Lucian stood tall as the ship docked. The ship shifted beneath his feet, boards aching and creaking with every movement, but his hands stayed loose by his side, no need to clutch onto the mast beside him. He’d been at sea long enough for the calm ebb and flow of the incoming tide not to bother him, not when compared to the storms they’d weathered on their way home. She was a little worse for the wear, if one were to look at her haphazard repairs and stitched-up sails, but the Havana had been his home for the better part of three years, and he was already missing her deck still beneath his feet.
Even now, with the salt air still thick in his lungs and shouts from below deck making this docking seem as commonplace as ever, Luc couldn’t shake the unmistakable feeling that this was, in some senses, the final goodbye. He wanted to soak it all in one last time – the barrels tossed from one deckhand to the other, the younger ones biting down a grunt at the unexpected weight, the creaking of the Havana’s ropes and sails and planks, the unmistakable sense of being alive, truly alive, for the last time in a long time. The wind wouldn’t ruffle his hair like this for a while, he expected, if he even managed to keep the tawny locks hanging scruffily by his jawline.
He’d be needed in a moment – he was still captain, after all, if only for a few more minutes – but for now, he wanted to engrave this moment into his mind. The Havana, in all her majesty – and just beyond, the city he was seeing for the first time in the better part of a decade.
The people moving in the marketplace, the ships already docked beside the Havana’s open berth, and the palace rising hazily in the distance – everything was just as he’d left it as a young boy, and yet here he was looking at it through fresh eyes. The rich aroma of street food – thick and overpowering, mingled with the duller scent of manure and smoke – hit his senses. Already, he could feel the salt fading. His gaze flicked from place to place, wanting to absorb it all at once. They’d docked at seaside towns before, but nothing held a candle to his hometown. Nothing ever could. An almost-boyish eagerness took hold of him, but along with it came a small tremour of trepidation of what, exactly, would greet him when he disembarked.
Five years at sea, and here he was once more, the same place he’d once left.
“Ropes secured!” came the call from Viktor, who’d already hopped off the deck to fix the ties to the berth. Luc shook his head minutely – now was not the time to dwell on the past, not when the future greeted him so boldly – and then called back an affirmative.
With a short word to his deckhands, he, too, dropped down to shore. He knew the Havana like the back of his hand; now was the chance to learn to understand, not just to know, the city before him. The land felt solid beneath his feet in a way that felt foreign to him, and he almost lost his balance for a moment. He looked around wonderously, wanting to drink it all in as swiftly as possible. The bombardment of his senses was welcome, even if he knew that nightfall would bring that incessant twitch and overwhelming, unsettling stillness that he hated so much.
In his quiet marvel, he almost didn’t notice the man standing domineeringly in front of him, not until he turned, almost chest to chest with him.
“The prodigal son returns,” the man said lowly, dark gaze piercing as it ran along the length of his body once, then twice. His face was blank, shrouded by dark hair and an impeccably-trimmed, if still intimidating, beard. His tone stayed measured. “Five years gone, and yet you’re still as scrawny as ever.” He held Luc’s gaze now, completely serious. Luc held it right back. He had an extra few inches compared to the last time he stared down Callahan Allesian in this manner, but it felt just the same.
Immediately, Cal’s face cracked into an open smile, and they both collapsed into a tight, brotherly hug. Cal had the same ferocity to his hugs that Luc remembered, forceful and constricting, and Luc could feel the shard in his chest ease. He had to swallow, strongly and forcefully, so the wanting wouldn’t show. “Too long, brother,” he said into Cal’s shoulder, forcing a low chuckle.
Cal pulled away, grabbing his head as he did so to ruffle Luc’s hair. Luc might have had a few inches on the teenager who left this very same dock, but he still let himself be manhandled by his elder brother. For a few seconds, at least – then he broke away from Cal’s grip with mock-defensiveness, not able to hide the grin that breaks across his own face. He had to keep at least some dignity.
