“He’s my father.”
“He is my husband.”
“Then come.”
“I cannot abandon the capital with the Regent loose.”
“Then let me.”
“You are twelve.”
“Nearly thirteen.”
The Captain looked away, possibly to hide a smile.
The Queen noticed.
“You find this amusing?”
“No, my Queen.”
“You shoved him ten minutes ago.”
“To save his life.”
“Do it again if necessary.”
The Prince glared at both.
The Queen moved closer.
“I already lost your father to that sea.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Exactly.”
Her voice cracked.
The Prince stopped.
The Queen touched his face.
For one moment, she was no longer ruler.
Only mother.
“I cannot lose you to the same horizon.”
He placed his hand over hers.
“Then don’t send me because I’m a prince.”
She looked confused.
“Send me because I’m the only one who can read Father’s message.”
The Old Archer spoke quietly.
“He may be right.”
The Queen turned.
“You are not helping.”
“I rarely do.”
The Captain stepped forward.
“I will go.”
The Queen looked at him.
“With the Prince.”
“No.”
“My Queen, the Regent has already tried to kill him inside the palace.”
“That is an argument for keeping him guarded here.”
“It is an argument that nowhere is safe while we remain predictable.”
The Queen stared at him.
The Captain continued.
“If the King lives, finding him ends the Regent’s claim instantly.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
The Prince answered.
“Then we bring home the truth.”
Two days later, a single black-hulled galley left before sunrise.
No royal banners.
No trumpets.
No public farewell.
The Young Prince stood near the prow wearing a plain brown tunic beneath a traveling cloak.
The King’s bow rested against his shoulder.
The Old Archer stood behind him.
The Captain commanded thirty trusted soldiers and sailors.
The Queen remained at the harbor until the ship became small against the sea.
The Prince looked back only once.
His mother still stood there.
He lifted one hand.
She did not.
Not because she did not want to.
Because if she moved, she feared she would order the ship back.
The first three days were calm.
The Prince hated them.
Adventure had sounded better in stories.
Real ships smelled of tar, sweat, fish, wet rope, and men who did not care that royalty became seasick.
On the second morning, the Prince leaned over the rail vomiting.
The Old Archer stood nearby.
“Heroic.”
“Go away.”
“Your father vomited for two days on his first campaign.”
The Prince turned.
“Really?”
“No.”
The boy glared.
The Old Archer smiled.
By the fourth day, the sea changed.
Black clouds formed along the horizon.
The Captain studied them.
“Too fast.”
Sailors shortened canvas.
Wind struck.
The galley tilted.
Rain came hard.
The Prince gripped the rail.
The Old Archer shouted orders.
Then, through the storm, a second ship appeared.