The King Trials 2: Beyond.

~Triggered~

I rather sleep with the sea creatures of the deep before I share a cabin with the Herems.

Our 'luxurious' sleeping quarters. One to share. A dingy rectangular shaped wooden cabin, with no windows, our luggage shoved to one wall, stacked on top of each other. With nine white hanging hammocks, each outfitted with lumpy-looking pillows and mattered blankets.

At least the unoccupied ones will create space between the ones that are.

The hammocks were chaotically strung at random. Hoisted up cocoon beds loop through the entire room, dispersed but densely packed into the meagre size cabin. We all tread in cautiously, as if wary of any animal that might sprout from nowhere.

My face crinkling with every step, the horrific odour only strengthening; a stench of soured milk and rotten food. I sniff the air and a rancid taste smears itself on my tongue. My cheeks inflate, I take my gaze up, the ceiling completed with mould, the corners growing webs of mildew.

"This is revolting, absolutely revolting," Brennon says into his elbow, words muffled by his arm locked around his nose and mouth.

"When are you going to learn?" Dario climbs into a hammock on the far backside of the room. The hammock dips at the sudden weight. He folds his arms behind his head comfortably. "There is no use in complaining, if I have learnt anything these past moons. It is just that. If I can put up with the likes of you, the impossible suddenly becomes possible."

Vince slinks towards me and drapes a burly arm around my shoulders. "At any expense, I would do anything to safeguard you, Hera. Therefore, I am willing to share a hammock with you for security purposes, to make sure no hand other than my own will touch you."

A loud sardonic laugh bursts from Solaris. "Very smooth, you certainly have a way with words. And what will you do to secure her, Herem?" Solaris asks, his fingers combing through his golden mane. A hair band ready on his wrist. "Cuddle her from danger?"

"Precisely," he agrees with true calm. "Because there is nowhere safer for her than in my arms."

I look back at Vince. Lifting my gaze, I drop my voice to a whisper, "Vince."

My eyes lures his gaze. 

A look of a victor shines in them with a sly smirk that edges on the one side. "Hera."

I mirror his smirk. "If you wish to keep your arm. I suggest you keep it off of me."

***

Later that eventide we are called for dinner. Even though I am not hungry, I am eager to flee the mould-engrossed cabin. If the Captain values wealth so much, he can use a portion of it to have his rooms cleansed and his ship, renovated.

Dinner is held on the primary balcony that overlooks all. Two square shaped tables planted together to elongate its length to accommodate us all. A pallid threadbare covering falls to the knees, the legs of the tables curved at a jaunt angle. Cheap, tarnished bowls with a measly set of utensils are positioned before each chair.

A crew boy places down a jar of water in the middle to join the other ones before he turns and zips around a corner. The centre is lined with a basket of puffed out bread rolls, a huge dish of white sloppy clumps with unidentifiable chunks of slimy and gooey lumps.

Daringly, Markiveus approaches the table and peers over to inspect the dish. He does a quick scan around it and picks up a serving spoon and dunks it inside, examining the contents with careful stirs, his fingers pinching the very end.

Treyton clears his throat uncomfortably. He tries to mask his grimace. "What is it?"

"Gutted Tilon fish cooked in boiling water, salt and gremlin ale," he answers, wiping off invisible dirt on his jerkin before he seats himself down.