Estefania's stomach churned as the waves relentlessly pounded against the boat. She remained confined to her bunk all day, each attempt to stand up met with a disconcerting wobble of the ship that sent her legs into a frenzy of shaking and quivering. Solomon's assurances of finding her balance with time were of little comfort. If this was the typical experience of travel, Estefania contemplated a return to the monastery. 

Being in bed gave her time to gather up her thoughts, after all. She was betrothed to a crown prince. She'd read about Fletcher de Cyra. Her sister Avangelique had grown up with the prince and spoke highly of him in her letters. Nathaniel had supported her sister's stance, but their opinions were biased. 

Solomon couldn't tell her much about Fletcher. He mentioned the prince used a cane to walk, but something like that didn't bother Estefania. After all, the mind of a future king was what mattered. 

Estefania had long deemed love as an unattainable concept, reserving her emotional investments solely for her family, a practice she had honed over the years of her secluded upbringing in the monastery. The idea of falling in love, especially with someone she was betrothed to, was beyond her contemplation. 

The only thing about her future marriage that bothered her was how it would tie Cyra and Sahar together. The kingdoms had a long-running rivalry among the nobles. Saharites considered it traitorous to marry a Cyran. It hadn't happened in the royal family since some Cyran princess married a Saharite commoner three hundred years ago. Both their families and counties had ostracized them, so they built a new town that eventually became the independent city-state of Nene. 

The ship pitched forward slightly, and Estefania grabbed onto her bed frame. The waves weren't getting easier. With her sickness worsening, she wasn't sure how she could survive another three days of the ocean tossing her around like sand in the wind. 

A knock came at her cabin door. The rangers, the ships's crew, and the marquis had insisted that she take the captain's quarters for the journey. Everyone else was in a hammock down in the common area. 

Estefania watched as the door creaked open, and the marquis stood there with a bowl in his hand. Nathaniel walked with assurance and the cocky ability of a noble across the cabin and sat on the end of the bed. Estefania tried to pull the covers up further to hide her nightgown, but Nathaniel didn't seem to notice. 

"I brought you some broth," he said. "I know you haven't found your sea legs yet, so I made a special trip to the kitchen because one of my rangers mentioned you hadn't eaten."

Estefania sat up, and the blanket fell. Instantly, she felt exposed in her bedclothes and pulled her arms up to cover her chest. Nathaniel smiled and pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around her shoulders. 

"It'll get colder the closer we get to Cyra," he said. "I'm sure you aren't used to ice and snow. I don't know what my father was thinking with this arrangement."

She sighed. "He likely wants Sahar."

 Nathaniel bit his lip. "The king is greedy, and he takes what he wants. He always has, and he doesn't care who he angers doing it. No one can contradict him either, because who would rebuke their king? He's been using my mother to make his wife jealous for my entire life. I'd almost hate him, but he's always allowed me whatever freedom I want."

"What about Fletcher?" Estefania was suddenly apprehensive. After all, what if her future husband was like his father?

"My brother wants to help others," Nathaniel said. "He's always admired our grandfather, who constantly helped Cyrans in need. Fletcher is always making connections and relating to others. If I come to him with anyone's problem, he'll set the matter straight before the sun sets. That was our grandfather's policy. One our father has long forsaken."

Estefania had read about the old king of Sahar. He died the year Fletcher was born. It had been a strange and mysterious death. The man had grown weaker and weaker until suddenly, one day, he wouldn't wake. Even the fairy empress had said no magic could heal him. The same thing had happened to the king's brother, the Duke of Ryne. They'd just grown weak and passed below the sunset far before their time. 

It was strange enough that the most likely explanation was magic. Estefania had enough of magic in her life. The looming threats of curses over her head had caused her exile and isolation for sixteen years. Because of some threats, she didn't even know her own people. 

"Is Fletcher in good health?" She asked. 

Nathaniel scratched behind his neck. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that. I think the only person who knows the answer to that is Fletcher himself. We should worry about your health now. Eat, and I'll attempt to teach you how to get your sea legs."

He handed her the broth and the spoon. His green eyes didn't leave her face as she drank the broth. It was salty, and something slick and slimy stuck to her teeth. The thick stews with vegetables that the Brothers ate at the monastery were nothing like this. The peculiar taste of this broth left her strangely satisfied and her belly full. 

"What is this?" She asked as she scraped the last of the slimy strips off the bottom of the bowl and off the front of her teeth. 

"Seaweed," Nathaniel said. "The fishermen on the Cyran coast like to wrap fish in it when they boil them. The cook on the ship puts it in broth."

