#steadfast

For all your life, the divide between servant and master has been kept wide. That rift between you always steep and retractable. Now, it is nothing but a whisper.

The king's hand remain on the reins despite his fatigue. Yours are lower down on the leather. You wear the mittens of lamb's wool he found for you along with a plain but lined cloak. He is a masterful barterer.

The horse snorts as it descends the bump incline. The smell of water dampens in your nose and nips at your cheeks. You see a dock ahead along the coastline. There are boats and barges, voices hollering up into the sky, the grind of wood and billow of sail. You lean forward and squint to see it clearer.

"Gander's Crossing." The king startles you with the declaration as he straightens in the saddle. "It will lead us to sea. It is those deeper tides I worry for."

"Worry?" The word wisps from you before you can stop it.

"Yes, even I worry," he assures you. "Why shouldn't I when I have more than myself to trouble my soul?"

"A whole kingdom," you murmur, "your highness."

He hushes you. "Certainly, yes, a people alone."

You rock with the horse as he guides it down the stony pass. He waves as he comes closer to the dockers and calls 'ho'. He dismounts as you feel gazes in your direction. You stay with the horse as he speaks with a captain.

"Double gold, for your trouble..." the offer rises loud enough to hear. You can see the reticence in the grey-haired man.

"...not the horse that's the problem..."

Their voices lower again. When at last, they part, it is with the clink of coin between them. The king stalks back to the horse and works at unleashing the saddle bangs from its rump. He sighs.

"Stay close as ever," he warns.

You obey and trail him down with the horse. He passes over the steed to a boatman and he beckons you with him. There are more gazes and you wonder if they know who he is. Yet, there eyes barely seem to snag him.

"Men of the sea are wary of women," he affirms as he herds you up the ramp.

You shrink down. Oh. You come upon the barge as the king lingers like a shadow.

You're shown to a cabin. The tilt of the boat makes you dizzy. You teeter and back into the king. He catches you with his hands on your hips.

"You'll get your sea legs yet," he bids. "Best to sit."

The room is small. There is something hanging from the ceiling. You feel along the wall and slide down to sit on your feet. You feel better, less treacherous. He goes to the fabric strung from above.

He spreads the cloth and turns. He maneuvers himself into it, landing in the odd sheath that cradles him. It rocks with the boats idling sway. You shift and sit on your bottom, hugging your knees.

"A hammock. A sailor's bed," he explains.

You dip your chin down. You've only ever slept on straw and floor. You'll do just fine down here.

"I will find us some food when we set off. Let the boatsmen lift anchor first," he says. "I wouldn't mind a moment to close my eyes."

"Yes, your highness."

He hums. "There is enough room for you as well..."

"Your highness..."

"Pip," he opens an eye and looks at you.

"Poppet," you correct yourself. He grins.

"Very well. Keep mind to the bucket in the corner, lest your stomach join the river in churning," he wiggles and closes his eyes again. He yawns and drapes his arm over his face. Your eyes dart to the pail. It might not be unwise advice.

👑

You shiver as you hug the bucket. Your back racks and you ready for another violent heave. Your stomach twists but does not upend. Cold sweat drips down your forehead. You temples throb as the waves lash at the side of the boat in a startling cacophony.

"Dear pip," the king kneels beside you and mops your brow with a wet cloth. "It will pass."

Your teeth chatter and you gag. There's nothing left in you to expel. You groan and shield your face with your hand. You are humiliated.

"Is this... death?" You babble.

He laughs softly, "no, sweet pip. You are unused to the sea, that is all."

You moan again. He pulls your hand away from your face and presses his knuckles to your cheek. You lean into their comforting warmth.

"Rest will do you well," he draws you over to him as he stretches his arm over your shoulder. You shiver and slacken against him weakly. He rubs your arm as he holds you. You're too sick to care for propriety.

"My apologies, my king. I've never... never been about."

"Oh, do not apologise, sweet pip," he cooes and pets your hair. "When I was a boy. Oh, you could ask the duke yourself. We went upon a large galley. I was rather eager to be upon it but once we could not see the shore, I was but a puddle of sick."

You groan and cling to his cloak as your insides constrict. The bile sears your throat but gets no further. He hums and reaches below your cloak to rub your stomach.

"Be calm," he caresses you through your dress. "You will survive this, pip. You are ever strong."

His hand continues to move as you shake. The water hits the boat and the voices of men carry on the wind whistling above. He leans back with you against him and extends his legs out. He keeps you again him and his hand crawls along your hip. You quiver and it falls onto your thigh. He leans his head against yours as you start to hiccup.