The King Trials 2: Beyond.

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

Our luxurious sleeping quarters are is it sounds. 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 of the 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 clench as I take my gaze upwards to the ceiling completed with mould, the corners growing vines 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 twists and climbs into a hammock on the far backside of the room. The hammock dips at the sudden weight. He lifts his arms to fold behind his head comfortably. “There is no use in complaining, if I have learnt anything these past months, it is just that.”

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 with a hair band ready on his wrist. “Cuddle her from danger?”

“Precisely,” he agrees with pure 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.”

His gaze draws to mine, 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 grow out 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, and a too large of a 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 poorly tries to mask his grimace. “What is it?”

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

“And how would you know that? A favourite of yours?” Brennon asks wryly.

He leans back into his seat and crosses his arms. “Seen it done before. That dish is a delicacy among the low lives. It’s what our servant girls make to feed our slaves, a token of our kindness during sacred days.”

Everyone else takes their seats. I am situated at the one head of the table with the perfect view of the dying sun. A molten red with an eddy of amethyst and sapphire that bleeds into the horizon. The drifting clouds set afire with a flaming orange on the lining. Black outlines of airborne birds soaring, riding the eventide thermals.

When the breadbasket finally makes its round to me. I am not surprised that the shell of the roll is as hard as a rock. However, I rather dent my teeth than taste that dish of white lumps, the mere sight of it is nauseating. Hopefully, there is something better for breakfast.

It’s clear that the Herems share my revulsion. The breadbasket is almost empty, but the dish of death remains untouched. All of us are engaged in our own conversations, a crossway between Vince, Solaris and I. Though they are not fond of each other, their disdain is commendably concealed by their civil demeanour, a well-groomed dinner etiquette. But I suppose that is part of the upbringing of a noble, to behave well-manneredly in the presence of those you despise.

My gaze wanders aimlessly before it sharply reverts to fix ahead of me. Brennon seated directly opposite me with Dario and Markiveus at his flanks. The malign trinity exchange scornful whispers, occasional glances thrown my way.

“Show it,” Solaris demands.

“Why?”

Dario catches my gaze before he poisons me with a venomous smile.

“Is it not a brand of pride?” Solaris taunts. “Show us.”

His lips slide into a smirk. “Is this a tactic to undress me?”

Solaris’s face deadpans. “I’d rather eat the entire dish of gutted fish than see that. Besides, I know where they barbarically mark Emikrollians from Regnum Ethane.”

Brennon casts another blatant look my way.

“Solaris, first I was weary of you, but now you irk me,” Vince says with rising anger. “This is my last warning, ignore it again I will show you the true barbarism of an Ethane.”

I lift a placating hand. But my eyes are dead set on Brennon. “Enough.”

Before he can look away, I seize his gaze, and I tip my head at him. Louder, I say, “Is there something you would like to ask me, Herem Brennon?”

Markiveus and Dario look at me simultaneously, a twin look of malice flares in their eyes.

“Yes.” He exaggeratedly pokes a finger at me like I won a prize. “I wanted to know something.”

I tilt my head closer, arcing my ear so that it faces him. “I am listening.”

“Your training,” he states questioningly.

“What?”

“I did not take a savage test like the Blood Games to see it. It was evident from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he says, and gestures a quick hand at me. “I am referring to your athletic physique. It is clear that you were trained, you are neither bony nor obese like the others. Which you should be as it is frowned upon for a woman of your noble birth to learn anything but embroidery or a musical instrument.”

“Nor is it illicit,” Solaris slips in.

“No-one was talking to you,” Dario says to Solaris. “Do what you do best and remain silent as the Hera’s noble lapdog.”

Markiveus frees a rolling snort before he barks a guffaw, slumping back into his seat with a derisive grin.

“Pay them no attention,” I mutter to Solaris, my own anger awakened, frothing inside of me like an active volcano.

“Easy now,” Markiveus says with mock warning, his laugh restarting. “You might wound the feelings of her plaything.”

My anger erupts. On its own violation, my fist pounds the table, rattling everything on top. A few glasses crash on their sides with contagion thuds. Triggering an instant silence from all.

I retract my hand immediately, deflating my widened eyes. I subdue my own shock.

“Speak out of turn, look at me in any ill way and I will show you.” My eyes slice from Markiveus to Dario. “I will show any of you how well I have been trained.”

The silence stretches strenuously before Dario sunders it with a wry chuckle. “Rimnick was right, the poor bastard.” He looks back at me brazenly with an expression that can wither flowers. “You do need to be put in your place, little Hera.”

My anger bolts me forward, lunging, banging against the head of the table, objects clanking—struck together to cause loud, sharp clanging. Vince grips my arm, reining me back, both of us halfway up from our vacated seats.

“Pathetic.” Dario’s chuckle morphs into a malicious laugh. “Thank you, Vince. Restrain the little mutt, she seems to lack more than control.”

I relinquish myself from Vince’s hold and burst back; the chair flying rearwards. My heart beats at a frenzied tempo, my breathing erratic. I grip my wrist, rubbing it incessantly.

I rotate and briskly march towards our shared cabin. Hasty footsteps follow behind me.

“Aurora, what was that? What happened?” Concern rushes his words. “What’s wrong?”

“I am alright.” My voice jittery. Still rubbing, fast, like my hand was too tightly shackled.

“Where are you going?”

I try to regain my composure, but my own body denies me. “Cabin. I need rest.”

The quick footsteps end. “I will leave you to rest.”

“No.” I whirl around. My wrist bone still being crushed by my own grip. “Can you—I—”

Solaris dismisses my stuttering with a curt hand wave. “You do not need to ask. Of course I will stay with you.”