"Not much fish in the desert," Estefania said. 

Nathaniel smiled. "I can't imagine what life for a princess at a monastery would have looked like. Don't the Brothers shun worldly comforts?"

"It was a change," Estefania said. "But being royalty isn't about opulence and wealth. It is a calling to serve the people."

Nathaniel set the bowl back on the table and held out his hand. She reached for him, and he pulled her slowly to her feet. Estefania swayed slightly, but Nathaniel pulled her close to his chest and helped her balance. 

"Careful, princess," Nathaniel's voice was soothing. "Try putting one leg behind the other and distribute your weight evenly. It should help you find the rhythm of the sea."

As she followed his directions, she realized she'd never been this close to a man, even when Solomon taught her how to dance. Nathaniel was warm and solid against her soft curves, and the heat jumped from his body to hers and enveloped her. She was very aware of his breath, a gentle caress against her ear, and the strength of his muscles from riding with the rangers. 

Estefania shook her head and realized that the ship was no longer rocking her about. She took a step backward from Nathaniel and smiled, proud of her accomplishment. He was beaming again and held her hand as she walked across the cabin. 

"Thank you," she said. "I'm sure retrieving me from the desert wasn't what you or your Rangers wanted to do."

"It was a request from the king," Nathaniel said. "And telling my father no is more trouble than it's worth."

She didn't imagine that Nathaniel had a good relationship with the king of Cyra. He didn't have the title of a prince. From what she knew of Ryne, it was ruled by the king's brother's late wife, the Duke. She was more famous for being the king's long-time mistress than ruling her territory. She supposed that Nathaniel was known as the king's son because the Duke had died a year before Nathaniel was born. 

"Why would the king acknowledge a bastard son like you?" Her cheeks flushed. 

She hadn't meant to say that out loud. Still, she'd been wondering about it since she met Nathaniel. He was a marquis, not a duke as Ryne required, and he wasn't a prince either. 

"My father and his wife, the queen, like one-upping one another in their romantic exploits," Nathaniel said. "She was bragging about Fletcher, and the king wanted to put her in her place. Because everyone knows about the affair, my mother and I rarely get to leave court, and Ryne deals with our absence. I know what it's like to live in exile, princess. I'd rather travel with the rangers than be around my father and his sick games."

"I'm sorry," Estefania said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's easier to run than feel," he said. "Believe me, princess."

The heat in her cheeks crept down her body. "I know what it's like not to feel. Do you know why they sent me away?"

Nathaniel took a step backward and gripped an armoire on the wall tightly. "The Sahar heirs were cursed. At least that's the rumor that you can't step foot in your own land."

 "It may be true," she said. "But I don't know. Either way, I cannot go home until summoned by my grandmother, who is sending me to Cyra."

"That doesn't seem fair," Nathaniel said. "I know this isn't what you wanted."

Estefania looked down. She'd never had the luxury of making choices. The Brothers had taught her to be content with that. Yes, she wanted to go to Sahar, but she would follow her grandmother's commands. After all, the old woman knew best. 

"I will make the best of it," Estefania said. "At least my sister Avangelique is in Cyra. That's better in the family where my father visits less than once a year. Perhaps I'll even see my brother. Solomon said that he was meeting us in Cyra for the balls."

"Prince Bastien doesn't leave Nene," Nathaniel said. "I've seen him when I've traveled there with the Rangers. Avangelique always sends a dozen letters to me to give him. I've heard rumors he likes to get away from his vizier, but he stays inside the city."

"We are servants to the crown," Estefania repeated the line Solomon had repeatedly drilled into her head. We must bend to its will."

"Indeed," Nathaniel said. "You're different from what I expected, princess."

There was an almost predatory glint in his eyes. It passed almost immediately, replaced by something strange: panic and guilt. Then he schooled his face in a blank expression, and Estefania frowned, wondering what she'd done wrong. 

"I should go," he said. "Someone else will bring you breakfast. Goodnight, princess."

He darted from the room like a cornered animal just as a massive wave rocked the boat. Estefania gripped a table and crawled back into her bed as a storm slapped against the boat. She closed her eyes and wondered what would happen to her when she reached Cyra.

Everything was happening so fast. At least the Marquis was her friend, and she'd see Avangelique and Bastien in Cyra. She'd have someone by her side as she faced the Cyrans.

The wind howled, and she lay in her cabin as the storm grew louder. She threw her pillow over her head to stifle the sounds of thunder and rain. As she drifted off to sleep, the last thing she heard was a strange moan that cut through the air like a howl that she couldn't be sure in the morning was real or her imagination frenzied by the storm.