The King Trials 2: Beyond.

~I Choose You~

When we land at the cerulean harbour. The changeover from airship to a boat is fast-paced and efficient. A mass haul from one form of transport to another, new crew, new Captain. 

The vessel built from acacia wood is long and sturdy. The carvel built of the vessel is where the hull planks are laid edge to edge and fastened to a robust frame, thereby forming a smooth surface. It is square-rigged on the foremast and mainmast and lateen-rigged on the mizzenmast. Along with a high rounded stern with large aft castle, forecastle and bowsprit at the stem. A multi-deck ship that resembles a galleon.

We divert our personal belongings to our allocated cabins. Solaris, Vince and I share quarters. Treyton, Markiveus and Brennon share another. Before I know it, the voyager sets sail down a strait that leads straight to open waters.

The winds saturated with brine, strong and pleasant.

The glimmering horizon marks an infinite boundary. A beaming noontide sun shines its delight on the surface of the sea, causing the pools of shimmering white to sparkle sporadically, too quick for my eyes to catch even one twinkle.

The melody of the ocean's ballad inspires absolute tranquillity. The idyllic waves lapping against the hull, the soaring fowls cawing in the air. I adore the sound of moving waters. It's both weird and wonderful. I am so used to flying high in the sky; I have almost forgotten the humble phenomena of sailing below.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Solaris's eyes like sea glass that emulate the splendid, jewel blue of the ocean.

I hum a yes. Savouring the fleeting peace. for I know it will not last.

"Truth be told, I am not so fond of our next destination."

"I take it you are not an admirer of the cold?"

He theatrically shudders his shoulders in emphasis. "No. Nivalis is an Icelandic wonder, but the temperatures are artic, barely endurable. Frankly, their climate is warmer than their people, but you will adapt to them just fine."

I pivot to face him. "How so?"

"You seem to have a penchant for the cold," he says and casts a purposeful look behind me.

I follow his line of sight over my shoulders to see Primus Kelan speaking with the Captain and Duce Merian. By destined chance, he looks up—in my direction. Our gaze meets, tethering for an intense moment, fraught with a blaze of emotions. He moves, stepping towards me. Duce Merian impedes his path, frantically relaying his concerns to him before he walks off, forced to pursue.

My gaze sinks, physically deflating.

"Is that how you two communicate?" Solaris asks with jeering seriousness. "Through long, wanting looks of passion. Is it the secondary stage of a mating ritual?"

I whip forward, slamming a fist at his shoulder, triggering a fit of goofy snickers from him. It's interesting to see that the Herems—everyone. Their complexions have darkened at least by a shade or two. Solaris flaunts a stunning, sun-kissed skin like a honeyed bronze. A perfect golden tan.

Vince exhibits a dulcet, light tone of desert sand. A deep olive complexion.

Whereas Kelan's exquisite silky skin remains a delicate hue of a winter's moon. A resplendent contrast to his stoic demeanour, sculpted features hewn into a rigid reserve.

"He is not cold," I say unthinkingly. "Merely withdrawn."

He gives me a challenging look. "I swear I could hand him a newborn pup and he wouldn't even blink. He could scare off a hellhound with a just a flick of a scowl."