices.

Nadia studied her surroudings with a sort of detached interest, her gaze carefully blank. "This reminds me of where I grew up."

She had never spoken of her childhood before. Or, at least, not to him. He kept his eyes on the gondolier's back as she paddled agilely through the river, humming to herself. Ensuring his features and tone were set in a neutral position, Declan said, "Oh?"

Not a word of encouragement, but not entirely disapproving. Simply an expression of curiosity or so he hoped.

"My father would take me out to sea with him on his fishing boat. A child running loose on those vessels--I remember, most of all, the nets. Hiding under them. Sometimes the sailors would pretend not to notice me and threaten to throw me overboard with the nets as bait." She gave a noise that was half-chuckle, half-sigh. "It must be nice to be home."

"Do you miss your home?" he probed, catching sight of a child escaping his mother's grasp to chase after a seagull that dove and squawked close enough to the ground to give the boy false hope.

Without turning her head from the sight of a vendor hawking richly patterned cloaks, she said, "I never really knew home."

When he reflected on all that had happened in the past year, Declan thought he could agree with the sentiment. Castles and palaces and fortresses had been his parents. Guards and courtiers had been his siblings. But none of them had ever been a safe or soft or remotely comforting place to land. He had thought Olivia might be that place for him... But clearly, she would never be.

"I'm surprised you don't have me on a leash." Nadia's voice interrupted his thoughts. The tenor of it was playful, yet with a sardonic undertone. He could taste the bitterness on her lips. "Didn't you handcuff me on the way to the ship?"

"Don't tempt me by running away," he mused, looking around. He was grateful for the return to the present. Water sloshed against the sides of the boat as it rocked, the gondolier steering them through a narrow turn. "Or in this case, swimming away."

"What, would you drag me out of the water and dirty your fine clothes?" she asked, turning away from him with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her knuckles were turning white.

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the images she provided him. Then he remembered the panic he had felt when Rowena had told him that she'd been pushed off the ship. "I'd drag you out by the hair, Nadia. Don't ever doubt that."

"I don't know if I should be reassured or terrified," she said, her gaze fixed on a glassblowing vendor, whose stall was crammed with brightly coloured glass animal figurines: a purple horse, a green cat, a silver tiger. Their artful lines and graceful forms looked whimsical, but far from lifelike. "Those are beautiful."

"Moyena is famed for its glassblowing," he said, grateful for a change in subject.

Nadia pivoted to look at him, shifting on the cushioned seat. "Are you a tour guide, as well as a prince, scholar, and barbarian?"

"I love my country, Nadia. Can you say the same for yours?" He cocked his head, studying her.

"It no longer exists, thanks to you," she snapped back, but he saw a glimmer of hurt flash in her eyes. That hadn't been his intention at all, but it certainly was interesting.

He fell silent and studied her until the boat pulled to a stop as the sky darkened, pulling up outside a small restaurant. Its owner peeked her head out with a friendly smile and a deep bow. She sported a white apron with red sauce stains on it, tied over functional work clothes. He had met her before, having come to this restaurant on several occasions. Estelle's cooking was simple but hearty fare, a far cry from the grand courses and small appetizers that were served in the palace, and certainly worlds apart from the slop served in the military.

"Welcome, welcome!" she said brightly.

Nadia stepped off the boat, staggering somewhat. Her dress fluttered in the slight breeze. He reached out a hand to steady her and she gave a nod of thanks without turning to face him. So she was upset with him. What else was new? Still, something about this instance felt different.

"I was informed of your arrival and I prepared meals accordingly," Estelle assured them.

The small building was almost empty, the tables set with white cloths and red napkins, candles flickering on the tables. Covered dishes sat at each place, silver domed lids disguising the plates' contents but not their smells. He lifted one of the lids, taking his place. The dining room was redolent with the aromas of cheese-dusted, creamy pasta, golden-brown and crispy bread that had been slathered in butter, and chunks of ham and fresh garden peas nestled deep in the pasta sauce like buried treasure.

Before eating, Nadia bent her head over her food, but did not pick up any utensils. With a start, he realized she was saying a Milonan blessing over the food before eating. When she noticed him watching her, she said, "Old habits die hard."

"It's never wrong to fear the gods," he said. Just as he began digging in, a chill passed down the back of his neck. Someone in a cloak, with the hood pulled over their head, entered Estelle's restaurant. A hooded stranger.

Stars above knew the gods were not the worst thing to fear, after all.