A week after terms had been negotiated with the Seeker Company, Emma sat in a carriage that rolled through the streets of Grenaserrat City. She was accompanied by her brother and the three leaders of the Seeker Company. She had asked her brother where they were going, but the High King had only smiled and said it was a surprise.

Emma had found herself constantly fascinated with the Sersalvonians. They stood out so much in the Réaltimarine court and they cared so little for Réaltimarine traditions. They constantly defied the norm in both style and behavior. They kept close to each other, never trusting the Réaltimarine nobles. She also found herself captivated by Carabaí culture. However, there were few books that were not restricted that she could read about the Carabaí-folk and their way of life. She had yet to gather her courage and approach the foreigners.

The carriage soon left the walls of Grenaserrat City behind them. The road they took hung closely to a small tributary. The tropical weather was unbearable. It was simply too warm. Emma missed the temperate summers of her homeland. She remembered how she would despise the frigid winters but now. . . now she missed them almost more than anything.

Her brother sat in front of her, his eyes glazing over the foreign countryside. It was moments like these where High King Peter would melt away and reveal the brother underneath. Her brother underneath.

"Do you ever miss home?" she asked him quietly. Her voice barely above a whisper.

She could see he was slightly surprised at her question. "Of course. Every day."

They rode in silence for a little while.

"What do you miss most about it?"

His lips drew into a thin line. "The winters. The snow. The scent of pine trees. Everything. There's not really one specific thing I can pinpoint."

Emma nodded in understanding. "I miss the people most, I think."

"The people here are pathetic, aren't they?"

"What do you mean?" Emma mumbled.

Peter snarled. "They're all weak. Soft, spineless creatures. Nothing like the people back home. They are inferior to us. The only thing they're good for is the labor of the fields."

"Even the man who killed Sir Jonatan?" she whispered.

A smile tugged at Peter's lips. "Fair point, elder sister."

Finally, their carriage reached the rice fields. The wet, flat expanse was filled with rice plants. It was a sea, one that stretched for miles on end. Emma stared at everything in awe. It was essentially a massive plantation.

"What are we doing here?" she asked Peter.

"Checking on the slaves," he answered.

All around them, Grenesarri harvested rice by scythe and sickle. Overseers walked amongst them, holding whips in their hands. Any time one of the slaves faltered, an overseer would ravage them with his whip. Men, women, and children alike were sentenced to the fields. In just a few seconds, Emma heard seven screams as the weak Grenesarri fell to the ground, writhing under the cold leather of the whip. Every crack of the whip struck through the air. But Emma did not flinch. Not once.

At least until she heard the screams of rape.

Emma grimaced and tried to close her eyes and ignore the screams. But she just couldn't. She wanted to turn and scream at her younger brother to make them stop. But she knew it was the right of the overseers to use the slaves as they see fit as long as work got done as well. The slaves were nothing more than property after. . . not humans.

At least, that's what she tried to tell herself.

It seemed to be a large farmhouse that had been revamped with fences and a contingent of guards. As they walked up the steps onto the porch, the young Sersalvonian―Salvador, Emma remembered―stopped, turned, and stared at the rice fields. He heard the screams as well. Emma could see that he was trying to maintain that stoic facade, but he was failing. The dark-skinned captain seemed to not care for the enslavement of the Grenesarri. The large knight, Gerard, wore an expression of sadness. He put his hand on Salvador's shoulder and whispered something into his ear. Salvador's face seemed to twist in pain and he gripped Gerard's hand as if it was the only thing that kept him anchored in the raging river of grief and pain. Peter noticed the exchange and did not smile. However, Emma noticed the malicious twinkle in his eyes.

The arch-overseer of the rice fields came to them and bowed. "Your Majesty. Your Highness," he said in greeting. "It is a pleasure to have you here."

Peter only nodded. "We have brought with us some guests, overseer." He motioned at the three Sersalvonians who had just exited their carriage. "They are mercenaries."

The arch-overseer blinked in surprise. "Carabaí-folk, Your Majesty?"

"Yes."

The arch-overseer gulped. "Your Majesty. . . is it wise for them to see their kin in manacles?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "They are spoils of war. I'm sure the Carabaí-folk understand that. Anyhow, these are Grenesarri whilst my mercenaries are Sersalvonian. There is no kinship between the two."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

They entered the arch-overseer's office and the man began his report to Peter. The plantation was massive; it consisted of the rice fields, sugarcane fields, to the north, cocoa beans being harvested further to the west, and maize to the east. The plantation consisted of thousands upon thousands of acres and thousands of slaves were set to harvest. With every number reported, Emma noticed Salvador's face tighten a little bit more. His eyes were a different story; he did not attempt to hide the wildfire that burned in his dark irises.

"Good work, man," Peter said, rising from his seat. "Keep it up and ther money will flow from Evrúopa like the rapids of the Whitewater." The arch-overseer beamed.

They left the arch-overseer's office and Peter turned to the Sersalvonians and asked, "What do you think, my good men?"

Salvador turned his face away from Peter.

Even Tomas's voice was tight when he answered, "It's a job well done, Your Majesty." Gerard nodded in agreement.

