ARTHUR
A SHARP KNOCK CUT THROUGH THE QUIET OF THE KING'S CHAMBERS. Gilgamesh sat upright instantly, and Arthuria pushed up beside him, already reaching for the lamp.
"Who could that be at this hour…" she muttered.
Gilgamesh swung his legs out of bed and marched to the door, pulling it open with force, and froze. Arthur stood in the doorway, pale. And behind him… Artizea.
"Dad, I—" he whispered, but stopped himself upon feeling his sister trembling. "… we need your help."
The king's expression softened, his gaze darting to his daughter, "Artizea? What's happened?"
Arthuria was already crossing the room, her robe half-tied, hair wild. Her daughter collapsed into her arms.
"I just… I need a break," Artizea breathed. The words came like a confession, like defeat.
"I will go with her," Arthur said quietly.
Gilgamesh hesitated only a heartbeat before resting a hand on his daughter's head, smoothing her hair back with gentleness, "I will write to Alexander," he said.
"Do that," Arthuria said as she kissed Artizea's forehead. "Come, let me make you some tea," she murmured, guiding her out to the balcony.
The next morning, the legendary Egyptian vessel arrived on Babylonian soil, anchored at the royal docks. Alexander stormed into the throne room before the guards could announce him.
"Bring the Crown Princess and the first prince's belongings aboard," he commanded the attendants.
Gilgamesh smirked. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
Alexander shrugged. "I was in the area, let me guess, Boy trouble?"
"Something like that, I think," he muttered, rubbing his face.
"You think?" Alexander barked a laugh. "Ah, well. The sea washes away more sins than any priests ever could."
Gilgamesh winced. "If only…"
Alexander reached into his cloak. "I brought what you asked for."
A key—old, bronze, etched in pharaoh's script—gleamed in his palm. Gilgamesh inspected it with the reverence reserved for relics. Just then, Elaine barreled inside.
"UNCLE SANTA!"
Alexander caught her mid-leap and spun her around. "Hey, kiddo."
"Help me convince my dad to let me come with you! PLEASE!"
Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes. "You are still grounded."
She groaned dramatically.
Alexander knelt and took her hands. "I need someone here to look after Eugene while I try to fix your sister. Can you do that for me?"
Elaine slumped. "…Yeah."
"Good girl," he praised.
"All loaded, Your Grace," a guard reported.
Alexander rolled his shoulders. "Excelente, where is the little king?"
"In her room," Arthur muttered, pushing away from leaning against the wall outside. He looked defeated. "I… I don't know what to do."
Alexander sighed, "Well, shit…" he stalked past him.
Artizea sat on the balcony, wrapped in a gold-trimmed silk cover, face hidden under its veil. She did not look up when footsteps approached.
"Hey, sweetheart," Alexander said softly.
"Uncle…"
"Ready to go?"
A long, painful pause. "Yeah…" she finally breathed out.
"Come on."
He helped her to her feet, still never lifting her gaze, and followed him down the halls. She boarded the ship first, not waiting for goodbyes.
Arthuria approached Alexander with a sweet smile, too sweet. "If anything happens to my babies," she said calmly, "You will not have a proper burial. I will scatter the ashes of your mutilated limbs myself….across your precious sea, if I see any scratches—any—bruises…everyone male above the tender age of 18 upon your vessel will be losing more than a cock, am I making myself clear."
Alexander grinned. "I will certainly relay the message, Ria."
"I am sure you will," Gilgamesh said, clapping Alexander on the back firmly. "Do try your best not to lose them."
"I won'ttt," he whined.
Arthur suddenly stepped forward, then froze. "Wait—I'll be back." He sprinted off.
Alexander blinked. "Where is he going?"
Arthuria smirked. "He has a girlfriend."
Alexander's eyes widened. "Really..? Does she know he had a huge head?" he erupted in laughter.
Arthur almost knocked on Cesealia's door—but stopped just short. He glanced down the hallway, then to the side, thinking. With a soft exhale, he stepped back, bent his knees, and with a silent leap pulled himself onto her roof. He moved carefully across the tiles until he reached her open window. Not wanting to startle her, he eased himself inside, landing as quietly as he could. He barely had time to look for a candle before a blur hit him from the side—Cesealiatackled him to the floor, one knee on his chest, a sharp knife pressed to his throat.
"Wait—wait—Ce, it is just me!"
Her messy hair fell forward as she blinked down at him, still half-asleep. "Arthur?" she whispered. "It is barely dawn."
"I know, I'm sorry." He swallowed, forcing the words out. "… Artizea and I are leaving."