“And what of Rhydoc?” he asked lightly, smile growing fixed. Cal’s face tightened indescribably, breaking Luc’s gaze for the first time since he arrived. “He was…otherwise occupied,” he responded, unhurried and deliberately avoiding the real answer – even after years away, Luc could read Cal’s microexpressions like a book. “I’m certain you’ll reunite at tonight’s banquet, though-” he lightened wryly at this, looking back at Luc. “- as of course we must celebrate the return of our father’s favourite son.”
Now, Luc laughed, a proper, healthy snort. “One knows well that if that were the case, I never would have strayed so long,” he commented dryly, but there was an unspoken gravity between the two of them that he couldn’t quite shake.
They began moving away from the berth, falling into an easier conversation now that the pleasantries – and unpleasantries – were out of the way. Lucian asked him endless questions as they walked, quizzing him on everything from their family, the palace servants, the city’s goings-on, and the current palace gossip. If seafaring had taught him anything, it was the art of a fluent conversation, and so he managed to deflect most of his own answers as they walked back. He paid heed mostly to what Cal faltered on, not his confident responses, but above all, sidestepped the topic of the king for as long as possible. He would have to greet him that evening – no need to speed up the inevitable.
Wordlessly, Luc noticed the bodyguards that flanked them as soon as they began moving, keeping a distance just large enough that made them not seem intrusive. Still, Luc felt hemmed in, even as the marketgoers moved to form an unspoken pathway for the two princes. The bustling liveliness and comfortable conversation he’d noticed earlier had faded into restlessness and taut whispers, leaving only stilted formalities and bowed heads. No one met his gaze, even though he doubted they necessarily recognised him for who he was – the fact that he stood beside the crown prince was reason enough to falter. Just before they left the pier itself, he turned to bid farewell to Viktor, but his second-in-command had already disappeared. (There was a job to do, after all, he thought, the very one that he was shirking.) The sense that he was abandoning something vital and tangible weighed heavily on his chest, and his words to Cal took a false ring, not unlike the conversations in the crowds around them.
The city had looked exactly as he left it, but now he couldn’t help but wonder if the home he was returning to was still the same one that he had left. (He couldn’t quite decide, either, if he wanted it that way or not.)
Searching the crowd as they moved, Luc’s ears rather than his eyes noticed the change first. The sound of an instrument, carving through the tension in the air and making way for looser conversation, unmasked laughter, and unabated wonder in the crowds around them. He was grateful, then, when they had to pause to let the bodyguards forge a path ahead, so fixated were the people on the performance.
And once Luc had found the source, he understood the trance immediately. The man couldn’t have been more than a year his senior, but the way he carried himself held a quiet, unspoken authority, one that demanded the attention that Luc was so unashamedly giving him. He was slim but well-built, the thin fabric and chains doing little to hide the skin beneath. Luc found himself tracing the tattoo on his arm with his gaze, following it to his neck and then immediately being transfixed by the piercings along his distinctly-pointed ear. His gaze flicked to the man’s eyes, a deep golden, and then almost jerked as the man looked right back. Skies above. Luc tilted his chin, not faltering.
“Luc?” Cal asked, pulling him from his reverie. Almost without thinking, Luc was reaching for the leather drawstring on his belt, fishing for the spare coins that had been chiming with every step. They would be useless once he stepped inside the palace – what was a night’s fun with the Havana would be worthless compared to his royal riches – but Cal grabbed his hand to still it. “No need,” he said darkly, almost rebuking, with his grip tight around Luc’s wrist. “His pay comes from the royal coffers already. Do not waste your time on such people.”
Luc tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “And what people, exactly, do you speak of, brother?” He was cautious of how to speak, tone forcefully steady, but he couldn’t help the questioning distaste that leaked out of his voice on that final affectionate term.
Cal released his hand and gestured to the front. The bodyguards had found a way though the crowd, standing unreadably as they waited for the two to catch up. “You’ll find out soon enough. Come on, Lucian. You have much to catch up on.”
Chilly and Clear with Dropping Temps