Peter smiled. "I thought so. If the Grenesarri had not resisted so much, we would've let them retain some measure of freedom. But we had to crush that spirit of resistance completely, we could not let them retain even a measure of it after they capitulated. If they had agreed to our original terms, none of this would've happened. I pray that the other Carabaí nations have some sense of wisdom and bow to the peryton of Réaltimar."

They entered their carriages in silence. Once the carriage door had closed, Emma couldn't help but ask, "Why did you show them the slaves?"

Peter shrugged. "They would've found out on their own. Better to exhibit the slaves and tell them that they're homes will be spared if they simply accept Réaltimarine rule. These men will undoubtedly have connections elsewhere in the Caraíbes Isles and they will set an example for the rest of the Isles. If the Carabaí-folk see their kinsmen accepting their rightful Réaltimarine overlords, then they will follow."

They rode in silence for the rest of the time. Once they reached the Hibiscus Keep, High Lord Steward Elias watched their arrival. When they stepped out of the carriage the old man grumbled, "You should've told me you were leaving. Where did you go?"

"None of your business, steward," Peter snapped. A couple of High Guard knights wielding halberds came to escort the group into the castle. The Sersalvonians watched Elias warily. Salvador seemed to square up the guards. She wondered if he was thinking about dancing over their dead bodies. She kept on seeing Jonatan's bleeding corpse when she looked at Salvador. It was chilling.

"Your Majesty," Elias said respectfully but ignoring Emma, "how can I protect you if I don't know where you are?"

"I don't need your protection, Elias."

"Just like how your father did not need protection when he died to the hands of the Faorise barbarians."

Peter stopped dead in his tracks. It was a low blow, and Emma could see that Elias knew that.

"One more mention of my father in that way and I shall string you up like I did the last High Steward," Peter threatened.

Elias nodded but he wasn't afraid. Peter was visibly chastened after that exchange. The High King dismissed the Sersalvonians and Emma. As the mercenaries hurried off, Emma had the sudden urge to follow them. Giving in to that urge, she trailed them a ways away so they would not notice her.

As they traveled through the Hibiscus Keep, the Sersalvonians turned the corner. Emma hurried after them, wishing not to lose them. As soon as she turned the corner, she immediately ran into the hulking mass that was Sir Gerard Elwyn. Emma let out a little cry and fell to the ground. She saw Salvador and Captain Tomas standing next to Gerard. Salvador was snickering but Tomas' face was stoic, per usual.

"Your Highness," Gerard said, not in greeting.

Attempting to retain whatever dignity she had left, Emma stood up and brushed off dust from her dress and fixed her golden hair. "Sir Gerard Elwyn," she said in return, trying to muster a royal air.

"If I may, Princess," Tomas began, "what brings you to... following us?"

Emma searched for an answer but came up empty-handed.

"Well wouldn't you know it. An Evrúopean who doesn't know what to say," Salvador mocked. "Gerard, I suggest you write down both the time and the date. This may be a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

"Is this how you speak to your monarchs back at home?" she shot at him.

Salvador grinned maliciously. It looked eerily similar to that of the nightwolf that her brother kept in the cage in the throne hall. "I don't have a monarch, darling," he quipped.

Emma decided she would not back down to this boy. He was Carabaí-folk, an inferior breed to the Réaltimarine. She puffed her chest and spat back, "Well sooner or later someone's will come around to put you back in your place. You dance amongst your superiors like a mouse in a nest of pit vipers."

To her surprise, Gerard chuckles. "Finally, someone other than Angelica who can match you word for word, Salvador." Even Tomas snorted.

"Sorry, Gerard, but I'm not in the mood for jests and jabs."

The Freelancer Knight's smile fell. "Truthfully, neither am I."

I suppose the sight of those slaves really did a toll on them, Emma thought.

"Anyhow, Princess, it may be best if you go. I doubt the other noblemen and women would like it very much to see the heir presumptive speaking to a trio of Sersalvonian mercenaries," Captain Tomas said, not unkindly.

What? "Heir presumptive?" Emma said, confused.

Tomas blinked. "Is that not a title where you come from? After all, if the High King dies―" Emma made the Sign of the Star. "―you shall inherit the throne."

Emma couldn't stop herself from scoffing. "A woman inheriting the High Chair? You Sersalvonians must indeed be mad."

Gerard murmured something in their native tongue to Tomas who uncharacteristically showed surprise. "Ah. Forgive me, Princess. I spoke out of turn," amended the captain.

But Emma now had a hunch. "Why would you even think I could inherit the throne?"

This time, Salvador stepped up. "Back at home, in Sersalvon, women are allowed to hold titles and inherit land. Some other countries in the Caraíbes do so as well. Grenaserrat does not however. It is considered unorthodox amongst most Carabaí-folk to not allow both male and female inheritance. We assumed Evrúopeans would consider it the same. Needless to say that we were wrong." And they hurried away.

Emma stood there, stunned. Women allowed to inherit land? Titles? Thrones? Emma had heard about such things happening back at home, but only in the most extreme cases when every single male heir and claimant had died. For it to be orthodox amongst the Carabaí-folk seemed preposterous. There truly were many things she did not understand about the Caraíbes.