Her expression fell in an instant. "For how long?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I did not wish you waking up and wondering if I got lost at sea…"
She searched his face, then let out a shaky breath and reached out to rest her hand on his chest.
"I don't have a lot of time…" he said slowly, then blinked, caught off guard. It was only now that he realized what she was wearing, "Is that my tunic I lost?"
"I haven't a clue of which you speak…" she muttered, leaning just slightly closer.
"Is that so?" he murmured, his hand slipping under it, to clasp something firm, "It sure looks like mine to me."
"Positive," She tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief as she traced a finger along the edge of its collar. "It looks much better on me than it does on you," she teased, a playful lilt in her voice. "I may return it… if you behave while you're gone."
A grin tugged at his lips, "And what exactly would you have me do in the meantime?"
"Figure it out." She laughed softly, brushing her hair from her face and letting her hand linger near his chest. "Just come back in one piece. That's all I ask."
"I'll do my best," he said, voice low, unable to hide the warmth spreading through him at her teasing. "Is there anything you'd like me to bring back?"
Cesealia's shoulders tightened with a shy. Slowly, she reached beneath the collar of her shirt and pulled out a small folded cloth, keeping it half-hidden in her fist. "Here," she mumbled. "For your safe return."
Arthur blinked, confused, until her outstretched hand hovered in front of his face. His thumb brushed the soft fabric, tracing the embroidered initial: C. Then slowly, helplessly, he smiled as she covered her face in embarrassment. He parted her hands away, then cupped her cheeks, but before they could kiss, the door opened with force.
"The front door works perfectly fine," Rosetta snapped.
"Gran—!" Cesealia yelped, diving for the blankets.
Rosetta dropped a woven basket on top of Arthur's chest, "Provisions. Don't eat all the tarts in one day like last time."
Arthur huffed on impact, "I did not." Rising to his feet.
"You did," Cesealia and Rosetta said in unison.
Rosetta jabbed a finger at the basket. "And bring back my basket. I like that basket."
"I will," he assured.
Cesealia threw her peaking arms around him from the balcony, one last time, burying her face in his shoulder. "I mean it, Arthur. Come back."
Arthur inspecting, caressing it, "I will," he replied, and then he pulled away, slowly, reluctantly. He lingered for a heartbeat, memorizing her face, before finally forcing himself to turn and make his way back down the hill toward the docks.
When he made it back. Alexander was already waiting by the gangplank, arms crossed, smirking at his disheveled appearance, "That was quick," he remarked.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "She lives nearby."
Alexander's mouth fell open dramatically, hands flying up in broken sign language.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Arthur snorted and walked right past him.
Alexander placed a hand on his chest as if wounded. "Rude."
But Arthur was already moving on to say goodbye to Eugene and Elaine. Elaine pulled him into a tight hug. Eugene was pulled into an even tighter embrace. When the final goodbyes were said and the ropes were loosened, the family waved as the vessel prepared to cast off.
Arthur stood at the rail, watching the crew move with sharp precision, ropes flying, boots thudding, orders shouted and obeyed without question. It was a world he did not understand, yet something about it pulled at him.
Alexander appeared beside him, hands on his hips, grinning like he'd caught Arthur doing something embarrassing. "Interested in learning?" he asked, raising a brow.
Arthur shrugged, trying and failing to look uninterested. "Maybe."
"Maybe, he says." Alexander let out a bark of laughter. "That's how it starts. Next thing you know, you'll be the first Pendragon prince to be a pirate."
"Unlikely," Arthur muttered. "I am more of a land prince."
"How do you know what you are destined to be if you have not first tried other aspects of life?" Alexander said, "Hm?"
Arthur froze.
"Let me show you why sailors don't quit this life," Alexander said, clapping a hand on his back. He dragged Arthur across the deck, weaving between crewmen. He pointed at ropes, pulleys, and sails, explaining how each piece depended on the rest.
"See this line?" he said, tugging on a thick rope. "You tighten this at the wrong time, you flip the whole damn ship. That's power. Respect the ship, or she kills you. Simple."
Arthur blinked. "…That seems dangerous."
"You sound like your brother."
"Take that back."
Alexander tapped the side of his head in thought, "Nah," he finally said with a grin. They moved on, stopping by the mast, knocking against the wood. "This holds the main sail. Break this, and we drift like idiots until someone finds us. Maybe in a week. Maybe in a year. Maybe never…."
Arthur frowned. "Is it too late to turn back around?"
"Yes—" Alexander rested a hand on the mast. "But if it helps, I have never had a man die at sea from lack of leadership, or lack of sails."
Arthur followed his gaze across the deck, watching how every action echoed into another—the pull of one rope affecting the tilt of a sail, the tilt affecting the wind, the wind affecting the speed. "Everything has a purpose…" he murmured. "balance."
Alexander blinked. 'What?"
"Even the parts no one sees. Everything is connected for a reason. When one thing doesn't work, it just… doesn't…" Arthur cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious.
Alexander's grin sharpened, impressed. "You call it whatever you want, Arthur, I call it …" He swept his hand toward the horizon. "Being the King of the Seas, remember?"
"Yeah," Arthur smiled softly, "Yeah, I remember." creasing the handkerchief once more.
Alexander squinted, leaned forward, then grinned, "So…who is the lucky woman?"
Arthur sighed. His jaw worked once before he finally exhaled. "Cesealia," he said at last.
Alexander blinked. "mHm…"
"Don't."
"I'm not doing anything," Alexander sang.
Arthur groaned. "What do you want to know?"
Alexander steepled his fingers. "What did your father say?"
Arthur hesitated, but only because the memory surprised him too. "Surprisingly… he approves."
Alexander laughed under his breath, "Why wouldn't he?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "She's different. The kind of difference I thought he would not…" He swallowed, searching for the right word. "…understand."
Alexander's expression softened, "Everyone has a past," he said. "Including him. He is the last person who gets to judge his own virgin son." He practically shouted
A chorus of laughter rippled through the crew as the wind whipped around them, and the sails snapped full, catching the sun. For the first time on the journey, Arthur felt something unfamiliar bloom in his chest.
Arthur scowled instantly to hide the blush, "Was that supposed to be funny?" he muttered.
"Eugene paid me."
"Wonderful…" Arthur cheered. "Good to know."
Alexander nudged him with his elbow. "So? Ready to steer her?"
Arthur hesitated. "…That sounds so sexual."
Alexander threw his head back and laughed. Then he planted his feet at the helm, swung the wheel dramatically, letting the wind slap his hair, and then breathed in…nothing. His brows knit together. "BASSETT!" he shouted, then locked the wheel in place.
A skinny deckhand flinched. "I—it's Basin, Your Grace—"
"Sure, any particular reason," he called loudly, "why I cannot feel the kisses of those lovely women from the port anymore, Master Barnie?"
Basin blinked. "The… the sails are stuck, sir."
"Stuck?" Alexander repeated slowly, "Well, that does explain it." He marched toward the rigging, snatching Basin's pistol right out of his belt.
BANG.
The rope holding the jammed sail snapped free with a violent crack. One end whipped toward him, and Alexander casually caught it with one gloved hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Arthur. "Watch and learn, kid." He braced his stance, muscles coiling, and yanked the rope downward, sending himself upward. One sail snapped open with such force that the entire ship lurched, wood groaning as the wind punched into the canvas. The crew nearly stumbled over. Alexander just laughed. He dropped the rope, drew his sword in one smooth motion, and sliced the frayed end clean. The other sail fully unfurled, billowing majestically, sending the ship surging forward with new speed. He grabbed the loose line again, swung off the side of the mast, arced across the deck, and landed on one of the main guard rails with a heavy thud. Then, finally lifted both arms like a performer taking a bow as the crew cheered.
Arthur stared. "…How are you still alive?"
Alexander strutted toward him, "Practice Determination, and an excellent relationship with the god of death," he listed off, "BEN!"
"Basin..sir.." Basin correct, sadly.
"Who gives a shit?" Alexander barked, grinning. "We're at sea! This ship holds Men who were criminals, still wanted, men who are almost men, yet to taste the lips of a woman, men whose mothers were whores and whose fathers knew no better—MEN OF THE SEA!"
A roar erupted from the crew.
Alexander pointed forward like a general charging into battle. "ALL HANDS ON DECK! MAKE THOSE SAILS FLY! GODSPEED!" He paused. "And good gods in hell! SOMEONE GET ME A BEER!"
Arthur stared in awe as the ship came alive, the ropes pulled, the sails snapped open, the deck vibrated with purpose beneath his boots. Sea mist sprayed across his face, and for a moment, he understood why some men chose the ocean over a crown. Then he caught sight of Artizea. She stood near the edge of the ship, eyes closed, letting the salty wind sweep through her hair. There was peace on her face, fragile, brief, but real. The kind she had not worn since before everything went wrong. He moved to her side. "And then there were two," he said lightly,
She hummed in acknowledgment, her gaze still on the horizon. "Thank you… for coming with me."
"What would you do without me?" he teased.
"Good question," she whispered, a soft smile tugging at her lips, then rested her head on his shoulder. He did not move, not even when the ship tilted, as the last glimpse of their family disappeared behind the curve of the harbor.